Chapter 4 - THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM
Saturday morning arrived with a blinding, cloudless blue sky.
By 8:00 a.m., the house was an absolute madhouse. Hair stylists, makeup artists, caterers, and florists ran through the corridors. The smell of hairspray, expensive perfume, and dark espresso filled the halls.
My sister was in the master bedroom, surrounded by her bridesmaids, drinking champagne in personalized silk robes.
I dressed Olivia in her room.
The dress I had chosen for her was not a flower girl gown—Chloe had made it clear no flower girls were needed—but it was beautiful. It was a soft, pale rose-gold cotton dress with delicate tulle layers that caught the morning light, paired with tiny white leather shoes and a thin velvet ribbon in her hair.
When I finished brushing her hair, she turned around, her dress fanning out in a tiny circle.
"Do I look like a cousin?" she asked innocently.
My heart broke fresh all over again. "You look better than a cousin, my love. You look like you."
I dressed myself in a simple, elegant dark navy wrap dress. No fuss, no drama, no bright colors to draw attention. I looked composed, professional, and entirely calm.
At 1:30 p.m., thirty minutes before the guests were scheduled to arrive, my mother knocked on my bedroom door.
She stepped inside, looking striking in an emerald green silk dress, though her face was pale with nervous energy.
"Clara," she said, looking at me, then at Olivia sitting on the bed reading a picture book. "The guests are starting to park down the lane. Madame Laurent is waiting down at her cottage. I told her you would drop Olivia off around 1:45."
She pulled an envelope from her purse and laid it on the dresser. "Here is fifty euros for her fee. I added extra so she can buy Olivia an ice cream at the cafe later."
I didn't pick up the envelope. I didn't even look at it.
"Madame Laurent won't be needing that, Mom," I said smoothly, standing up and adjusting my navy dress in the mirror.
My mother stopped adjusting her pearl necklace, her eyes locking onto mine in the reflection. "What are you talking about? The ceremony starts at two."
"I know when the ceremony starts," I said turning around to face her. "And Olivia is coming with me."
My mother’s face went completely blank for two seconds before flushing a deep, mottled red. "Clara, we discussed this! Your sister explicitly requested—"
"My sister requested that I not bring a distraction," I interrupted, my voice as calm and cool as deep water. "Olivia will not be a distraction. She will be sitting quietly with her mother. If Chloe has a problem with her niece sitting in the back row of a public garden during an outdoor ceremony, she can come tell me herself before she walks down the aisle."
"You are going to ruin her day!" my mother hissed, stepping closer, her voice dropping into a fierce, panicked whisper. "She will see her from the arch! She will be furious!"
"If seeing a four-year-old child sitting quietly in the back row ruins my sister’s marriage, then that marriage is built on paper towels, Mom," I replied coldly.
"You are being monstrous!" my mother spat out, the mask slipping completely. "You are doing this out of spite because Julian left you!"
I didn't flinch. Six months ago, those words would have sent me into a tailspin of tears and self-doubt. Today, they landed like dry leaves against armor.
"Julian left me," I said, looking my mother straight in the eye. "And it was painful. But do you know what he didn't do? He didn't make me abandon my child to keep up appearances for a room full of strangers. That seems to be a family specialty reserved entirely for you and Chloe."
My mother gasped, taking a step back as if I had slapped her.
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"Now," I said, reaching down to pick up my small clutch bag and taking Olivia’s small hand in mine. "If you'll excuse us, we are going to walk down to the garden before all the good seats are taken."
I walked past her out of the room, my heel clicks sharp against the floorboards, holding my daughter’s hand firm and steady in mine.
