Called the driver.
Checked the flowers.
Found Mason’s cuff links.
Delivered Diane’s emergency makeup bag.
Confirmed the cake arrival.
But somewhere underneath all those ordinary tasks, one phrase repeated.
The story we gave her.
The rehearsal dinner was held that evening at a private country club outside Greenwich.
I wore black.
Of course.
An event coordinator handed me an earpiece and assumed I worked for the family.
Diane did not correct her.
I was moving place cards near the foyer when Olivia found me.
She was twenty-nine, with dark auburn hair and the sort of direct expression that made it difficult to hide behind small talk.
“You’re Elise.”
I looked up.
“Yes.”
“Mason’s sister.”
Before I could answer, Diane appeared.
“Elise is helping our coordinator tonight.”
Olivia looked between us.
“I know. But she’s still Mason’s sister.”
Diane gave a small laugh.
“She prefers staying busy.”
I almost admired how smoothly she did it.
Olivia looked at me.
“Do you?”
The answer sat behind my teeth.
No.
Before I could say it, Diane touched my elbow.
“The florist needs you.”
I walked away.
Ten minutes later, I felt someone watching me.
Benjamin Hale stood near the windows.
He was in his late fifties, tall, silver beginning at his temples, one hand around a water glass.
He wasn’t looking at the place cards.
He was looking directly at my face.
I turned away.
When I looked back, he was walking toward me.
“Elise?”
My body went cold.
“How do you know my name?”
He stopped several feet away.
“Olivia mentioned you.”
That explanation should have settled me.
It didn’t.
He studied my face with an intensity that made me uncomfortable.
“Forgive me,” he said. “This is going to sound strange.”
I waited.
“Do you know your biological mother’s name?”
Everything in me became still.
“No.”
His expression changed.
“What were you told?”
“That there was no family available to raise me.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
He looked toward Graham.
My father was already watching us from across the room.
Benjamin looked back at me.
“Did anyone ever mention the name Sofia Marquez?”
The name meant nothing.
Yet something about hearing it made my chest tighten.
“No.”
His hand shifted around the glass.
Then Graham reached us.
“Benjamin.”
Too cheerful.
Too fast.
“Elise, the coordinator needs you in the ballroom.”
Benjamin did not look away from me.
“I was asking her something.”
Graham smiled.
“Of course. But tonight is chaos.”
I looked at my father.
His smile did not reach his eyes.
“Elise.”