Thirty-Nine
The great hall was a dining room once more, with glittering glassware and polite conversation, the warm glow of candlelight making everything seem nicer than it was. The string quartet had moved indoors and was playing softly in the corner, the delicate notes barely audible over the murmur of voices and the occasional peal of laughter. Nancy swirled the wine in her glass, only half-listening as the father of the bride tapped a spoon against his flute and called for the room’s attention.
‘Before dinner, we’d like to say a few words,’ he announced, his voice ringing with pleasure at an opportunity to force people to listen to him. ‘And I know there are quite a few who would love the chance to toast our beautiful couple.’
Nancy suppressed a sigh. Here came the speeches, all varying degrees of tediousness. She shot a glance at Ari, who had already drained her champagne in preparation.
The speeches began, and they were exactly what Nancy expected. First, the father of the bride droned on about how proud he was, his voice thick with emotion and expensive whisky.
‘I can’t tell you how proud I am of my little girl,’ he said, gripping the table like it was the only thing keeping him upright. ‘Paris, you’ve grown into an incredible woman.’ He paused for a moment as if steadying himself. ‘I thought you might suffer without a mother, but look at you! We didn’t need her, did we?’
A ripple of discomfort moved through the room. Someone coughed. Nancy saw a few guests glance at Paris, whose polite smile remained fixed in place though the fingers of her free hand curled slightly against the tablecloth.
‘And, of course, we have my wife’s sister to thank. She stepped in when we needed her, and I know my wife—wherever the fuck she is—would be glad to know she had a good female role model. So, here’s to Paris and her wonderful new husband!’ he finished, raising his glass with a wobbling flourish.
The applause was scattered, uncertain. A few guests drained their glasses like they’d just endured something gruelling. Paris lifted her champagne, her smile unwavering, but her grip on the flute was white-knuckled.
Then came the maid of honour, who rattled off a slightly risqué but ultimately forgettable anecdote about the bride’s university days. The best man followed suit, making the standard jokes about how lucky the groom was and how no one could quite believe he’d managed to convince Paris to marry him. The table chuckled obligingly, but Nancy and Ari weren’t paying attention anymore.
That was until a new voice cut through the murmurs, a voice Nancy knew all too well. She stiffened, her body tensing involuntarily, even before she saw the woman who was standing at table two.
Helen.
‘Good evening, everyone,’ Helen began, her voice smooth and professional but with a sharpness that sent a chill down Nancy’s spine. ‘I’m Helen Bishop, and I have the pleasure of being Paris’s aunt.’
Nancy froze, her heart skipping a beat. Aunt? Jesus, what were the odds? Actually, maybe they were pretty good. There were certainly some traits they seemed to share.
Helen smiled, her gaze sweeping over the room like a hawk eyeing its prey. ‘As Mike said, I’ve been a big part of Paris’s life, and I like to think I’ve helped raise her,’ she continued, ‘Watching her today, I couldn’t be prouder of the woman she’s become. Not only is she stunning, intelligent, and incredibly driven, but she’s also brought an entirely new level of class and style to the events that I’ve had the pleasure of hosting through our charity foundation.’
Nancy’s jaw tightened. The charity foundation. That was Helen’s world. Always screaming in the back of the car about some guest list or gift bag.
‘Paris’s involvement has been invaluable,’ Helen went on, her voice silky smooth. ‘She’s helped raise our profile and, most importantly, our donations. We couldn’t have achieved half of what we have without her tireless work. Truly, she’s transformed the way we approach charity events. Oh, and poverty alleviation, of course.’
Well remembered, Nancy thought.
The room gave her the applause she expected, polite and respectful but entirely hollow. Nancy didn’t clap. She couldn’t. The words sounded like a rehearsed performance, every one of them crafted to make Helen look good while she pretended to make Paris look good. If the room could have seen her on the last day of Nancy’s employment, screaming at her about being ten minutes late, throwing that coffee that thankfully had been lukewarm. A monster in couture.
As Helen sat down, Nancy glanced at Ari again. Ari didn’t seem particularly moved by Helen’s speech.
‘I can’t believe she’s Paris’s aunt,’ Nancy muttered under her breath, though she knew Ari didn’t need to be told. They’d both heard the same thing.
Ari, leaning in slightly, gave a small, amused smile. ‘Our nemeses are related. How convenient for us.’
Nancy tried to smile back. Ari examined her, and her smile dropped. ‘She doesn’t have any power over you now.’
‘She was just a bad boss,’ Nancy said. ‘I’m overreacting.’
‘I doubt that,’ Ari said.
Nancy shrugged. But she appreciated Ari’s words. More than she could say.
The speeches went on. Nancy and Ari fell into a quiet game of commentary, whispering to each other between sips of wine.
‘What’s the over-under on someone saying, “You don’t just marry a person, you marry their family”?’ Ari murmured, tilting her head slightly towards Nancy.
‘Ten seconds,’ Nancy replied dryly.
Right on cue, the groom’s uncle cleared his throat and said, ‘Of course, marriage isn’t just about two people—it’s about two families coming together.’
Ari let out a small, delighted snort, quickly hiding it behind her napkin. For a while, it was almost enjoyable.
But then the bride stood up.
Paris smiled as the applause from the last speech died down, her perfectly manicured fingers resting lightly on the back of her chair. ‘I just want to say a few words,’ she said.
Nancy felt Ari go completely still beside her.
‘I have to say, looking around this room, I feel so grateful,’ Paris continued, eyes sweeping the room. ‘It’s incredible to be surrounded by people who have been part of our journey. And, of course, it means so much to have even our… past connections here, too. It’s important to remember the lessons we’ve learned, isn’t it?’
Nancy’s grip tightened around her glass. That wasn’t a speech. It was a knife slid right between Ari’s ribs under the guise of civility. She didn’t have an ounce of shame.
Ari was stone-faced, but Nancy could see the tightness in her jaw.
‘To my husband, who reaps the rewards of all my mistakes,’ Paris finished, and everyone clapped as she sat down.
And then Nancy did something completely nuts.
She rose smoothly from her seat, lifting her glass before anyone could react. ‘A toast,’ she announced.
Paris turned her head, expression wary, but Nancy smiled at her in the most infuriatingly pleasant way she could muster.
‘To authenticity,’ Nancy said, letting the word settle. ‘To the kind of love that’s real, even when no one’s watching.’
The silence was heavy, the tension threading through the tables like a live wire. Nancy held Paris’s gaze, watching the flash of irritation she tried to mask with a gracious smile.
‘Cheers,’ Nancy finished smoothly, tilting her glass just enough to catch the light.
And then her eye caught Helen’s across the room. Nancy kept her face entirely neutral. But there was no recognition in Helen’s eyes. Ari was right. She couldn’t see who she was without a steering wheel in her hands.
Nancy finally lowered herself back into her chair, heart hammering a little too fast. That had been reckless. She knew it. She should have just let it go. But then Ari leaned in slightly, her voice low enough that only Nancy could hear.
‘That was dangerous,’ Ari murmured.
Nancy smirked, taking a slow sip of wine. ‘You loved it.’
Ari exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head. ‘I really did.’
And there it was again. That warmth spread through Nancy’s chest, the pull of something unspoken between them. Something could happen between them. And it could happen tonight if Nancy wasn’t extremely careful.