He tapped his spoon against the champagne glass twice and the room went quiet for him, because rooms had always gone quiet for Crawford Whitlock. He spoke about legacy, then pointed at me and told a hundred and ninety guests that I had spent three years manipulating his son, that I was a gold digger marrying up. My mother, who taught high school mathematics in Kamloops for thirty one years, put her hand over her mouth. Emmett slammed the table and told his father to get out of his wedding.
I told Emmett it was fine, walked across the hardwood in my ivory dress, and held out my hand. Crawford gave me the pen and said smart. I signed my full name on his document without arguing a single line of it, and he snatched it back looking triumphant, and then I took the microphone out of his other hand.
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