*****
The morning erupted into a symphony of chaos.
Cornelia stood at the center of the grand salon.
"The lilies go on the left altar, you imbecile—not the right! And someone tell the florist those garlands are crooked. Crooked!"
She seized a porcelain vase from a footman's trembling hands and repositioned it herself, the crystal beads on her gown catching the morning light. Her fingers adjusting a ribbon here, smoothing a tablecloth there.
Every detail mattered. Every petal, every fold, every inch of this day had to be flawless.
"Hattie!" Cornelia's command echoed up the staircase. "Is she ready? We leave in forty minutes, and I will not have that girl keeping an entire cathedral waiting!"
Hattie's voice drifted down from the second floor, thin and uncertain.
"Nearly, ma'am. The hairdresser is just finishing the—"
