Chapter 2
I did not throw anyone out immediately.
That disappointed Serena.
Good.
People reveal more when they think there is still room to negotiate.
I moved the reception into the lower ballroom.
Not because the evening continued.
Because I wanted everyone dry, seated, and visible.
Serena changed dresses.
I did not.
I remained in the wet black-and-cream suit.
Let them look at what they had applauded.
Adrian sat across from me.
Grant beside Serena.
The twelve guests who had raised their glasses a second time sat together.
The remaining eighteen were placed elsewhere.
No phones.
No speeches.
I started with Adrian.
“What was the toast?”
He looked toward Serena.
Wrong.
“Look at me.”
He did.
“She said after tonight people should start treating us as the next household.”
Us.
That word mattered.
“What does next household mean?”
“She said you’d still lead operations.”
“Then?”
He hesitated.
“We’d host.”
There it was.
Host.
A harmless word until attached to power.
Bellini dinners were not social decoration.
Who hosted controlled access.
Who sat beside whom.
Who received private conversations before dinner.
Who heard grievances after dessert.
Who appeared in photographs at the center.
Serena wanted the house before she wanted the organization.
“And the glasses?”
Adrian rubbed his jaw.
“She told me Grant had prepared a toast welcoming the next generation.”
“Did you approve it?”
“Yes.”
Pain.
Clean.
Simple.
“What exactly did you approve?”
“That people would raise a glass to Serena and me.”
Not to my removal.
Not to humiliation.
Maybe true.
I looked at Serena.
“What did you tell the guests?”
She said nothing.
Grant answered.
“That Eleanor had agreed to step back from family hosting after the wedding.”
I smiled faintly.
A lie built beside a truth.
I had planned to let Adrian host more events after marriage.
More.
Not all.
Not because he was heir.
Because thirty-year-old men should learn to arrange dinner without their mothers.
Grant continued.
“We said tonight would show whether the family supported the transition.”
There.
Not a toast.
A vote disguised as celebration.
“And Serena spraying me with a hose?”
His smile disappeared.
“That wasn’t planned.”
Good.
Important.
“And the slap?”
“No.”
I looked at Serena.
May you like
She had taken a political maneuver and added cruelty because she thought the room belonged to her already.
That mistake might have saved me months of subtler damage.
