Before I could respond, she turned to the wedding coordinator.
“I need to speak with whoever’s handling the speeches. I have something special planned for my niece.”
The coordinator looked at me questioningly. I nodded, though my chest tightened.
Victoria pulled out an envelope from her purse, thick and cream-colored.
“This is part one of my gift,” she said, waving it mysteriously. “Part two comes during my toast.”
I didn’t know then that her gift would change everything.
As guests began arriving, Victoria positioned herself near the entrance like an unofficial greeter, making sure everyone noticed her.
“Yes, I flew in from San Francisco,” I heard her tell Emma’s college roommate. “Had to push back a board meeting. But family comes first, doesn’t it?”
She intercepted our neighbors, the Johnsons.
“Oh, you know Rachel from the farmers market. How quaint. I keep telling her she could do so much more with that MBA. But some people prefer the simple life.”
David’s jaw clenched as he adjusted his tie, the one Emma had given him that said “father of the bride” in small letters. His hands, permanently etched with soil lines despite scrubbing, trembled slightly.
“Let it go,” I whispered.
“She’s doing it again,” he muttered. “Making this about her.”
The MC, a young man named Tyler, approached us looking flustered.
“Mrs. Thompson, your sister insists on giving a special toast. She says she’s cleared it with you.”
I hadn’t, but Victoria was already beside us.
“Of course it’s cleared. I’m the bride’s only aunt. I’ve prepared something inspirational for Emma.”
She handed Tyler a notecard.
“Make sure you introduce me properly. Victoria Mitchell, senior marketing director at TechNova Industries.”
Tyler glanced at me. The ceremony would start in 20 minutes. Two hundred guests were taking their seats. My father, 73 and recovering from hip surgery, was being helped to his chair by my mother. This wasn’t the time for a confrontation.
“Fine,” I said quietly, “but keep it brief, Victoria.”
She patted my shoulder condescendingly.
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