Carol Vance, Ashley’s mother, sat in the passenger seat, her chin tilted up as she stared down her nose through the glass.
Ashley sat in the back seat, already touching the string of pearls at her throat as she watched us.
“Is that Carol’s new car?” I asked.
“She needed something reliable for the winter,” Ethan said, his voice dropping as the car doors unlocked.
Inside the lobby, the air was warm and smelled of beeswax and expensive room spray.
I stood near the brass coat rack, holding my simple beige wool coat over my arm while the others gathered their things.
Carol stood in the center of the Persian rug, her voice booming through the high-ceilinged room.
“Our family associates expect an elite presentation, not a high school gymnasium potluck,” Carol said, tilting her chin up as she spoke to the young wedding coordinator.
The coordinator nodded rapidly, taking notes on a small digital tablet.
Ashley stepped closer to her mother, her fingers resting lightly on her pearls as she looked at me.
