Chapter 2 - The Bowl of Sauce
Four days earlier, I had walked into my parents’ dining room thinking I was attending a family dinner.
I should have known better when I saw twelve place settings.
My aunt Cynthia was there. My cousin Noah and his wife were there. Owen’s parents were there. Two of Brielle’s bridesmaids sat near the end of the table pretending not to stare at me.
Brielle sat beside our mother, wearing a red silk dress and her engagement ring like a weapon.
I had barely taken my seat when my mother said, “We’re so relieved you came.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Nobody answered.
That was my second warning.
Dinner started normally. Salad. Bread. My father talking about golf. Owen’s mother asking me about work.
Then Brielle put down her fork.
“We need to settle Thursday.”
I looked at her. “There’s nothing to settle.”
Her smile tightened. “Please don’t do this in front of everyone.”
“You invited everyone.”
My aunt shifted in her chair.
Mom reached for my hand. “Delaney, sweetheart, your sister is under tremendous stress.”
“I offered her twenty-five thousand dollars for flowers and photography.”
Brielle snapped, “This isn’t about money.”
“No. It’s about my house.”
Owen turned toward her. “Wait. I thought Delaney had agreed.”
Brielle’s eyes flicked to him for half a second.
That was the first moment I realized Owen did not know the truth.
“She’s being difficult about details,” Brielle said quickly.
I leaned back. “No. I said no to hosting your wedding.”
Silence dropped across the room.
Owen’s father frowned. “But the invitations—”
“Were sent without my permission.”
Brielle slapped her palm against the table. “You have an eight-million-dollar house sitting there like a museum.”
“It’s my home.”
“For one day.”
“You want Friday setup, a Saturday ceremony, Sunday brunch, two hundred guests, fireworks, valet parking, a catering tent, a dance floor, and dinner inside my house.”
Mom whispered, “You can afford it.”
I stared at her. “That is not the point.”
Brielle laughed without humor. “Of course it is. You always have to remind everyone that you earned everything yourself.”
“I didn’t bring that up.”
“You don’t have to. You walk into a room and make everyone feel small.”
Owen said her name softly. “Brielle.”
She ignored him.
“You’re my sister,” she said. “You’re supposed to want me to be happy.”
“I do. At a venue that agreed to host you.”
Her face changed.
The anger was instant, hot, almost childish.
“Then don’t expect me to treat you like family.”
I looked at her and smiled.
“Gladly.”
Someone inhaled sharply.
Brielle stood so fast her chair scraped the floor. Her hand closed around the serving bowl between us.
Owen said, “Brielle, don’t—”
Too late.
Marinara sauce hit me across the face, shoulder, and cream silk blouse.
The bowl struck the table and shattered.
Nobody moved.
Sauce dripped from my chin.
My mother whispered, “Oh my God.”
I did not scream. I did not wipe my face. I did not give Brielle the scene she clearly wanted.
I stood.
I looked at Owen first.
He looked sick.
Then I looked at my parents.
Neither of them moved toward me.
That hurt more than the sauce.
I picked up my purse.
Brielle’s breathing was hard and fast. “You’re really leaving?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll regret this.”
I stopped at the doorway.
“No, Brielle. I think you will.”
My phone began exploding before I reached my car.
But one message was not from family.
May you like
It was from a Charleston event planner I had never met.
Hi, Delaney. I need to confirm the property access schedule for your sister’s wedding. We have your signed authorization on file.
