“I know. I’ll deal with the legal part afterward. But I’m ending it.”
I waited for Ashley to apologize.
Instead, she looked around the hall at the staring guests, at the hole gouged in her cake, at the photographer lowering his camera.
And she exploded.
I waited for Ashley to apologize.
“Do you have any idea how much money I’ve spent making this wedding perfect?”
Daniel studied her for a long moment.
“Apparently,” he said, “not enough to pay Grandma.”
Ashley’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Not a sound.
Then she gathered up her skirts, turned on her heel, and stormed out through the barn doors, veil snapping behind her like a flag.
“Not enough to pay Grandma.”
The 150 guests watched in silence.
The cake sat beside my table, tall and ivory and wounded, with a big crater in its middle where my brother’s spoon had gone in.
