Chapter 5 - THE WHISPERS AT TABLE ONETable one was positioned directly beneath the main chandelier, granting the occupants prime view of the bridal party and ensuring that every whisper directed their way carried across the room.
The other guests at the table—two prominent venture capitalists and their wives—attempted polite conversation for the first ten minutes, throwing sideways glances at Nathan as if he were an exotic animal that had somehow escaped the Columbus zoo.
“So, Mr. Cole,” trilled Mrs. Harrington, a woman whose diamonds looked heavy enough to fracture her collarbone. “Which country club do you play at? Muirfield? Or something more... exclusive?”
Nathan cut into his roasted duck with steady, unhurried precision. “I play at the municipal park on Ninth Street, Mrs. Harrington. The greens are bumpy, and you have to dodge stray dogs, but the hot dogs at the turn are honest.”
Mrs. Harrington blinked, her fork freezing mid-air. Her husband gave a dry, condescending chuckle. “Ah, grassroots recreation. Very charming. I suppose some people prefer authenticity over luxury.”
“Luxury is just rent you pay to impress strangers,” Nathan replied without looking up. “Give me a quiet backyard and a garden hose any day of the week.”
Adeline sat beside him, sipping her champagne, a genuine, unscripted smile touching her lips. For the first time in her adult life, she didn't feel the need to defend her position, her wealth, or her choices. Nathan’s absolute indifference to their social posturing was a shield thicker than any corporate defense fund she had ever built.
Across the room, Julian kept glancing over from the head table. His face was flushed, his conversation with his bride interrupted by repeated, paranoid assessments of table one. He could see Adeline laughing—truly laughing—at something Nathan murmured to her.
It was a sound Julian hadn't heard in the seven years since he broke her heart.
“You’re enjoying this, aren't you?” Adeline whispered, leaning slightly toward Nathan so her hair brushed his shoulder.
“I’m being paid twenty thousand dollars to eat duck and watch insecure men sweat,” Nathan whispered back, his eyes twinkling. “Of course I’m enjoying it. My daughter’s college fund just got a major down payment.”
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Adeline felt a sudden, electric jolt race down her spine. There was no artifice in him. No hidden agenda. Just a man who loved his daughter and understood the brutal arithmetic of survival.
Before she could answer, the room’s lights dimmed. The best man stood up, clinking his spoon against a crystal glass to signal the start of the toast.
