Rosalind’s voice trembled with panic. “Bennett Prescott’s office just declined Marlowe’s reception. Her sponsors are threatening to leave. I need you to call him. You know him.” I let the silence stretch before answering. “I do know him. He and his wife RSVP’d to my wedding three days ago.”

The line went silent. “Your wedding?” she finally asked. “In the park?” I smiled. “Mother, where do you think Bennett and half of your important guests are going that afternoon?” She had never bothered to ask where my wedding was actually taking place. She had simply heard “park” and imagined paper plates and folding chairs. “You should sit down,” I told her. “There’s something you never bothered to find out.” Then I explained where my guests were really going—and why Marlowe’s perfect celebration was about to become very empty.