The way Portia mocked family traditions — how she struck the braised short ribs from the wedding menu, the dish Frederick had loved, because they “smelled like a cheap diner.” How she traded Rosalind’s favorite peonies for imported orchids, and flatly refused to wear the Ashworth heirloom pearls because they “looked like something from a funeral home.” Anything that belonged to Emerson’s roots seemed to offend her.
Chapter 5 — The Ladies’ Room
The night before, at the rehearsal dinner in Manhattan, Rosalind had overheard something she could never un-hear.
She’d been in the ladies’ room when Portia came in with her bridesmaids.
“Well, at least the old lady’s footing the whole bill,” one bridesmaid said.
Portia laughed, cold and sharp.
“There are a hundred and twenty million reasons to put up with her for one more day.”
Rosalind stood frozen behind the stall door while her future daughter-in-law talked on — how, the moment the wire cleared, she’d convince Emerson to move to London for good, and leave the old woman alone “with her dusty antiques and her stale memories.” How, if Rosalind made any trouble, a compliant physician could always be found to declare her mentally unfit to manage her own estate.
Rosalind had wanted to walk out of that stall and end it right there.
But she thought of Emerson, and of his wedding day, and she told herself to wait.