The morning of Damian and Claire's wedding arrived bright and unseasonably warm, the mansion's garden — the same one where Adrian and Elena had reconciled after their own misunderstanding, the same one where he'd once confronted his father — transformed with strings of simple white lights and rows of folding chairs that Claire had insisted on personally arranging herself the night before, refusing all offers of help with a stubbornness Elena found she deeply respected.
"I need it to feel like something I actually built," Claire had explained, "not something a planner assembled for me while I stood around looking pretty."
Elena found her in the mansion's guest room that morning, hair half-done, staring at her reflection with an expression somewhere between joy and pure terror.
"Tell me t
