Boston Mother Cancels Twenty Two Million Dollar Wedding Gift After Morning Betrayal
I took my place in the front pew on the right, the polished wood cold against my gloved hands.
Mrs. Gable, Victoria’s mother, sat three feet away in a drape of violet silk.
Her throat was adorned with three strands of cultured pearls.
She turned her head slowly, her eyes wide as she took in my appearance.
“Beatrice,” she murmured, leaning closer across the wooden barrier. “We were told you were unwell this morning.”
“Victoria was quite frantic,” she added.
“A minor headache,” I said, offering a tight, polite smile. “Nothing that a brisk walk could not cure.”
“Well, you look absolutely radiant,” she said, her voice dripping with the polite insincerity of Beacon Hill.
“That silver shade is very striking,” she added. “Is it a new cut?”
“A slight adjustment,” I said.
“It makes you look so distinguished,” she whispered, her eyes lingering on the neat part of the silver hair. “Though Victoria was convinced you might miss the service entirely.”
“I would not miss my only son’s wedding for anything,” I said.
Under the heavy mesh of the wig, my raw scalp began to itch and burn.
