As guests began standing and moving toward the cocktail-hour location, the stranger from my row approached me. Up close, he was even more striking, with intelligent gray eyes that seemed to see more than they should.
«That was quite a view, wasn’t it?» His voice carried a hint of amusement.
«Spectacular,» I replied dryly. «I especially enjoyed the back of that gentleman’s head in row eight, very photogenic.»
He laughed, a genuine sound that made something in my chest loosen slightly. «I’m Julian, and I’m guessing from your prime seating assignment that you’re either someone’s least favorite relative, or you insulted the wedding planner.»
«Elizabeth. And I’m the bride’s sister, actually.»
His eyebrows rose, surprise crossing his features. «Her sister? And they put you back here?»
«Apparently I’m not part of the wedding aesthetic.»
Julian studied me for a moment, and I had the distinct impression he was seeing far more than my bitter humor. «Well, that’s their loss. The cocktail hour is about to start, and I have a feeling it’s going to be just as awkward as the ceremony. What do you say we face it together?»
«You don’t have to pity me. I’m fine.»
«It’s not pity. It’s strategic alliance. I’m here as a plus one for my business associate who couldn’t make it, which means I know exactly three people at this wedding, and two of them are the couple who just got married and won’t remember I exist. So really, you’d be doing me a favor?»
There was something genuine in his offer, something that made me want to say yes despite my wounded pride. Before I could respond, he extended his arm in an old-fashioned gesture. «Shall we?»
I hesitated for only a moment before linking my arm through his. Together we walked toward the cocktail hour, and for the first time since arriving at this wedding, I didn’t feel completely alone.
The cocktail hour was held in a spacious pavilion overlooking the lake. Round tables were scattered throughout, each topped with more flowers and candles. A bar dominated one wall, and servers circulated with trays of appetizers that looked almost too beautiful to eat.
Almost. As a pastry chef, I had strong feelings about food as art, and whoever had catered this event knew their craft. Julian stayed close as we navigated through the crowd.
People clustered in small groups, conversations buzzing with the pleasant energy that comes with free-flowing champagne and the happiness of a wedding celebration. Several guests glanced our way with curiosity, probably wondering who the handsome stranger was and why he’d attached himself to the bride’s invisible sister.
We found a quiet table near the edge of the pavilion. Julian returned from the bar with two glasses of wine and a plate of appetizers he’d somehow convinced a server to compile for us.
«So,» he said, settling into the chair across from me. «Tell me about your sister. What’s she like when she’s not starring in the wedding of the century?»
I took a sip of wine, considering how to answer. The truth felt too raw, too revealing. But something about Julian’s steady gaze made me want to be honest.
«Victoria is perfect. Or at least, she’s always worked very hard to appear perfect. Good grades, good career, good relationships. She’s the daughter every parent dreams of having.»
«And you’re not?»
«I’m the daughter who became a pastry chef instead of a doctor or lawyer, who lives in a small apartment instead of a house with a mortgage, who dates occasionally instead of landing a pharmaceutical director with excellent prospects. I’m the disappointment, the one who didn’t follow the script.»
Julian selected a crab cake from the plate and considered my words. «Being a pastry chef sounds creative and challenging. Not everyone can master that craft.»
«Try telling my mother that. She still introduces me as ‘Elizabeth, who works with food,’ like I’m flipping burgers at a fast food chain.»
«Family dynamics can be complicated.»
«That’s a diplomatic way of saying my family is dysfunctional.» I grabbed a stuffed mushroom, suddenly ravenous. I’d been too nervous to eat earlier. «What about you? What do you do that landed you an invitation to this event?»
«I work in renewable energy consulting. My company helps businesses transition to sustainable practices. Boring technical stuff that makes people’s eyes glaze over at parties.»
«That doesn’t sound boring at all. It sounds important.»
«Thanks. Most people just want to know if I can get them a deal on solar panels.» He smiled. «But there was something guarded in his expression. I was supposed to be here with my colleague Dominic. He’s the one who actually knows the groom through some business connection. But he came down with pneumonia last week, and I got voluntold to represent our company.»
«So we’re both wedding crashers in our own way.»
«Survivors of inadequate seating arrangements, at least.»
We talked through the cocktail hour, and I found myself relaxing despite the circumstances. Julian was easy to talk to, asking questions that showed genuine interest rather than polite small talk. He wanted to know about my favorite desserts to make, about the challenges of working in a professional kitchen, about why I’d chosen pastry over other culinary paths.
I asked him about his work, about the satisfaction of helping companies reduce their environmental impact, about the frustrations of dealing with clients who wanted change but weren’t willing to do the hard work to achieve it. He spoke passionately about renewable energy, about creating systems that could sustain future generations, and I found myself captivated by his enthusiasm.
