My husband of over thirty years heads straight for the limo.

"Gary, Gary, where are you going?" I whisper-scream at him. "This can't be us."

He half-turns and flashes me the smile that stole my heart all these years ago, and still makes me weak at the knees. If every dentist had a smile like Gary, maybe people wouldn't dread their next appointment. "It has our name on it, Tracey, and Bryn said there'll be a car waiting for us at the airport."

"A car, Gary, not this behemoth." It's a gorgeous shade of black—because some shades of black look more expensive than others, and nobody can convince me otherwise—stupid-long, and just oozes the air of luxury far above Bryn and Matteo's budget. "I'm sure our sedan is hiding somewhere behind this monster!"

"Let me interrupt you for a second, sweetheart." Gary does effectively that with his smile. "Do you or do you not see the card with our name in this vehicle's window?"

Oh, it's there. And not some piece of cardboard with Williams scribbled on it with a black marker. The sign is glossy-white of the best paper and the font is elegant, but readable. Maybe one of Bryn's industry friends—

No. This has to be some mistake!

"We have such a common surname, Gary. Have you forgotten the mix-up on the cruise—"

The limo's door swings open to let out a woman in a blue, almost certainly a bridesmaid's, dress. Who waltzes around in the off-the-shoulders gowns with floofy skirts and lace nowadays?

"This isn't like the cruise, Tracey."

"Or that time in New York?"

"In New York, it was perfectly explicable."

The likely bridesmaid sets her sights on us. Her eyes would have matched the dress, if the designers nowadays weren't so afraid of being boring. As a result, the eyes are cloudless sky-blue, and the dress has a mauve tint, muddying the color. Her dull brown hair also dampens the striking figure she cuts. Call me crazy, but it seems purposeful. Though why a woman would belittle herself in our day and age, I have no idea.

"Gary! Tracey!" The woman advances with her arms outstretched. "Welcome!"

She absolutely, unmistakably, looks at us and flags the limo as our transport. "Hop in and let's go! Bryn and Matteo are dying to see you."

"What were you saying about a mix-up?" Triumph in Gary's voice is as mellow as the crinkle around his eyes.

"Oh, Gary!" I throw my arms up in surrender.

The driver of the limo discreetly exits the car and gathers our luggage. There's nothing for it, but climb into the limo after he resumes his seat behind the wheel.

"Fine, fine. You were right. But I have a bad feeling about all this," I whisper into Gary's ear as I do so. "Like this is a dream."

"Could it be because you spent the last decade worrying so much that Bryn will never get married, you convinced yourself it can't happen?"

"Oh, Gary!"

The limo's interior is all about understated luxury with two car seats looking more like a leather loveseat, and a longer couch along the side. All leather, naturally, in some incredible shade of gray.

Gary cozies up to me on the loveseat with a chuckle. "Haven't ridden in one of these since our wedding. We should do it more often, eh?"

When this all proves to be a hoax... "God, a wedding can't be a hoax, can it?"

My mumbling earns me a strange twitch of our handler's lips. Half-smile, maybe, when there's nothing amusing about the idea of a fake wedding.

"Never!" she says. "Particularly for Matteo and Bryn. I've never seen a couple work so hard to get married, and that includes myself."

"That's very nice of you to say." My lips pinch involuntarily. I love my daughter, I really do, but I wonder sometimes if she can focus for long enough to get married. Before Matteo came along, she couldn't even focus on staying in a relationship for over a month. And Matteo, frankly, he's too good to be true, and it scares me.

The more wound up I feel, the more the other woman relaxes. She even stretches on the couch, showing off the stiletto heels long enough to impale someone.

"So, how do you know Bryn, my dear? Sorry, I didn't catch your name...?"

"Lilah." The woman offers me a firm handshake. "I worked with Bryn on a project before the pandemic, and we hit it off from there."

The handshake and the explanation are fine, but I can't help but notice a hint of amusement flickering through Lilah's eyes. And something else, that's gone in a second.

"I had no idea!" My exclamation is hardly a lie. Ever since that ill-fated trip to France, Bryn's been drifting away from us.

I used to think it was the trauma, after some lowlife had assaulted her, and her refusal to see our counselor... then she met Matteo, and that was it. She never listens anymore, never shares, and they're getting married. It's all a natural part of growing up, I know. Still, something is weird here.

Oh, who am I kidding! It's Matteo. Matteo is weird. I can never put my finger on anything specific—and Gary loves to point this out. He also loves to say that their age gap wouldn't have raised an eyebrow back in our time. However in my heart's of hearts I know that Matteo is an odd one.

