“We have five hours left on the contract,” I said. “I would like to go in now.”
The double doors to the ballroom were heavy oak, polished to a high shine that caught the glare of the brass wall sconces. When I pushed them open, the sheer size of the empty space hit me like a cold draft.
Eighty-five gold-rimmed chairs stood tucked beneath ten round tables draped in ivory linen. The floral centerpieces of white roses and baby’s breath sat in the center of each table, perfectly arranged and completely ignored.
At the far end of the room, near the kitchen doors, Eli Bennett stood holding his wooden clipboard flat against his chest like a shield. He adjusted his black bow tie as I walked toward the center of the room, his white shirt spotless under the bright lights.
“Good evening, Madison,” Eli said, his voice slow and deliberate, carrying none of the pity I had spent the last three hours dreading.
“Can we still do this, Eli?” I asked, stopping near the empty dance floor where Tyler and I were supposed to have our first dance. “Or did they throw everything out?”
Eli set his clipboard on a side table. “Loretta has been keeping the ovens warm since five. We don’t waste food here.”
“Even if it is just for me?”
“Especially if it is for you,” Eli said. “I will be your server tonight. Why don’t you take a seat at the head table?”
The head table was twenty feet long, decorated with white roses and gold foil initials on the paper napkins. I pulled out the middle chair and sat down, the heavy satin of my wedding dress rustling in the quiet room.
Frank remained near the lobby doors, looking at the high ceilings and the massive crystal chandeliers. “I might wait in the van, Maddie. My knees are acting up with this damp air, and I don’t think I have much of an appetite.”
“Are you sure, Dad?” I asked.
“I will be right outside,” he said, rolling his cap again. “Call me when you are ready.”
When the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind him, the silence of the room settled over my shoulders like a weight.
Eli returned a few minutes later carrying a silver tray with a white linen napkin draped over his arm. He set down a plate of miniature crab cakes and a small round of baked brie wrapped in golden puff pastry.
The scent of warm butter and garlic filled the small space around my chair, cutting through the sterile smell of the polished wood floor.
“Loretta made a fresh batch of the apricot jam for the brie,” Eli said, pouring ice water into my glass from a heavy crystal pitcher.
“Thank you,” I said, picking up a silver fork. “It looks beautiful.”
“Your mother-in-law, or the lady who was going to be, came by the kitchen yesterday morning,” Eli said, his eyes scanning the empty tables.
I stopped with the fork halfway to my plate. “Mrs. Miller was in the kitchen?”
“She told Martin the brie was too common for her guests,” Eli said. “She spent twenty minutes trying to get us to swap it for imported truffles.”
I remembered how Tyler’s mother had spent eighteen months criticizing every detail of this venue, from the gravel driveway to the brass fixtures. She had wanted a country club in Louisville, somewhere her wealthy friends from the historical society regularly gathered, rather than a renovated manor house in Lexington.
“She wanted everyone to think Tyler was marrying into a different kind of family,” I said, the realization settling into my chest. “She never liked this place because it didn’t cost twice as much.”
“We don’t do truffles here,” Eli said quietly. “But Loretta knows how to cook.”
He picked up his clipboard and walked back toward the kitchen doors, leaving me with the food. I took a bite of the crab cake, which was crisp and warm, exactly the way Tyler and I had planned during our tasting in January.
In the kitchen, the swinging doors pushed open, and the smell of roasting garlic and rosemary drifted out into the hallway. Loretta James stood by the stainless-steel prep table, wiping her hands on her flour-dusted apron.
