Waiters in black waistcoats and white gloves glided between tables like a well-rehearsed dance, carrying silver trays of champagne flutes and wine glasses.
The servers moved in with the first course—tiny porcelain bowls of lobster bisque, steam curling upward in fragrant spirals.
The scent in the air was now a heady mixture of seared filet mignon, fresh herbs, and the faint sweetness of vanilla bean from the dessert station at the far end.
In between courses, the best man rose to deliver his speech, Henry. I knew him as one of Dean's sidekicks from college.
And oddly enough, I recognised that shirt he wore underneath as being a hand-me-down from Dean.
He rose with his champagne glass, grinning like he’d just been handed a mic at a roast instead of a rehearsal dinner.
“Well,” he b
