The boys immediately found the dessert table.

I had barely set down my clutch when Eleanor appeared.

Her expression had recovered.

Mostly.

“Olivia.”

“Eleanor.”

Her eyes moved toward my children.

“What have you done?”

“I attended the wedding.”

“Don’t play games.”

“I’m not.”

“Who are they?”

Liam turned around with half a macaron in his hand.

“We’re her sons.”

Eleanor’s face became absolutely still.

Then Ethan entered.

I saw him before he saw me.

Dark tuxedo.

Silver cuff links.

Slightly older.

More tired.

Still devastatingly familiar in ways I resented.

A groomsman said something to him.

Ethan smiled.

Then looked across the room.

Saw me.

Stopped.

Saw Liam.

His smile disappeared.

Noah.

His face drained.

Caleb.

He dropped the champagne glass in his hand.

It didn’t break because it landed on carpet.

He started walking.

Not quickly.

Almost mechanically.

As though his body had forgotten how movement worked.

“Olivia.”

My chest tightened.

I had imagined this moment in dozens of versions.

In some, I screamed.

In others, I slapped him.

In one particularly satisfying fantasy, I told him he’d lost the right to know anything.

Instead I said nothing.

His eyes moved from Liam to Noah to Caleb.

“How old are they?”

“Five.”

Ethan closed his eyes.

Across the pavilion, people were pretending not to stare.

Phones appeared discreetly.

Then Caroline Hastings entered from the staircase.

She was already dressed for the ceremony.

Ivory silk.

Cathedral veil.

Diamonds at her throat.

She was beautiful.

Not in the fragile way magazines described political daughters.

She looked sharp.

Watchful.

“What is happening?” she asked.

Eleanor grabbed my arm.

“You need to leave.”

I looked down at her fingers.

Then up.

She released me.

Caroline looked at Ethan.

“Do you know these children?”

Ethan couldn’t answer.

Eleanor did.

“This is a stunt.”

“No,” I said.

Her voice rose.

“This woman has a history of instability.

Whatever performance she has arranged—”

“Stop.”

I didn’t yell.

I didn’t need to.

The quartet stopped playing.

Conversations died.

I reached into my clutch.

And Eleanor’s expression changed.

Recognition.

Fear.

At that exact moment, Marcus Hale walked through the main entrance.

Dana Cho beside him.

Dana carried a sealed document envelope.

Eleanor stepped backward.

The enormous LED screen behind the wedding dais suddenly went black.

Then white letters appeared.

MONTGOMERY FAMILY — CONFIDENTIAL RECORDS

A gasp moved through the room.

Ethan stared at the screen.

“What is this?”

I looked at my sons.

Then at Eleanor.

“The truth.”

I connected my phone to the microphone.

Eleanor moved toward me.

“No.”

Marcus stepped between us.

“Mrs.

Montgomery.”

She froze.

I pressed play.

Five-year-old audio filled the pavilion.

My own younger voice came first.

Are you threatening me?

Then Eleanor.

Clear.

Calm.

Unmistakable.

I’m educating you.

The room changed.

Eleanor’s recorded voice continued.

If a child were ever involved, Montgomery children remain Montgomerys.

Guests stared.

Caroline slowly turned toward her.

Then came another piece.

One I had almost forgotten.

If you ever became pregnant, Olivia, the smartest decision you could make would be to inform me before Ethan.

We could arrange something civilized.

A murmur swept the room.

Ethan’s head snapped toward his mother.

“What?”

Eleanor said nothing.

The recording continued.

You don’t have the money to fight this family.

Then my younger voice.

And if Ethan disagrees with you?