Vivian went pale so quickly her spray tan looked painted on.
“You’re lying,” she snapped.
I bent down, picked up a torn corner of the check, and pressed it into her shaking hand. “Call them.”
My mother gasped. “Claire, stop this.”
I turned to her. “You watched her humiliate me.”
“She’s stressed.”
“She’s cruel.”
Vivian’s fiancé, Daniel, appeared at the far end of the hallway, boutonniere crooked, jaw tight. “What’s happening?”
Vivian rushed to him, tears appearing on cue. “Claire is sabotaging us. She’s jealous because no one wants to look at her today.”
Daniel looked at me with his usual lazy contempt. “Pay the bill, Claire. Don’t make this ugly.”
I almost laughed.
For two years, I had watched him wear fake watches and real arrogance. He called himself an entrepreneur, which really meant three failed apps, one rented sports car, and a talent for convincing Vivian that debt was ambition.
“You should talk to your bride,” I said. “She just banned me from the photos I paid for.”
Daniel smirked. “Maybe she has standards.”
READ MORE ON THE NEXT PAGE..
