The wedding morning started at six-fifteen because all her mornings started at six-fifteen and she saw no reason for this one to be different.
She'd slept in the Cascais estate guest room — Leonardo in the main house, which Helena had insisted on with the particular firmness she reserved for traditions she'd decided were worth keeping, and which Camila had accepted because picking battles with Helena required conservation of energy for the battles that mattered. They'd said goodnight in the corridor at eleven with the self-conscious awareness of two people performing an observance neither of them was superstitious about, and it had been fine, and she'd slept well, which she hadn't expected.
She lay for a moment in the early dark of the guest room and listened to the estate. Houses had th
