“You are connected to the whole thing.”
“I’ll accept a temporary tax.”
That got the first real smile.
Then she cried.
Andrew held her.
Not romantically.
Not like wedding photographs.
She pressed her forehead to his chest.
He rested his chin against her hair.
“What do you want?”
he asked.
“I don't know.”
“Good.”
She pulled back.
“What?”
“Apparently we need to stop rewarding people who always know what everybody else should do.”
Camille laughed through tears.
“Therapy answer.”
“Premarital counseling was expensive.”
She nodded.
They sat on a bench near the terrace doors.
Andrew took out his phone.
“Let's look at tomorrow.”
Camille stared.
“What?”
“Not money.”
“The actual day.”
He opened the schedule.
Hair at eight.
Photography at eleven.
First look at one.
Ceremony at four.
Cocktails.
Dinner.
Band.
Two hundred and twelve guests.
Camille looked tired.
Andrew said:
“If we wanted smaller now, could we do it?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Probably not.”
“Would you feel better if we did?”
She thought.
“No.”
That surprised her.
Andrew waited.
Camille continued.
“I don't want to punish ourselves because our fathers lied by omission.”
“Okay.”
“I also don't want tomorrow to become Richard’s financial crisis.”
“Agreed.”
“Or Grandma Eleanor’s accountability summit.”
“Strongly agreed.”
“Or my dad's generosity story.”
Andrew smiled.
“I'll tackle anyone who gives him a standing ovation.”
She laughed.
Then:
“We get married.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He kissed her forehead.
She stopped him.
“One condition.”
“Name it.”
“We pay Dad back.”
Andrew’s expression changed.
“Camille.”
“Our share.”
“He called it a gift.”
“I know.”
“You want to refuse?”
“No.”
She thought.
“I want to decide what portion is ours to accept.”
That was different.
Andrew nodded.
“Okay.”
They calculated later.
Not that night.
That night they returned to the ballroom.
Camille took the microphone.
The room went silent instantly.
She looked toward Eleanor.
Then Richard.
Then Marcus.
“I love all three of you.”
Richard looked surprised.
Camille continued.
“I am also extremely angry at all three of you.”
A few guests laughed nervously.
Camille smiled.
“Good.”
“At least somebody still has a pulse.”
More laughter.
The tension shifted.
She continued.