SHE HUMILIATED THE WRONG MAID AT HER ENGAGEMENT PARTY—THEN THE MAN SHE WAS MARRYING LEARNED WHO THAT WOMAN REALLY WAS
Nothing had been chosen accidentally.
Not the flowers.
Not the music.
Not Vanessa’s dress.
Especially not Vanessa’s dress.
She had selected the deep rose silk because a fashion photographer once told her jewel tones looked better under warm lighting. She had tested three different pairs of heels against the marble floors. She knew the ballroom’s staircase would be visible behind her during the official engagement photographs, so she had insisted the floral arrangements near it be lowered by eight inches.
Vanessa understood images.
She had built her life around them.
At twenty-nine, she worked in luxury brand marketing and had spent most of her career studying exactly what made people desire things they did not need.
Sometimes Daniel wondered whether she had done the same thing with herself.
But he always dismissed the thought.
He loved her.
At least, he believed he did.
Maya had been at the estate since seven that morning.
By noon she had solved a refrigeration problem, rearranged two guest tables after a family argument nobody had warned her about, found a replacement bartender, and convinced the florist not to quit after Vanessa demanded that ninety centerpieces be adjusted because the roses looked “too open.