"You have a wonderful daughter," Lilah says, interrupting my musings. "And the wedding is going to be beautiful."

Yes, and that's why we have done no planning together, no photographs before the event, not even a measly rehearsal.

As if reading my mind, Lilah adds, "Even though they wanted it very casual, after the pandemic."

The conversation hushes after this. Beyond the limo's windows, the rolling landscapes of Sonoma's wine country are a balm to my troubles mind. Minutes trickle away effortlessly, and either optimism or resignation roots in my heart. Maybe it's going to be okay. Uh-huh, and maybe the pigs will take to the sky.

The limo's ride is smooth even when we turn off the main road with a temporary, giant sign that says Bryn and Matteo in the same fancy script as on our name tag. So, at least some guests are arriving under their own steam. I hate to think about how much they splurged on our limo already.

The way the windows in the limo look out, I don't see the scale of the venue till we're rolling to a stop by a grand entrance surrounded by gardens. It's September, so the blooms are vigorous and bright, but it's not the undeniable beauty of the place that stops my heart.

"Gary," I hiss, "Gary. Whatever happens next, let's keep together and maintain our dignity. I finally figured out what's happening." And I'm going to have words with Bryn as soon as we're out of the earshot of whoever is filming us.

"You're going to kill yourself with your fretting," Gary says with a sigh. "The newlyweds will not be pleased."

"Gary, listen to me." I clutch his shoulder, desperately trying to get through to him. "It's obviously some dumb reality show, otherwise Matteo and Bryn couldn't have afforded this... castle!"

"Matteo said the business was picking up."

"I'm not doing their accounts, of course—"

"Is this what it's about? Do you still feel snubbed when they refuse your services?"

"No!" Yes. "He can't possibly afford this as a small business owner."

"Sure, it's far more likely that they are pranking us with a wedding." My husband has always been a skeptic, and I love it about him, but now he's going overboard.

I groan. "Believe what you wish. Just do me a favor and act dignified. I don't want to become the laughingstock of the nation!"

"Tracey, if it'll make you feel any better, I promise not to say something horrible on hidden camera."

Gary can tease me for acting paranoid all he wants, but when it all goes up in smoke, I want to be ready to be there for my family. The sooner we get over his denial, the better.

Outside, Lilah dazzles me with a smile, the last thing I need, since my head is already spinning.

She sweeps this Californian attempt to put Versailles to shame with a light wave of her hand.

"It's amazing that Bryn and Matteo got this place for bargain-basement prices. The new owner just inherited it and was cash strapped for the renos."

"They didn't spare the expenses."

"You have no idea! The piping, the cellar, the roofing!"

Actually, I have a solid idea. A long column of numbers on a ledger pops into my head. After twenty years as an accountant, I think like that, inflow versus outflow. The bill to spruce up a place this large and old—glorious fifties, I think—can't be balanced without aggressive marketing and sky-high prices passed on to the customers.

In short, Lilah is lying through her teeth. But, the hidden cameras are probably watching, so I pull on a smile, instead of confronting her. "Let's go inside. I can't wait to join the bridal party."

"Of course! It's a big day for all of us." She extracts a phone from a tiny clutch and taps something in. "Ilya will be here in a second to take you to the men-cave, Gary."

"Oh, no need! I can find my way around and I'll take in the luggage—"

The mighty doors of the mansion open to release a blond giant. He—Ilya, I presume—grins lazily. "You're injuring me. Guests don't carry luggage." And he has a dog's hearing. What a guy!

Gary quibbles. "All we have are overnight bags, nothing more. I'm perfectly fit to take them."

Ilya flexes his shoulders, reflexively, I guess. "Absolutely, but let's not sweat the small things. Come, come." He literally draws Gary into his orbit, and both depart already chatting like two great friends.

"Can any man pass on a dick measuring contest?" I mutter.

Lilah laughs. "Not this one, Tracey. Never this one."

"Is he the owner?" I doubt it. Ilya looks a bit too laid back for someone struggling under the weight of loans in the current economic climate.

"Nope." Lilah's nose wrinkle in distaste. "Just... one of Matteo's friends."

"Oh."

"And my brother."

When I look closely, I see the resemblance around the eyes and in the shape of her mouth. Yes, these two are related.

"Shall we?" Lilah asks after the pause stretches a little too long.

"If you insist." The swept gravel crunches under my feet before I step on a single step leading up to the oak doors. If they had a grand staircase, the building would absolutely be called a palace.