“Paige can send over our project timeline on Monday morning,” Caroline said, touching the silver chain at her throat.

“Excellent,” Arthur said, nodding respectfully before turning back toward the main terrace.

“We’ll speak again before lunch.”

Grant stood on the stone walkway as Arthur and the developers walked away toward the wedding party.

The terrace grew quiet as a string quartet began playing near the rose archway.

Grant didn’t move toward the bride’s table or join Sloane at the front terrace railing.

He stood motionless beside the copper beech tree, staring across the lawn at his ten-year-old son, Ellis, who returned his gaze with his thumb resting against his jacket seam beneath his navy velvet bow tie.