“That's not specific enough.”
Then walked away.
Eleanor watched him go.
Richard looked toward his mother.
“Are you happy?”
The question hurt.
She answered carefully.
“No.”
“You wanted truth.”
“Yes.”
“Look around.”
Guests were pretending not to observe.
His wife was crying quietly.
His son had left.
The bride was outside with her father.
Richard looked at Eleanor.
“You blew up their rehearsal dinner.”
“Yes.”
She did not run from it.
“I did.”
He seemed surprised.
Eleanor continued.
“I should have found another way.”
“Then why didn't you?”
“Because I was angry.”
“Thank you.”
“That does not make your lie acceptable.”
“I never lied.”
Eleanor stared.
“You allowed people to believe something false because correcting them would embarrass you.”
Richard scoffed.
“That's not lying?”
“No.”
She gave him a thin smile.
“That is the definition people use when they want better manners around dishonesty.”
He looked away.
Eleanor continued.
“But I also used the room to punish you.”
“That was wrong.”
Richard looked back.
For the first time that night, anger left his face.
Not forgiveness.
Recognition.
“Okay.”
It was not much.
It was more than before.
Andrew found Camille and Marcus on the terrace.
Camille looked at him.
“You knew?”
“No.”
She studied his face.
He let her.
Then she nodded.
“Okay.”
Marcus moved toward the door.
“I’ll leave you two.”
Camille looked at him.
“We're not done.”
“I know.”
He went inside.
Andrew stood beside her.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then:
“Do you still want to marry me tomorrow?”
Camille stared.
“That's your first question?”
“I had several.”
“That one was loudest.”
She almost smiled.
Then did not.
“Do you?”
Andrew asked.
She looked toward the street.
“I want to marry you.”
He breathed.
“But.”
He closed his eyes.
“Of course.”
Camille turned.
“I don't know if I want tomorrow.”
Andrew stared.
She continued.
“Not because of the money.”
“Because everybody built a wedding around us and apparently none of us knew what it actually cost them.”
“I don't want to walk into that ballroom tomorrow while your father pretends nothing happened and mine pretends sixty-eight thousand dollars is a normal Tuesday.”
Andrew laughed despite himself.
“Fair.”
Camille’s eyes filled.
“And I am furious at your grandmother.”
“Also fair.”
“I'm furious at Dad.”
“Fair.”
“I'm a little furious at you.”
He frowned.
“What did I do?”
“Nothing.”
“That seems unfair.”
“I know.”
She wiped one cheek.