Isabelle Conti walked up the Marchetti drive like she owned it, which told Elena everything she needed to know about the kind of woman she was about to deal with.
"Damian, darling." Isabelle's voice carried across the garden before she'd even reached them, warm and pitched for an audience that wasn't fully there yet. "I heard about the restaurant. I had to see for myself that you were actually all right."
"You could have called."
"You never answer when I call." She said it lightly, like an old joke between them, but her eyes had already found Elena and stayed there, sweeping over her once with the particular thoroughness of a woman appraising competition she'd decided not to take seriously yet. "And this must be her. The bride."
"Elena Marchetti." Elena offered her hand, deliberate, un
