2. The Welcome Dinner
THE WELCOME DINNER
Becca had been to a lot of weddings.
It was an occupational hazard. When you made custom cakes for a living, you ended up at a lot of receptions, watching happy couples cut into your work while guests oohed and aahed. Usually, it was a great time.
You learned to read a crowd: which weddings were genuine celebrations and which were performative, which couples would last and which were already showing cracks in the foundation.
There was, she'd found, overlap between the latter and a surprise piece of cake to the face for one half of a couple, often followed by a retaliatory answer in the form of more frosting to the face.
So weird how that worked.
Now a planned cake-to-the-face situation was different. Those could be a lot of fun, especially when the couple ordered a separate cake specifically for that purpose. This wedding, for one of her best friends, was gonna be a great party, she could already tell.
And this one was real. Sophie and Jamie, standing at the head table during the welcome dinner with their hands intertwined, practically vibrating with joy. The kind of love that made Becca's chest hurt in a way she couldn't quite name.
She was happy for them. Of course she was. Sophie was one of her favorite people in the world, and Jamie was perfect for her, calm where Sophie was chaotic, grounded where Sophie was scattered. They made sense together.
It was just hard, sometimes. Being surrounded by all that certainty when your own life was more like a recipe that wouldn't come together.
Three weeks. That's how long it had been since Maya ended things.
Since Becca had stood in her own kitchen, surrounded by the aftermath of a cake order, and listened to her girlfriend, her ex-girlfriend now, explain that she was too much.
Too intense. Too emotional. Too eager to give everything to a relationship that apparently needed less.
I feel like I'm being smothered, Maya had said. You need someone who won't drown. I just want to breathe.
Becca hadn't known what to say to that. She still didn't.
She grabbed a glass of wine from a passing server and scanned the room.
Sophie was being fussed over by her mother.
Jamie was deep in conversation with her brother David, who was serving as best man.
The bridal party was scattered across the venue's main room, clumps of conversation and laughter and the comfortable chaos of people who'd flown in from a dozen different cities for this weekend.
And Margot was working the room.
That was the only word for it. Working. Becca observed her move from group to group, all perfect posture and perfect smiles and perfectly timed departures.
She'd shake hands with someone's husband, exchange pleasantries with a cousin, compliment someone's outfit. Each interaction lasted exactly long enough to be polite before she extracted herself and moved on.
It was impressive, in a clinical kind of way. Like watching a very skilled surgeon perform a procedure. Margot even had a glass of red wine to stand in for blood.
Sophie appeared at Becca's elbow. "Stop staring."
"I'm not staring."
"You're absolutely staring. You've got your 'trying to figure something out' face on. I know that face."
Becca turned away from Margot and focused on Sophie. "She's just… interesting. In a sphinx-like way."
"Don't call her a sphinx. She'll think you're making fun of her."
"I mean, maybe a little? But in a friendly way!"
Sophie sighed. "Give her a chance, Bec. I know she comes across as cold, but she's been through a lot this year. The partner thing… she worked herself half to death for that promotion. And her last relationship ended badly. She's not mean, she's just… protected."
"Protected."
"She builds walls. C'mon, you know the type. The higher the wall, the softer the person behind it."
Becca considered this. She did know the type. She'd dated the type, more than once. Women who seemed untouchable and turned out to be desperately lonely underneath. She had a weakness for that particular emotional architecture.
Not that she was thinking about Margot that way. She'd only just met the woman. And Margot had barely said ten words to her since they'd arrived at the dinner, despite the fact that they were sharing a room and a bed for the next four nights.
"I'm going to try talking to her," Becca decided.
Sophie's face lit up. "Really? That's great. Look, she's at the bar right now—"
"I saw." Becca winced a little. Way to keep it weird, like she didn't already think you have some kind of Margot-radar!
Sophie just kept smiling. She squeezed Becca's arm, then turned her toward the bar. "Don't take it personally if she keeps you at arm's length. Or further. She's like that with everyone at first."
"Sophie. I'm aggressively friendly, remember? I'll charm her into submission."
Sophie laughed and gave Becca a little push. "That's either going to work brilliantly or backfire spectacularly. Good luck."
