“The caterer’s setting up a portrait station under the oak trees.”

“That sounds wonderful,” I said.

“Patricia insisted on the priciest champagne, but I made sure they’ll be serving those little crab cakes you like,” she said.

She smiled sweetly and cocked her head.

“I even told the staff to set a special plate at your table,” Vanessa said.

That flatly contradicted what the server had told me the day before about the security list.

I didn’t point out the lie.