Page 40 of Passion and Privilege

“I suppose you’re right,” I mused. I fixed my eyes ahead, determined not to shy away. We passed under the draped canvas entrance. The full spectacle of the ceremony unfolded in front of us.

Gorgeous flowers adorned every corner. The arrangements just screamed luxury. It was all very Scott, always trying to upstage everyone else with glamorous displays he couldn’t afford. His future wife was obviously someone that appreciated putting on a show. They were a match made in heaven.

“Let’s get a drink,” Timothy said.

Chapter Eighteen

Timothy

WE MADE OUR WAY TOWARD the bar, which was situated under its own canvas. It was opulent and studded with glistening bottles of top-shelf liquor. I had attended countless parties and knew this was not cheap. I didn’t want to make assumptions, but it was evident by Catherine’s apartment and her truck she wasn’t well off. I just assumed Scott wouldn’t be either. To see all of this made me wonder if Catherine was upset about the breakup because she lost her meal ticket.

“What can I get you?” I asked her.

“White wine,” she replied, a small smile on her lips.

I ordered her wine and a scotch for myself. We both silently watched the bartender pouring our drinks, the clinking of the ice in my glass echoing the tension we both felt.

We took our drinks and looked around the tent. “I can’t believe this,” Catherine said.

“What?” I asked.

“This cannot be cheap,” she whispered. “I think I see his incentive for hooking up with this other woman.”

I felt a sense of relief knowing it wasn’t Scott that had the money. It also told me a little more about Scott. He was the money-hungry one.

As I observed the sea of unfamiliar faces at the wedding, I couldn’t help but marvel at how easily I slipped into the role of the charismatic, charming gentleman. It was a mask I’d worn countless times before. I had attended more soirees and fundraisers than I cared to count. I had gotten very good at plastering on a happy face when I was with Regina. We both knew how to work a crowd. People assumed we were the perfect, happy couple. Usually, the moment we got into the limo, the masks slipped and we argued about one thing or another.

Tonight was different. Tonight, I needed to project an image of confidence and ease for Catherine’s sake. I usually hated social gatherings like this, but I was happy to do it for her. That was a skill I had learned. I could turn on the charm and pretend I liked people for a few hours, even though I had come to realize I didn’t like most people.

During the cocktail hour before the lakeside ceremony, I mingled with the guests, effortlessly engaging in small talk. Catherine was nervous and quiet. I did my best to handle most of the talking so she wouldn’t have to. Most of the attendees were acquaintances from the bride’s side, oblivious to who we were. I had a feeling they wouldn’t be nearly as happy to be mingling with the enemy.

Talking to the bride’s friends and associates was taxing. They were just like the socialites in New York. They saw me, recognized wealth, and were eager to cozy up to me. Catherine in her designer gown and her natural beauty was also appealing to the social climbers.

Among all the women roaming under the tent, Catherine stood out. She was a rare beauty, with an aura of quiet elegance that made her shine. Despite the fact she was easily the most beautiful woman in the room, she looked uncomfortable. I did what I could to put her at ease. I wanted to shield her.

“Oh no,” Catherine groaned under her breath.

I looked in the direction she had been looking in. “Who are they?” I asked.

“Scott’s parents.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’ll handle it.”

“Catherine,” the woman said. “I’m so happy to see you. We didn’t know you would be attending.

They hugged her and then looked at me.

“This is Timothy,” Catherine said.

I shook their hands. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Catherine, we were so disappointed to hear the two of you broke up,” the mother said. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good,” Catherine said. “I’ve been staying very busy.”

“Are you still doing carpentry?” the father asked.

“I am,” Catherine said, smiling.