Page 47

The Carter-Bennett wedding is exactly as ostentatious as I'd expected. The historic mansion is draped in thousands of twinkling lights, with white roses and peonies erupting from every conceivable surface. A string quartet plays something suitably romantic but forgettable near a champagne fountain.

I smooth down the front of my dress—the deep green number that is my favorite out of all the dresses Charlie bought me—and try to look like I'm completely comfortable watching my ex-boyfriend marry my ex-friend.

"How are you doing?" Charlie murmurs, his hand reassuring against the small of my back. He looks unfairly handsome in his charcoal gray suit and I’m so proud to be with this incredibly gorgeous man.

"Absolutely," I lie, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing server. "Just taking in all the...exuberance."

Charlie snorts softly. "Bit much, isn't it? I think I saw an ice sculpture of the happy couple making out by the appetizer station."

"You're kidding."

"Only slightly." His fingers gently rub my back, and I lean into the touch. "Oh, heads up. Three o'clock. My parents."

I follow his gaze and spot Bill and Beverly Astor making their way toward us. Bill is in a dark gray suit very similar to Charlie’s. Bev is a study in understated wealth—champagne silk dress, a single strand of pearls, and the kind of perfect blonde bob that requires weekly maintenance.

"Tess," Beverly says, genuine warmth in her voice as they reach us. "It's been too long. I’ve been bugging Charlie daily for you two to come to dinner."

"Mrs. Astor," I reply, accepting her brief embrace. "It's good to see you."

"Beverly, please. We're well past formalities." She holds me at arm's length, taking in every inch of me. "You look lovely. Doesn't she look lovely, Bill?"

"Indeed she does," Bill says, shaking my hand firmly.

Charlie slides his arm around my waist, a gesture that doesn't go unnoticed by his mother, whose perfectly shaped eyebrows rise fractionally.

"I always thought you two would make a lovely match," Beverly says while Bill nods in agreement. "Do you remember when you played at our anniversary party, Tess? Charlie couldn't take his eyes off you."

"Mom," Charlie warns, and I’m surprised to see him redden slightly.

I feel a blush warming my cheeks as well. "I remember being terrified I'd miss a note in front of all those important people."

"You were flawless," Beverly assures me. "And now here you are together. Life has a funny way of circling back, doesn't it?"

Before I can respond, a burst of applause draws our attention to the center of the garden. Hank and Kiley have arrived after pictures, looking like they stepped out of a wedding magazine. My stomach twists uncomfortably. Hank looks happy, confident—exactly as I remember him, except now that happiness is directed at someone else. Someone who was supposed to be my friend.

Charlie's hand tightens slightly on my waist, and I realize I've gone rigid beside him. I force myself to relax, to breathe.

"Dad, didn't you mention you were looking for a new piece for your office? Tess has amazing taste in art. Maybe she could give you some recommendations."

Bill, bless him, picks up the cue without missing a beat. "I would welcome that. The current piece is something the interior designer chose. Looks like someone sneezed paint onto canvas."

I laugh, grateful for the distraction. "Abstract expressionism isn't for everyone."

"It's not the abstract part I mind, it's the expressionism that looks like a color wheel had a seizure." Bill launches into a detailed critique of modern art that feels deliberately designed to keep me engaged and not thinking about the newly married couple.

Charlie exchanges a look with his mother that I can't quite interpret, but Beverly nods almost imperceptibly and says, "I need to say hello to Margaret Weston before she thinks I'm avoiding her.”

Charlie takes my empty champagne glass and heads to the bar to get both of us refills.

As Bill and I continue to talk about art, I smell the familiar scent of Kiley's perfume—vanilla and sandalwood—before I seeher. She appears at my elbow in a cloud of white tulle and lace, her wedding dress a confection of beading and appliqué.

"Tess," she says, her voice artificially bright. "I didn't expect to see you here."

I straighten my spine, summoning every ounce of poise I've developed from years of performing under pressure. "Kiley. Congratulations."

"Thank you." Her smile is as fake as her blonde hair. "I'm surprised you came, considering...well, you know."

"I'm here with Charlie Astor," I say, gesturing to where Charlie is now making his way back toward us, having spotted the encounter. "His family has business connections with the Carters."