His eyes followed the server until the man disappeared beneath the pavilion.
I knew that silence.
Over the previous several weeks, I’d learned exactly what it meant when Ethan stopped speaking and began turning the signet ring on his finger.
Usually, it meant his mother had made another decision he wasn’t willing to question.
And on my wedding day, she’d apparently decided my parents belonged beside the service entrance.
The ceremony itself passed in a strange haze.
I remember the heat beneath the flower arch, the officiant’s steady voice, and Ethan’s fingers tightening around mine when I hesitated before answering.
I’d spent the previous night wondering whether I should go through with it.
There were questions about the Sterling family I couldn’t ignore.
Questions about money.
Documents.
The way Ethan allowed his mother to treat people she considered beneath her.
Still, I had persuaded myself that marriage might give us the independence we’d never managed while planning the wedding.
That was a mistake I would regret.
When the ceremony ended and guests began drifting toward the pool and reception pavilion, I searched for my parents.
I found my father beside an enormous ice sculpture carved into the Sterling Group crest.
The midday sun had begun melting its edges, and water dripped steadily onto the marble beneath it.
Arthur wore his only dark wool suit.
It was too heavy for June.
He’d scrubbed his hands before leaving Blue Island, but dark grease remained deep in the lines of his knuckles.
A faded red shop rag protruded from one pocket.
My mother approached him.
“Arthur,” she whispered.
“Put that away.”
He tucked the rag out of sight.
Then looked at me.
“They have a lot of ice here,” he said.
“Must have cost more than my first truck.”
I smiled weakly.
“Probably.”
He studied the sculpture.
Then glanced toward the guests gathered beneath the pavilion.
“These people don’t see people, Clara.
They see transaction entries.”
“Ethan is different,” I said.
Dad looked at me.
I heard how unconvincing the words sounded.
He rested one hand on my shoulder.
“Just make sure you know what’s on the other side of the ledger.”
Then he looked toward the driveway.
“I left a broken lawnmower on the main bench at the shop.
Should’ve finished it before coming.”
“You have time.”
“No,” he said quietly.
“I don’t think we do.”
I wanted to ask what he meant.
Instead, I went looking for Olivia Sterling.
She stood near the rose garden with a brass clipboard beneath one arm.
Her cream-colored suit was perfectly tailored, and her French-manicured nails tapped against the metal edge while she corrected two florists arranging an arch.
“Olivia.”
She turned.
Her public smile appeared immediately.
“Clara, darling.
The ceremony was lovely.
We’re slightly behind schedule, though.”
“I need to ask about my parents’ table.”
Her nails stopped tapping.
“The seating arrangements are finalized.”
“They’ve been placed beside the kitchen entrance.”
“We have an unusually complicated guest list.”
“They are the parents of the bride.”
Olivia sighed.
Then leaned closer.
“Your father smells of gasoline, Clara.
And your mother’s dress is a very interesting shade of blue.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak.
She continued as though discussing the weather.
“There are more than three hundred investors, trustees, and business associates here.
We can’t afford an unfortunate impression.”
“An impression?”
“People notice these things.”
I stared.
“My parents have worked their whole lives.”
“I’m sure they have.”
She raised the clipboard.
“But this is a Sterling event.”
Then she turned and called for the head caterer.
The conversation was over.
At least to her.
I found Ethan in the library.
