Iris took his hand.
“I need to finish this in my own way.”
Richard studied her.
Then nodded.
“I’ll be there.”
She squeezed his fingers.
“I know.”
The ceremony took place at five.
It was beautiful.
There were flowers, music, sunlight moving through the windows, and the soft rustle of expensive clothes as guests rose to watch Iris enter.
Adrian stood near the officiant.
He smiled when he saw her.
For a moment, he seemed genuinely overwhelmed.
Iris walked toward him beside her father.
She looked composed.
Almost serene.
No one watching could have known that her handbag contained a carefully prepared folder of legal correspondence and that several directors had received confidential briefings concerning a financial investigation earlier that week.
She reached the front.
Richard placed her hand in Adrian’s.
Adrian leaned toward her.
“You look incredible.”
She smiled.
“Thank you.”
He squeezed her fingers.
The ceremony began.
Iris listened to the words.
Commitment.
Respect.
Trust.
Promises.
She had helped choose them.
For a moment, she almost laughed.
Not because the situation was amusing.
Because the contrast between the language and the reality was so complete.
When the officiant asked whether she accepted Adrian as her husband, Iris looked at him.
She could still stop everything.
She could tell the guests the ceremony was cancelled.
She could leave.
She imagined doing it.
Then she looked toward Celia.
The emerald dress was visible near the front.
Celia sat beside the investors, her hands folded carefully in her lap.
Iris turned back.
She had made her decision.
The ceremony continued.
The reception began shortly after six.
Champagne circulated through the ballroom.
A photographer took formal portraits.
Guests admired the flowers and complimented the food.
The lake beyond the windows reflected the fading evening light.
Adrian seemed delighted.
He greeted directors.
Embraced old friends.
Shook hands with investors.
Several congratulated him on becoming part of the Whitmore family.
He accepted their compliments with practised modesty.
At the VIP table, Celia watched.
He approached her briefly while Iris was speaking to relatives.
Their conversation lasted less than a minute.
He leaned toward her.
“You look beautiful.”
She smiled.
“You shouldn’t say that.”
“Why?”
She glanced toward the room.
“Because you’re married.”
Adrian laughed softly.
He touched the back of her chair.
“Relax.”
Then he moved away.
Celia watched him return to Iris.
For a moment, she felt an unexpected surge of anger.
He appeared to move between the two women without any visible cost.
Each believed, or had once believed, that she occupied the centre of his private life.
Celia looked down at her bracelet.
The diamonds glittered beneath the chandeliers.
She suddenly wanted to take it off.
She did not.
At seven forty-five, the master of ceremonies announced the speeches.
Richard spoke first.
He welcomed the guests, remembered his late wife, and thanked everyone who had helped establish the new charitable foundation.
He spoke warmly about Iris.
He mentioned Adrian’s achievements at Whitmore Meridian.
Then he offered a toast.
The guests applauded.
Adrian stood and embraced him.
For a moment, he felt exactly what he’d wanted for years.
Recognition.
Belonging.
Authority.
He looked across the ballroom at the investors.
Several smiled.
He imagined the next board meeting.
The equity discussions.
The announcements still to come.
Then the master of ceremonies invited Iris to speak.
She rose slowly.
A champagne flute in one hand.
The other resting lightly against the table.
Adrian smiled up at her.
She returned the smile.
It was warm enough to reassure him.
She walked toward the small stage.
The room quieted.
Iris placed her champagne on the lectern.
Adjusted the microphone.
Looked out across the assembled guests.
Then began.
“Today is a very special day.”
Her voice was clear, measured, and affectionate.
A few guests smiled.
Adrian leaned back in his chair.
Iris continued.
“Getting here has required an extraordinary amount of work. Anyone who’s ever planned a wedding knows that even the smallest decisions can become surprisingly complicated.”
There was a little laughter.
She smiled.
“And Adrian has certainly been busy.”
He raised his glass.
Several guests chuckled.
Iris looked toward her husband.
“Not just with our wedding, of course. He’s also been working very hard to persuade my father to transfer a forty-per cent interest in our expansion business to him.”
The laughter faded.
Adrian’s smile remained.
But his eyes changed.
Iris allowed a small pause.
“It takes ambition to organise a wedding while negotiating a transaction of that size.”
A few people shifted in their chairs.
Richard sat still at the family table.
Naomi watched Iris without moving.
Adrian leaned slightly forward.
Iris continued with an almost affectionate smile.
“And it takes remarkable time management to maintain such an extraordinary schedule.”
She lifted her glass.
“Which brings me to someone who deserves special recognition.”
Her gaze moved toward the VIP table.
Celia felt a cold sensation move through her chest.
Iris smiled directly at her.
“Celia Hart.”
Several people turned.
Celia sat straighter.
Iris continued.
“Adrian’s executive assistant. A wonderfully dedicated member of his team.”
Adrian set down his glass.
“I’ve learned that Celia has worked tirelessly to make sure Adrian’s personal arrangements were taken care of.”
Iris glanced toward the guests.
“Every Wednesday afternoon, for example.”
A faint murmur moved through the ballroom.
Celia’s fingers tightened around her champagne flute.
Iris looked back at her.
“The hotel bookings. The gifts. The carefully managed calendar.”
Adrian rose halfway from his chair.
