Twenty-Five
The wedding venuewas a sprawling Victorian that had been converted into an event space sometime in the last decade. Weather permitting, the ceremony would take place outdoors, and the reception dinner would be in the large ballroom, which could spill out onto the grounds if anyone needed fresh air, a cigarette, or a bit of privacy.
Luckily, the day was sunny and warm, a small miracle this time of year. It could have gone either way.
White chairs stood in neat rows on a manicured lawn, divided by a center aisle lined with flower arrangements and bows that matched the cocktail napkins. A floral arch marked the spot where the officiant would stand, its frame wrapped in white roses and greenery that someone had probably spent hours arranging. String lights crisscrossed overhead, strung between tall wooden posts, dormant now but waiting for dusk to do their job.
It was, objectively, a beautiful setup. The kind of thing that looked effortless in photographs but required approximately 900 hours of labor to achieve.
Kelly's mother was the manager of that labor. Ben spotted her almost immediately, moving between the arch and the flower arrangements with the focus of a general surveying a battlefield. She adjusted a bow on one of the bouquets, stepped back, frowned, and adjusted it again.
"There’s Mom," Kelly said beside him, her voice low. “I don’t see Dad yet.”
"She looks busy."
"She's been busy since Celia got engaged. Fourteen months of busy. I think she's forgotten how to stop."
Ben watched as Mrs. Bateman intercepted a caterer carrying a tray of glasses and redirected the woman back inside with a series of rapid hand gestures. The caterer nodded and changed course without argument. Smart woman.
“That's Uncle Gary," Kelly said, nodding toward a heavyset man in an ill-fitting suit who was helping himself to a pre-ceremony drink at the bar. "Dad's brother. He'll be drunk by the first dance. And the woman next to him in the green dress is his third wife. We think. He might not have divorced the second one."
"You think?"
"Nobody asks Uncle Gary direct questions. It's safer that way."
She pointed out a cluster of women near the entrance to the mansion.
"Those are Mom's sisters. Aunt Linda, Aunt Jean, and Aunt Carol. They travel as a pack. If one of them approaches you, smile and say you love Bergen. That's all they need to hear. They’re actually really nice people.”
Ben filed this information away with the same attention he'd once given to shareholder briefings. Different context, similar stakes. One wrong word at a family event could follow you for years.
"And that's Trevor's family on the other side," Kelly continued, gesturing toward a group near the floral arch. "His aunt, his uncle, and his grandmother, who may or may not fall asleep in that chair."
Her tone was light, but Ben caught the undercurrent. Kelly was serving as a tour guide to keep herself busy and stay one step ahead of the anxiety that came with being here. She looked good. She'd gone back to the condo that morning to change while Ben returned the hotel room key, and she'd chosen a simple navy dress that fit her well. Her auburn hair was down, falling past her shoulders in loose waves. If she was tired from last night, she hid it better than he did.
Who am I kidding? She’s gorgeous.
Ben was reaching for something else to say, something neutral about the flowers or the weather, when he felt Kelly's posture change beside him. A subtle stiffening, a slight turn of her head. He followed her gaze across the garden.
David Bateman stood near the bar, a glass of something amber in his hand, watching them. Not approaching, not waving. Just watching. He wore a dark suit and an expression that Ben recognized from the rehearsal dinner. Measuring. Assessing. Cataloging every detail for later use.
Kelly's voice, when she spoke again, had lost its casual lightness.
"He's staring.”
"I noticed."
"He does that. Watches people. Keeps score."
Ben resisted the urge to stare back. Instead, he adjusted his jacket and turned his attention to the row of white chairs, heading to their assigned seats. Third row, left side. Kelly’s mother had been very clear when she’d met them at the door. They needed to sit where she wanted them and nowhere else.
"Let him watch," Ben said. "We're here for Celia."
Kelly nodded, but her jaw was set in a way that suggested she was already bracing for whatever her father might say next. Ben understood. He'd spent the morning preparing himself for exactly this. Not the wedding itself, which was straightforward, but the family dynamics that surrounded it like a minefield disguised as a garden party.
The assigned seating arrangement placed Ben and Kelly directly next to Rob and his wife.
Rob was already seated when they arrived, his medium frame filling the white folding chair with the confidence of a man who believed every room improved with his presence. His wife Lisa sat beside him, a pleasant-looking woman with brown hair and a patient expression that suggested long practice at being married to Rob Bateman. She smiled warmly at Kelly and Ben as they settled in, then returned her attention to the program she was reading with what seemed like genuine interest.
