Chapter 2 — The Anchor of a Memory

Griffin laughed first, mostly because he’d always needed permission from his own ego before being openly vicious.

“Still putting on a performance,” he said, adjusting his cuffs. “I told Calder that invitation was a mistake. Weddings are supposed to be about happiness, not dredging up ancient history.”

A portly man in a gray tuxedo chuckled dutifully into his napkin. A woman dripping in South Sea pearls let her gaze drop from my bare neckline to my bare ring finger, as if a woman’s whole net worth could be calculated from fabric and diamonds.

I set my glass down, aligning it with the knife. “Calder invited me,” I said, without a trace of defense. “So I came.”

My father made a faint dismissive sound. “Calder is young. Sentiment makes young men careless.”

“He’s thirty years old, Alden.”