“Have you confirmed the date with the caterer?” I asked.

“Easter Sunday at three in the afternoon,” Samuel said.

“The formal invitations specify a private estate dinner in Valle de Bravo.”

“Don’t put a return address on the outer envelope,” I said.

“Just the gold crest and each guest’s name in black ink.”

Samuel picked up one of the blank ivory envelopes and turned it over in his hands.

“When Doña Victoria sees this crest, she’ll assume you rented a small dining room for an afternoon to put on a show,” Samuel warned softly.

“She’ll bring the whole family just to laugh at you.”