The front door opens, and we both look up.
My father walks in, briefcase in hand, already loosening his tie. He barely glances at the explosion of wedding planning covering his dining table.
“Adora,” he says by way of greeting. Then, to Clara, “You must be the wedding planner.”
“Clara Andretti.” She stands, extending her hand with professional polish. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Montoni.”
He shakes her hand perfunctorily. “I trust my daughter is in good hands.”
“The best,” Clara assures him.
“Good, good.” He’s already moving toward his study, clearly not interested in details. “You handle it, Adora. You’re the bride. Just don’t embarrass the family.”
His casual disdain burns. “I thought we were doing this together.”
He pauses at the door to his study. “You don’t need me for cake tastings and flower arrangements. Just make it appropriate for the families attending. You know what’s expected.”
The door clicks shut behind him.
I stare at the closed door, a bitter taste in my mouth. This is the man who controlled every aspect of my life for twenty years. Now that I actually need him, he can’t be bothered.
“Well,” Clara says brightly, her voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “That gives us carte blanche, doesn’t it? No one to second-guess our choices. We can make this wedding exactly what you want.”
Clara is looking at me with sympathy in her eyes.
“Yes,” I say, forcing a smile. “Let’s make it spectacular.”
We spend another hour going through options. Clara shows me photos of several historic mansions on the outskirts of Malus that could hold two hundred guests with room to breathe. The kind of venues that scream old money and elegance without being cold.
“Any of these three would be perfect,” I tell her.
“Excellent choices.” She makes a note. “I’ll reach out to them today about availability. With your timeline, we’ll need to move quickly.”
My timeline made Clara’s eyes widen in shock when I told her. Three weeks until the wedding. Three weeks to get a murder confession out of my father. It’s roughly the amount of time I expect Dashamir to wait before he starts revving up his chainsaws.
Clara packs up her materials, sliding photos and fabric swatches back into her leather portfolio case. “I’ll send you a proposal by tomorrow with detailed breakdowns of everything we discussed. We’ll need to schedule a cake tasting, and of course, dress shopping.”
“Actually,” I say impulsively. “I have a booking at a boutique. My friend Lucy and I were planning to go together, but if you’re available, I’d love your input.”
She beams at me. “I’d be honored. Just text me the details.”
As she heads for the door, she pauses.
“Miss Montoni?” Her voice is quieter now, more personal.
“Call me Adora, please.”
“Adora.” She glances at the closed door to my father’s study. “You’re going to be a beautiful bride, and I’m going to make sure you have the wedding you deserve.”
She doesn’t know the full truth, but she understands enough, and her words matter to me.
“Thank you,” I say. “Really.”
After she leaves, I pull out my phone.
Wedding planning is done for today. How are you feeling?
Vincenzo’s response comes almost immediately.
