Joan and I stood among the guests, masks covering our faces, watching Gwendolen walk toward the ceremonial platform in her red veil—arm in arm with Rhys Gilbert.
Rhys stood at the altar in his tailored tuxedo, going through the motions with his mind clearly elsewhere.
Beneath the red bridal veil, Gwendolen's smile stretched so wide it nearly split her face.
Joan leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I can't wait to watch Gwendolen and Janet tear each other apart. Nothing more entertaining than watching dogs fight over scraps."
I raised my glass, watching the newlyweds on stage—each harboring their own agenda—and clinked it lightly against hers.
"Patience. The real show's about to begin."
