Chapter 5 - The Eve of Destruction
By Thursday afternoon, the weather had turned bitterly cold.
Reid had called my phone twenty-seven times. I hadn't answered once. Instead, I sent him a single text at noon: *I will see you at the rehearsal. Make sure your parents bring the signed gift deed for the down payment.*
It was the carrot he needed. Reid’s father, Richard Montgomery, had promised a half-million-dollar deed toward our prospective home in Lake Forest as a wedding gift, payable upon the execution of the marriage license. Reid was greedy enough, and desperate enough, to believe that my silence meant capitulation. He assumed Eleanor had successfully beaten me into submission.
At 4:00 p.m., I arrived at the bridal suite at The Grandview Ballroom.
The room was a sea of tulle, ivory silk, and champagne bottles chilling in silver buckets. Mom was already there, wearing an emerald-green silk sheath dress, barking orders at the venue coordinator about the placement of the floral arches.
When she saw me walk in, wearing a sharp, tailored black pantsuit instead of the cocktail dress she had laid out for me, her eyes narrowed.
"Brooke. Why aren't you dressed? The hair stylists have been waiting for forty minutes."
"I'll do my own makeup, Mom," I said, hanging my garment bag on the rack.
Mom dismissed the coordinator with a flick of her manicured wrist and strode over to me, grabbing my elbow and pulling me toward the mirrored dressing room.
"You look like you're attending a funeral," she whispered harshly. "Reid told me you didn't answer his calls all night. Did you see Sloane?"
"I saw her."
Mom's fingers dug deeper into my coat sleeve. "And?"
"And she understands her role. Just like I understand mine."
A visible wave of relief washed over Eleanor’s features. The tension in her shoulders melted, replaced instantly by that smug, triumphant condescension I had endured my entire life.
"I knew you would come to your senses," she murmured, patting my cheek with a cold, ring-adorned hand. "You've always been the sensible one, Brooke. Practical. Sloane is fragile. She doesn't have your strength. When this is over, you will see that I did what was best for all of us. You get a husband with a sterling career, Sloane gets a clean slate, and your father’s business remains intact."
"And the sixty-four hundred dollars?" I asked quietly.
Mom waved her hand dismissively. "I’ll wire it back into your personal checking on Monday morning from my household allowance. It’s pocket change, Brooke. Don't be petty."
*Pocket change.*
Three months of my life, saving every penny while packing lunches and skipping dinners with friends, dismissed as pocket change.
"Go put on your dress," Mom commanded softly. "The guests are arriving downstairs. Reid's father just parked his car. Let's make this seamless."
I looked at my mother’s reflection in the three-way mirror. Behind her, resting against the wall, was the massive fifty-inch multimedia screen the venue used for the traditional "Childhood Memories" slideshow that the bride and groom typically showed before dessert.
May you like
"It will be completely seamless, Mom," I said. "I promise you."
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