I wrapped both arms tight around the canvas grocery tote, hugging it to my stomach to protect the phone hidden inside.

All around me, the thirty guests went completely silent.

Then a woman standing by the stone fountain laughed out loud.

Two more guests joined in, pointing their champagne glasses at me.

I heard the sharp, unmistakable click of a phone camera firing over and over.

I wiped the muddy water out of my eyes.

I saw three different guests holding their expensive phones up high, filming me on my knees in the freezing mud.

“Quel désastre,” Patricia said loudly, raising her voice over the running hose.