The bar was a temporary setup in the corner of the room: a long table draped in white cloth, tended by a guy in an ill-fitting maroon vest who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Margot was standing at the end, holding a glass of red wine and studying her phone with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb.
The venue lighting caught the sharp line of her jaw, the pale sweep of her neck above the navy silk.
Blonde hair pulled back so tightly it looked severe on anyone else, but on Margot it just emphasized her cheekbones, the cool blue-green of her eyes.
She looked like she'd been carved from something expensive.
Becca approached with her brightest smile. "Work emails? At your best friend's wedding weekend welcome dinner?"
Margot looked up. Her expression didn't change. "A brief wouldn't file itself."
"Briefs. That's lawyer stuff, right? I always imagine you all in those old-fashioned wigs, yelling 'objection' at each other."
"That's British barristers. And courtroom dramas, not real life. Law and Order tends to exaggerate."
Was that a joke? Becca studied Margot's face and gave it 50/50 odds.
"So what do real corporate lawyers do? Sophie's tried to explain it, but she usually gets distracted halfway through."
Margot pocketed her phone. "Corporate litigation, mostly. Contract disputes. Mergers and acquisitions when they go wrong. Making sure very wealthy companies don't promise things they can't deliver—and dealing with the fallout when they do."
"That sounds…" Becca searched for a diplomatic word. "Precise."
"It is."
A pause. Becca waited for Margot to ask a follow-up question, to express some interest in continuing the conversation. The pause stretched.
Okay, maybe earlier was more like, a 20% chance of being a joke.
"So," Becca tried again. "Big weekend. How are you feeling about the toasts? Sophie said you've been working on it for weeks."
"My toast is prepared."
"I've been trying to figure out what to say. I'm terrible at planning things in advance. I'll probably just get up there and ramble until Sophie starts crying. That's usually my strategy."
Margot's expression shifted. Becca couldn't tell if it was amusement or judgment.
Hmm, considering the joke thing… there was probably an 80% chance it was judgment.
"I should get back," Margot said. "The caterer had some questions about tomorrow's schedule."
She was gone before Becca could respond, cutting through the crowd with the efficiency of someone who'd optimized their route in advance. Managing Becca, the same way Becca had just watched all those other people get managed.
Becca stood at the bar, still holding her wine and feeling stupid. She revised her guesstimates to 1% joke, 99% judgment.
Protected, Sophie had said. The higher the wall, the softer the person.
Right now, Becca suspected she'd walked into that wall face-first.
The toasts happened after dinner.
Sophie and Jamie sat at the head table, faces glowing with that particular pre-wedding radiance. The best man went first, a guy named David who'd clearly prepared some jokes that landed better after everyone had finished their second glass of wine. Then it was Margot's turn.
She rose from her seat with her glass in hand, and the room went quiet.
Becca watched from across the table, fascinated in spite of herself. Margot looked completely composed: no note cards, no phone, no hint of nerves. Just that perfect posture and that perfectly neutral expression.
"Sophie and I met when we were eleven years old," Margot began.
Her voice carried without effort, projecting to the back of the room.
"She was the new girl at school, and I was the girl everyone else avoided because I corrected the teacher during a history lecture about the causes of the French Revolution. "
A soft laugh from the crowd. Sophie was already tearing up.
"She sat next to me at lunch that day. I told her she didn't have to, that I was aware of my social status and didn't require pity. She said, 'I'm not sitting here out of pity. I'm sitting here because you were right about the French Revolution, and I want to know what else you're right about.'"
More laughter. Becca's chest unclenched.
"That was Sophie. From the very first day. She wasn't interested in what was socially acceptable. She was interested in what was true. And she decided, for reasons I've never fully understood, that she was interested in me."
Margot paused. Her gaze found Sophie's across the room.
"I have spent twenty-five years being seen by this woman. Being known. Being challenged to be better than my worst impulses. She has never let me hide, not from her, and not from myself. That is a rare gift, and Jamie, you are inheriting it now."
She turned to address Jamie directly. "Take care of her. Not because she needs protecting. Sophie Park doesn't need anyone to fight her battles. But because she deserves someone who sees her the way she sees everyone else. Completely. Without judgment. With joy."