Damian
I was sitting at Ivy’s kitchen table when my phone buzzed across the wood.
Madeleine.
I stared at the name flashing on the screen and let it ring once, twice, before finally answering with a clipped, “What?”
Her voice was falsely sweet, the tone she reserved for when she wanted to play the perfect fiancée. “Your mother spoke with mine. They’re organizing a series of events in London, and your parents want us both there for the new year. It’s about the wedding.”
My heart thudded slowly. “What events?”
“Dinners. Planning sessions. Charity appearances. It’s your mother, Damian, you know how she does things.”
“I’m not going to London.”
There was a pause. Then: “Your father won’t like that.”
“I don’t care what he likes.”
She didn’t respond right away, but I could hear her shift
