Valerie’s face changed. It was like watching paint peel off a wall. The soft, grieving, elegant bride disappeared. Underneath was someone sharp and pale and furious.
“That belongs to me,” Valerie snapped.
Grandma smiled without warmth.
“No,” she said. “That belongs to my daughter. And the truth belongs to Chloe.”
Dad lunged for the box. “Eleanor, this is not the time.”
Grandma stepped back.
“You had eleven months of time.”
Everyone at the engagement dinner stared. Valerie’s friends. Dad’s coworkers. The wedding planner. Two of Dad’s cousins I barely knew. All of them looked confused and uncomfortable, but none of them dared interrupt.
Dad’s face had gone gray.
“Chloe,” he said, turning to me like I had caused this by existing. “Go to your room.”
I looked down at my cast, then my boot, then back at him.
“I can’t exactly run there.”
A few people shifted awkwardly.
Valerie hissed, “Don’t be dramatic.”
Grandma turned her head slowly toward her.
“Say that again.”
Valerie’s mouth closed.
Grandma took the paper from the ring, unfolded it, and held it out to Dad.
“Read it.”
Dad shook his head.
“No.”
“Then I will.”
“Eleanor.”
Grandma’s voice rose.