Valentina POV
By the time I came downstairs that morning, my family home had officially stopped pretending to be a house and started behaving like a luxury war zone.
The engagement was for three days.
Which, apparently, meant every member of staff had been possessed by a different spirit of expensive chaos.
The foyer was full of flower samples.
Not flowers. Samples.
As if normal people kept seventeen varieties of white roses on hand for comparison, like they were discussing paint swatches instead of botanical drama.
Trays of espresso moved through the house with military precision.
Two event planners stood near the staircase whispering over seating charts with the kind of intensity usually reserved for hostage negotiations. Somewhere down the west hall, someone was arguing about
