"What have you done?"
"Mother—"
"Do you have any idea — anyidea— what that looked like? In front of the Harringtons? The Caldwell family? Your father's partners? You said another woman's name at the altar, Dominic. At thealtar."
"It was a mistake."
"It was a disaster. Roland is in there right now trying to keep Philip Caldwell from leaving, and the Harringtons' daughter has already posted something on Instagram — do you understand what this does to us?"
"Why was she even here?" Dominic's voice came out harder than he intended. "You told me the March name was poison. You told me to end it. And then you invite her to my wedding?"
His mother's eyes narrowed. "I didn't invite Jacqueline March. I invited David Reeves. His family's fund is co-investing with your father on the Harbor Point development — Roland's been cultivating that relationship for over a year. David brought his wife, because that's what people do at weddings, Dominic. I wasn't going to call the man's office and tell him to leave his spouse at home because my son can't keep his composure."
"You could have warned me."
"Warned you?" Her voice dropped to a whisper that cut deeper than shouting. "I didn't think I needed to. The March scandal was years ago. Jacqueline goes by Reeves now. She's not radioactive anymore — she's a guest's plus-one at a wedding you were supposed to be focused on. I didn't warn you because it shouldn't have mattered. She shouldn't have mattered."
Nothing about Charlotte.To us. To the family. To the brand.Dominic heard it and didn't flinch because he'd grown up in a house where personal crises were assessed by their public impact. A broken engagement wasn't a broken heart. It was a communications problem.
"I'll fix it," he muttered.
"How, exactly? How do you plan to fix the fact that everyone just watched you humiliate that girl?"
"She overreacted. If I can talk to her?—"
His mother’s hand came up. One finger, raised. The gesture that had silenced him since childhood. "She did not overreact.She reacted. There's a difference, and the fact that you can't see it tells me everything I need to know about how we got here." She smoothed the front of her jacket. "Your father built relationships with these people over decades, Dominic. Decades. And you've just made us a punchline."
She straightened his tie. The gesture was automatic, maternal, and completely devoid of warmth. "Find that girl. Fix this. Marry her or don't, but contain the damage by the end of the week." She turned and walked back toward the ballroom.
Dominic stood in the service corridor under the fluorescent lights. His phone buzzed. A text from Maxwell:Now people are asking if they should leave. What do I tell them?
He typed back:Tell them to go. Cancel the reception. I'll handle the rest.
He tried Charlotte again. Voicemail. He left a message this time, keeping his voice even, controlled. "Charlotte. I know you're upset, and I understand. I need you to know that what happened was a mistake — a slip. It doesn't change anything about how I feel about us, about this marriage. We can still do this. Please call me back so we can talk."
He hung up. Listened to the message back in his head.We can still do this.Like a deal that had stalled. Like a negotiation that needed one more round.
He walked back into the ballroom. It was nearly empty now, a few stragglers collecting purses and jackets, the hotel staff hovering uncertainly near the flower arrangements. The altar was still set. The candles were still burning in their glass hurricanes. The peonies were starting to wilt at the edges.
Charlotte's vows were on the floor. The folded paper, blue ink, slightly smudged. She must have dropped it when she turned to leave. He picked it up. Held it.
He didn't open it. He already knew what it said. He'd heard every word, standing three feet away from her while she cried,laughed and gave him everything she had. He'd stood there and received it like a man accepting a quarterly report. Noting the content, appreciating the effort, filing it for review.
I choose you, Dominic. Today and tomorrow and every day I'm lucky enough to get.
He put the paper in his jacket pocket. He’d give it back to her when she calmed down. When he explained. When this was fixed.
Maxwell was waiting by the side door. Jacket off, sleeves rolled up.
"Did you reach her?" Maxwell asked.
"Not yet. She'll call back."
Maxwell was quiet for a moment. "Dom. I need to say something and you're not going to like it."
"Then don't say it."
"She's not going to call back."
