Chapter 6 - The Eve of the Gala
The wedding took place at the Grand Reserve Estate, a sprawling vineyard nestled against the limestone cliffs above the river. It was a suffocating exhibition of excess. Limousines lined the gravel concourse; string quartets played pop covers arranged as classical minuets; waitstaff in black waistcoats drifted through the manicured hedges carrying silver platters of seared scallop canapés.
I arrived early with Grandma Evelyn. She was dressed in an understated navy lace gown that came down past her ankles to hide the swelling, her silver hair pinned neatly. She leaned heavily on her polished wooden cane.
When we entered the reception ballroom—a colossal glass conservatory overlooking the illuminated vines—the cake had already been set up in the place of absolute prominence. It stood under a dedicated crystal chandelier, mounted upon an antique silver mirrored pedestal surrounded by hundreds of floating white candles. It was mesmerizing. Guests were already circling it, taking photos, marveling at the sugar peonies that seemed to breathe in the ambient light.
We found our seats. Table 24.
Table 24 was placed in the far back corner of the room, tucked directly beside the service swinging doors to the scullery, where the noise of clattering dishware and the smell of industrial degreaser spilled out every few seconds.
Lila had banished Mark’s only living grandmother to the servants' corridor.
"It’s fine, Jenna," Grandma whispered softly, her hand finding mine under the table. Her skin was cool, her voice small. "The music is lovely from here. Truly."
"It is not fine, Grandma," I said, kissing her forehead. "Just sit here and look pretty. Drink your sparkling cider. Let me handle tonight."
Around 6:00 PM, the bridal party made their grand entrance. Lila looked stunning in a six-thousand-dollar French crepe gown with a cathedral train. Mark walked beside her, smiling, but his smile didn't reach his eyes; he kept looking nervously around the room, eventually spotting us tucked by the kitchen doors. He flinched, looked down, and allowed Lila to drag him to the sweetheart table on the elevated dais.
During the cocktail hour, Lila held court near the cake. I stood near the marble bar, watching her.
"Oh, thank you!" Lila purred to a local magazine editor who was admiring the dessert table. "Yes, we wanted something that captured timeless European heritage. I spent weeks consulting on the design. It was incredibly difficult to curate, but perfection requires sacrifice, doesn't it?"
She didn't mention Grandma Evelyn once. She spoke as if the cake had materialized from her own divine aesthetic genius.
I slipped through the side entrance into the staging area where the banquet programs, menu cards, and guest favors were arranged. The wedding planner, a harried woman with a headset named Chloe, was frantically barking orders at catering staff.
"Chloe?" I said, stepping into her line of sight with a radiant, professional smile.
She turned, wiping sweat from her forehead. "Yes? Family member?"
"I’m Jenna, Mark’s sister," I said smoothly. "Lila asked me to swap out the dessert menu cards before the cake cutting. She wanted these commemorative provenance booklets placed at every table setting and on the dessert display. They explain the artisanal craftsmanship of the centerpiece."
Chloe looked at the elegant, gold-foil-embossed cards tied with matching dusty-rose ribbons. They looked infinitely more expensive than the standard menus she was holding.
"Thank God," Chloe exhaled. "Lila’s changed her mind six times today. Take three servers and put them out immediately before dinner service starts. We cut the cake in forty-five minutes."
May you like
"Consider it done," I smiled.
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