“You’re far too poor to be here,” my future daughter-in-law hissed, her perfect white teeth barely moving as she smiled for the benefit of anyone who might be watching.
“The invitation was a courtesy, Eleanor. Surely you understand that someone like you doesn’t belong at Chateau Belmare.”
The champagne flute trembled in my hand as Alexandra Thornfield—Lexi, as she insisted everyone call her—adjusted the Cartier bracelet on her slender wrist and cast a dismissive glance at my navy-blue dress. I’d bought it specially for this occasion, stretching my modest budget because I wanted to look appropriate for my only son’s engagement party.
“I don’t understand,” I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.
“William wants me at his wedding. I’m his mother.”
Lexi’s laugh was like broken crystal—sharp, brittle, dangerous.
“William wants to advance in my father’s firm. William wants the connections my family provides.
William wants the life I can give him.”
She leaned closer, the scent of her five-hundred-dollar perfume suffocating me.
“What William doesn’t want is his shabby little mother embarrassing him in front of everyone who matters.”
I searched the crowded ballroom for my son, finally spotting him across the room, deep in conversation with a silver-haired man I recognized as Lexi’s father. William looked so handsome in his tailored suit, so at ease in this world of wealth and privilege—a world I had sacrificed everything to help him reach.
“I don’t believe you,” I said, straightening my shoulders. “I need to hear this from William.”
Lexi’s perfectly manicured hand gripped my wrist with surprising strength.
“Don’t make a scene, Eleanor.
It would be so undignified.”
Her eyes, cold as January frost, met mine.
“The wedding is in three weeks. You’ll receive a lovely gift basket and photos afterward. William agrees it’s for the best.”
The room seemed to tilt beneath me as the meaning of her words sank in.
My own son had agreed to ban me from his wedding—the boy I had raised alone after Robert died, working my fingers raw to restore paintings that museums couldn’t afford to send to bigger conservation studios.
The child for whom I’d declined positions in New York and Chicago, staying in our small town so he could have stability and consistency.
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