Mrs. Wellington stepped forward first. She was perfectly dressed even in chaos, pearls at her throat, hair not a strand out of place. “Miss Harrison,” she said coolly. “I don’t know what kind of stunt you’re trying to pull, but this is completely unacceptable.”
“I’m not pulling anything,” I said, evenly.
“Security teams descending on our estate,” she continued. “Turning a family wedding into a circus.”
My mother surged up from the loveseat and rushed toward me, grabbing my hands as if I was a lifeline and a threat at the same time. “Sophia,” she whispered, eyes wild, “why didn’t you tell us?”
“You didn’t ask,” I whispered back.
Clare made a small sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “You’re dating the president’s son,” she said, like she was testing whether the words would break.
Before I could answer, a new voice interrupted from the doorway. “I apologize for the disruption.”
Daniel stepped in, flanked by two agents. He wore a dark suit that made him look older than thirty, but his eyes were the same eyes I knew—sharp, amused, a little tired of being watched.