“Table twenty-two is not where you stay.”

I folded the paper once, slipped it back beside the silver stars, and pulled the zipper shut.

At three o’clock, forty minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to begin on the lower lawn, I walked down the carpeted corridor toward the bridal suite at the country club.

The heavy oak double doors were closed.

A printed card hung from the brass lever reading Private Event.

I turned the lever quietly and stepped through the doorway.