Chapter 6 - The Exit Strategy
The grand hallway of Bellweather House was blissfully quiet.
Most of the wedding guests had migrated to the garden terrace or the hotel bar, congregating in tight, nervous clusters to whisper about the catastrophic meltdown that had just unfolded at the head table. Several elderly aunts in pastel dresses looked away quickly as I walked past, while a few younger cousins gave me looks of unmasked awe.
As I approached the grand exit doors, the venue manager intercepted me with a sympathetic, deferential nod.
“Mrs. Bennett, do you require transportation? Our private car service is at your disposal.”
“Thank you, Arthur,” I said, using his first name for the first time. “I’d appreciate a ride back to my hotel downtown.”
“It’s already waiting at the portico,” he replied smoothly. “And regarding the remaining balance on the account—”
“Process the security deposit refund to my primary card, and charge every remaining vendor fee, overtime charge, and cleaning penalty directly to the credit card Ethan registered during the rehearsal dinner,” I instructed, stepping out into the cool Richmond night air.
Arthur’s eyebrows rose in silent appreciation. “That card has a fifty-thousand-dollar limit, Mrs. Bennett. Are you certain?”
“Completely,” I said, pulling my cashmere wrap tighter around my shoulders. “Let my son learn what a wedding actually costs when he’s the one footing the bill.”
The private black sedan glided silently up to the front steps. Arthur opened the door for me, shielding my head with his hand as I slid into the luxurious leather interior.
As the car pulled away from Bellweather House, I leaned my head against the cool window glass and watched the twinkling lights of the estate fade into the distance.
My phone buzzed inside my clutch.
Missed call: Ethan.Missed call: Ethan.New Text Message (Ethan): Mom, please answer. Marissa is crying hysterically and the caterer is refusing to serve dessert without your signature. Where are you?!
I stared at the glowing screen for three seconds.
Then, with a steady hand, I tapped the icon, opened my settings, and blocked his number.
May you like
I did the same to Marissa. And to her mother. And to her father.
For the first time in thirty years, my phone stopped buzzing.
