My mother said I should stay in the kitchen during the wedding photos—only until the “important guests” were gone. I didn’t mention that for the past year I had been dating a man whose arrival required a presidential security sweep. Then the security team cleared the main hall.

“They are seating me in the back and excluding me from photos because Serena is marrying into a prominent family,” I said, forcing the words out. “They’re worried I’ll embarrass them.”

“So your family is hiding you,” Christian said, his voice turning quieter.

“It’s just family drama,” I said, instantly regretting my minimizing tone. “It’s not yours to deal with.”

“It becomes mine when it hurts you,” he insisted. “I’m coming to the wedding as your date.”

“Christian—”

“The Secret Service needs to coordinate with local security anyway if I’m going to be in the area,” he cut in. “And you should be in the photos because you should be celebrated as family.”

“This is going to cause a scene,” I said, as that was the thing my family feared most.

“Good,” Christian replied, and I could hear a smile that wasn’t entirely gentle. “See you Friday.”

He hung up before I could argue myself into acceptance. Friday afternoon, I drove to my parents’ house in Maryland, passing trees that were beginning to turn in the crisp air.

The neighborhood was exactly as I remembered, with trim lawns and a kind of quiet that felt like a warning. My mother opened the door with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.