The wedding weekend began with a private dinner beneath a glass pavilion.
White orchids hung from the ceiling.
A string quartet played near the lake.
Waiters served courses so small and carefully arranged that my brother whispered, “Do we eat this or admire it?”
I laughed.
Across the table, Eleanor looked toward us.
“Natalie, perhaps remind your family that the speeches are tomorrow.”
My brother had not been making a speech.
He had spoken quietly enough that only I could hear.
“I’m sure they know,” I said.
Eleanor lifted her wine.
“Of course.”
That was the tone.
Nothing directly offensive.
Only a reminder that she was watching.
Caroline gave me a bracelet before dinner ended.
It came inside a velvet box with the Ashford family crest stamped in gold.
“This belonged to our grandmother,” she said.
I was genuinely moved.
“It’s beautiful.”
