The security guard at the front gate glanced at my invitation and then at my dusty car.
“Deliveries and staff use the south road,” he said dismissively.
“I am not staff,” I replied calmly.
He snorted and pointed anyway. I could have called the wedding planner and corrected him instantly but I remembered Alyssa begging me during our last phone call. “Natalie please do not make a scene this weekend.”
So I drove down the muddy service road and parked behind the catering trucks. By the time I stepped out my shoes were covered in mud.
Inside the mansion a tall man with silver hair stepped out of a study holding a glass of whiskey. His name was Charles Montgomery, Bradley’s father. He looked at me once and assumed everything about me in a single glance.
“You are just the help so learn your place and take this trash to the dumpster,” he said loudly while pushing a dripping garbage bag against my chest.
Guests nearby laughed softly.