Six weeks before the wedding, my phone rang. It was my father, and his voice had that clipped, businesslike tone he used whenever Melanie needed something.
“We need to talk,” he said. “Family dinner. Tomorrow night. Don’t be late.”
I should have known right then.
The restaurant he picked was expensive, the kind of place with candlelight and a wine list nobody at our table could actually afford without my help. Melanie was already seated when I arrived, arms crossed, foot bouncing under the table, staring at her phone like it owed her money. My father sat across from her, his jaw set in that stern, immovable line I remembered from every difficult conversation of my childhood.
I sat down. Nobody said hello.
“Julia,” my father started, not even bothering with small talk, “we need to talk about your wedding.”
“Okay,” I said carefully. “What about it?”
“Your sister has an opportunity,” he said, like he was announcing a business merger. “A very important launch party for her fashion brand. It has to happen on the first weekend of September. That’s the only weekend that works for the people she needs there.”
I felt my stomach tighten. “That’s my wedding weekend.”
“I know,” he said, like that fact was simply an inconvenience to be managed. “Which is why you’re going to cancel it and let Melanie use the estate for her event instead.”
I actually laughed, a short, disbelieving sound, because for a second I thought he was joking.
He wasn’t.
“You want me to cancel my wedding,” I said slowly, “a wedding I’ve spent a year planning, so Melanie can throw a party for Instagram?”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Melanie snapped, finally looking up from her phone. “It’s not just a party, Julia. This is my career. My whole brand launches that weekend. I have real press coming. Actual influencers. Your wedding is just you and Owen and like, forty of his boring friends from work. Nobody’s going to notice if it happens a few months later. My timeline is not flexible. Yours can be.”
“It’s my wedding, Melanie,” I said, keeping my voice level even as my hands started to shake under the table. “I’ve already sent invitations. I’ve paid deposits. People have already booked flights.”
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