Part 1
Chapter 1: Someone Else Made the Promise.
“Put the Laurent Reserve on your card.”
Margaret snapped her purse shut.
“No.”
Tiffany Bennett stared at her as if she had misheard.
“You heard me, right?”
“I heard you.”
The trumpet player missed his entrance. One note floated above the reception before disappearing into the room.
A server stopped beside Margaret with champagne balanced across one palm.
Tiffany’s smile stayed fixed.
“My dad asked for the Laurent Reserve.”
Margaret kept one hand over the clasp of her purse.
“Then your father can order it.”
Tiffany’s eyes flicked toward the bar.
“He asked me to handle it.”
“And I’m telling you I’m not paying for it.”
“Margaret.”
The warning in Tiffany’s voice came quietly.
Margaret looked past her.
Richard Hale stood near the bar in his tuxedo, watching them. His arms were folded tightly across his chest.
His wallet remained inside his jacket.
He made no movement toward it.
Margaret turned back.
“There are several bottles already included in the package.”
“That’s not what he wants.”
“Then he can buy what he wants.”
Tiffany stepped closer.
“This is not the time.”
Margaret almost laughed.
“You came to me.”
“I expected you to take care of it.”
“That expectation is the problem.”
Tiffany’s smile disappeared for half a second.
Then it returned.
Across the room, Richard looked away.
Linda Hale stood beside him, holding a silver clutch with both hands. Her thumb rubbed the metal clasp again and again.
Tiffany noticed Margaret looking.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No. Say it.”
“I already said what matters.”
“You’re really doing this here?”
Margaret lowered her voice.
“You are.”
A server quietly backed away.
Tiffany watched him leave, then turned toward Margaret again.
“My father wants one bottle for the toast.”
“He can have ten.”
Tiffany blinked.
Margaret held her gaze.
“As soon as he pays for them.”
Richard remained exactly where he was.
And Tiffany did not call him over.
Tiffany glanced toward the chandeliers, then back at Margaret.
“Do you understand how this looks?”
Margaret’s fingers tightened around her purse.
“I understand what you’re asking.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“No.”
Tiffany leaned closer.
“Everyone can see us.”
Margaret looked around without turning her head.
Guests near the bar had stopped pretending not to listen. Two cousins stood frozen beside their table, champagne untouched.
The bartender polished the same glass without looking down.
Margaret returned her attention to Tiffany.
“You wanted an answer.”
“I wanted you to stop making things difficult.”
“The answer is still no.”
Tiffany exhaled sharply.
“My father specifically requested Laurent Reserve for the toast.”
“Then Richard should speak to the bartender.”
“He shouldn’t have to.”
Margaret paused.
“Why not?”
Tiffany’s jaw shifted.
“Because this was already supposed to be handled.”
The words landed differently.
Margaret studied her.
“By whom?”
Tiffany stared back.
“You know by whom.”
Margaret said nothing.
For one brief moment, uncertainty moved across Tiffany’s face.
Then she buried it.
“You agreed to take care of things.”
“I agreed to help.”
“That’s not how it was explained to me.”
Margaret’s eyes narrowed.
“Explained by whom?”
Tiffany’s attention moved past Margaret.
Richard had turned slightly away.
Linda remained beside him.
Her grip on the silver clutch had tightened.
Margaret followed Tiffany’s gaze.
Richard noticed.
He immediately picked up a champagne flute from a nearby table, although Margaret had not seen him drinking before.
“Richard,” Margaret called.
His shoulders stiffened.
Tiffany stepped between them.
“There’s no reason to drag my father into this.”
Margaret looked at her.
“You just told me this champagne is for him.”
“That isn’t what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
Tiffany’s eyes hardened.
“I mean you know what you promised.”
Margaret stopped moving.
The bartender set the polished glass down.
Richard took a long drink.
Margaret watched him over Tiffany’s shoulder.
“I know exactly what I promised.”
Tiffany gave a humorless laugh.
“Apparently not.”
Before Margaret could answer, Richard placed the empty glass down and walked farther into the reception.
Linda stayed behind.
She watched him leave.
Then she looked at Margaret.
Only for a second.
But she looked afraid.
“Margaret, please.”
Tiffany’s voice sharpened enough to turn more heads.
Margaret faced her again.
“Please what?”
“Stop embarrassing me.”
The band stumbled through another measure. The drummer glanced toward the argument, then quickly back at his kit.
Margaret kept her voice level.
“I refused an extra bottle of champagne.”
“You always reduce everything to money.”
“You asked me to pay.”
“At my wedding.”
“Yes.”
The nearby guests went silent.
Tiffany noticed.
Margaret saw the exact moment public attention changed her.
Her shoulders straightened.
Her chin rose.
“What is wrong with you?” Tiffany asked.
Margaret did not answer immediately.
Tiffany laughed under her breath.
“That’s what you do.”
“What?”
“That silence.”
Margaret’s hand rested against her purse.
“I’m choosing my words.”
“No. You’re judging me.”
“I haven’t said anything about you.”
“You don’t need to.”
Tiffany swept one hand toward the tables.
A guest near the dance floor looked down at his plate.
Another turned his chair slightly away.
Margaret could feel the room listening while pretending not to.
Tiffany moved closer.
“You complained about every decision.”
“We are not doing this now.”
“You started it.”
“I said no to champagne.”
“You always have a reason.”
Margaret glanced toward Richard again.
He was speaking to another guest now, his back turned.
Linda stood alone near the bar.
She opened her clutch.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Margaret watched.
Linda caught her eye.
Her lips parted as though she might speak.
Richard looked over his shoulder.
Linda immediately lowered her gaze.
Margaret felt something cold settle beneath her ribs.
Tiffany followed her attention.
“Why do you keep looking at my parents?”
Margaret turned back slowly.
“Because your father asked for the champagne.”
Tiffany stepped into her line of sight.
“My father shouldn’t have to defend himself.”
“I didn’t ask him to.”
“You’re making him look cheap.”
Margaret stared at her.
“No, Tiffany.”
The words came quietly.
“I’m asking him to pay for what he wants.”
The room remained still.
Then Tiffany pointed at Margaret in front of everyone.
“You make everything difficult.”
Daniel’s head turned from across the dance floor.
And Margaret saw him start walking toward them.
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