"TheDracula vampira," Alistair announces reverently, not looking up. "Spectacular. Do you know they only bloom in high humidity and low light? They evolved to look like the face of a monkey to attract fungus gnats. The entire flower is a lie. A beautiful, elaborate lie designed to seduce an insect into doing exactly what the plant needs." He straightens up, looking directly at Catherine. "I've always found that interesting."
Catherine's left eye twitches. "Get out of the pond, Alistair."
"In a moment." He steps out, unhurried, water streaming off his shins. He accepts Preston's pocket square to dry his feet, which Preston surrenders with the expression of a man watching something he loved die. "Now. The venue." He surveys the room — the sweating guests, Rosa's ruined blowout, Jax wringing humidity out of his collar, the koi regarding them all with magnificent indifference. "I actually like this one best of the three."
"You do?" Catherine says, visibly brightening.
"Mm. The orchids are extraordinary. The waterfall has good bones. And the koi pond is an unexpected delight." He pauses, picking a damp leaf off his lapel. "However. I have just been standing in that pond for four minutes and my core temperature has risenthree degrees. I am seventy-one years old, I am in excellent health, and I am sweating through a four-thousand-dollar jacket." He looks around the group. "Max runs cold. Jax runs hot. In this humidity, within twenty minutes of the ceremony, one of them will be in cardiac distress and the other will be completely comfortable. I'll leave you to calculate which outcome is preferable for a wedding."
"The cold one would be fine," Jax offers immediately.
"You weregreen on a glass less than two hours ago," Alistair says.
"That was different."
"It was not." Alistair picks up his shoes, tucks them under his arm, and pads barefoot toward the exit with the dignity of a man who has never once been embarrassed in his life. "Veto," he calls back over his shoulder. "But do ask them if they sell cuttings. I know someone who would love aDracula vampira. He has the right temperament for it."
Catherine glares at Alistair, then turns on Rosa, her eyes blazing.
"You have vetoed the sky. You have vetoed the art. You are vetoing the flowers. What do you want, Rosa? Do you want a basement with balloons? Do you want a VFW hall with lukewarm ziti?"
"I want a venue where my boys can breathe!" Rosa steps into Mother’s space. She is six inches shorter, but she looms. "I want a place with air conditioning, chairs, and food that doesn't need a physics degree to eat. I want a wedding, Catherine, not a performance art piece!"
"This is a York wedding!" Mother roars, her voice echoing off the glass roof. A few butterflies take flight, terrified. "It is a statement of power! We do not docomfortable! We domemorable!"
"Well, heatstroke is memorable!" Jax yells, unbuttoning his collar. "I’m calling it. Code Red. Thermal compromise. I am vetoing the swamp!"
"You cannot veto the swamp!" Mother points a finger at him. "I put a deposit on the humidity!"
"I am the groom!" Jax shouts.
"I am the matriarch!" Mother counters.
The standoff is absolute. The humidity rises. A butterfly lands on Preston’s shoulder. He shrieks and bats it away like it’s a vampire bat.
"Get it off!" Preston yells. "It has legs! Why does it have so many legs?"
"Okay," Preston says, recovering his dignity and wiping his brow. "I am officially melting. My pores are screaming. We need a tie-breaker. Or an ice bath."
I step forward. I reach into my jacket pocket. I feel the bulk of the papers we printed at 04:00. The NDA. The ledger. The leverage.
But before I can pull it out, Rosa Ortiz laughs.
It is a dark, terrifying sound.
"You want memorable, Catherine?" Rosa asks, reaching into her handbag. "You want a statement?"
She pulls out a Tupperware container.
Mother freezes. "What is that?"
"Arroz con pollo," Rosa says. "Leftovers."
"Why do you have leftovers in a botanical garden?" Mother asks, horrified.
"Because I knew you wouldn't feed us," Rosa says. She pops the lid. The smell of garlic, cilantro, and roasted chicken fills the humid air, overpowering the orchids instantly.
"Put that away," Mother hisses. "You are contaminating the biosphere!"