«You really believe in what you do,» I observed.
«Is that so surprising? Most people at my sister’s wedding seem more interested in appearing successful than actually being passionate about anything.»
Julian’s expression shifted, something calculating entering his eyes. «You notice a lot for someone who was sitting behind a pillar.»
«When you’re invisible, you learn to watch people. It’s amazing what you see when no one knows you’re looking.»
A server approached to announce that dinner was being served in the main ballroom. Guests began flowing toward the entrance, and Julian stood, offering his hand. «Ready to see if your seating assignment for dinner is any better?»
It wasn’t. The reception hall was gorgeous, decorated with what must have been thousands of dollars’ worth of flowers and lighting. Long tables were arranged in a U-shape, with the head table elevated slightly on a platform where Victoria and Gregory would sit with their wedding party.
Place cards directed guests to their assigned seats. I found my name at a table in the far corner, positioned so that I’d need to crane my neck awkwardly to see the head table. The chairs around me were empty, suggesting I’d been placed with the overflow guests, the people who had to be invited, but didn’t quite fit anywhere else.
Julian appeared at my elbow, his own place card in hand. «Interesting. I’m at the end of the room, almost like someone wanted to make sure the unimportant guests were spread out so we wouldn’t cluster and make the seating chart look unbalanced.»
«This is ridiculous.» The words came out sharper than I intended, frustration finally breaking through my careful composure. «I’m her sister, her only sibling, and she’s treating me like I’m some distant acquaintance she felt obligated to invite.»
«You know what? Screw the seating chart.» Julian plucked my place card from the table and pocketed it along with his own. «Come on.»
«What are you doing?»
«Improvising. Just follow my lead and pretend you’re my date.»
Before I could protest, he guided me toward a table much closer to the head table, one clearly designated for important guests. He pulled out a chair for me, his hand warm on my back as I sat, and then settled into the seat beside me with the confidence of someone who belonged exactly where he was.
«Julian, we can’t just—»
«We can, and we did. If anyone asks, there was a mix-up with the seating assignments and we’re fixing it ourselves. Trust me.»
The table filled quickly with guests who seemed to know each other well. They were Gregory’s business associates, I gathered from their conversation, people from the pharmaceutical industry who spoke in acronyms and trade terms I didn’t understand. They greeted Julian with familiarity, calling him by name, and he responded with easy confidence that suggested he knew exactly who they were.
A woman named Patricia, who introduced herself as the vice president of operations at Bennett Health Solutions, smiled warmly at me. «And you must be Julian’s girlfriend. He’s been keeping you a secret.»
I opened my mouth to correct her, but Julian smoothly interjected. «Elizabeth prefers to stay out of the spotlight. She’s not one for corporate events, usually, but she made an exception for this wedding. How sweet.»
«And how do you know the bride and groom?»
«Elizabeth is Victoria’s sister, actually.»
Patricia’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. «Oh, I had no idea Victoria had a sister. She never mentioned it during any of our meetings about the wedding arrangements.» Her smile faltered slightly, as if realizing how that sounded. «I mean, I’m sure it just never came up in conversation.»
«I’m sure,» I replied, keeping my voice neutral, even as the comments stung. My sister had worked closely enough with Gregory’s colleagues to plan aspects of this wedding, and she’d never once mentioned having a sister.
Dinner was served in courses. Each plate more elaborate than the last. Seared scallops gave way to a fresh salad, then a choice of beef tenderloin or herb-crusted salmon.
The food was exceptional, but I barely tasted it. I was too aware of Julian beside me, of the way he played his role as my date with convincing ease. His hand occasionally touched my shoulder or back in small gestures that looked casual but felt intentional.
He included me in conversations, deferred to my opinions, made me feel visible in a way I hadn’t felt since arriving at this wedding. Between courses, Gregory’s father stood to give a speech. He talked about his son’s accomplishments, about how proud he was to welcome Victoria into their family, about the bright future ahead of the young couple.
He mentioned how Victoria had brought joy and sophistication into Gregory’s life. How she was exactly the kind of woman he’d always hoped his son would marry. My mother stood next.
Her speech was shorter but no less effusive. She spoke about Victoria’s childhood, about her daughter’s determination and grace, about how she’d always known Victoria would achieve great things. She talked about the wedding planning process, about mother-daughter shopping trips and cake tastings and all the precious moments they’d shared.
She didn’t mention me once, not even in passing, not even to acknowledge that Victoria had a sibling. It was as if I’d been edited out of the family history entirely. I felt Julian’s hand find mine under the table, his fingers intertwining with mine in a gesture of support.
I squeezed back, grateful for the anchor. Then came the best man’s speech, full of jokes about Gregory’s bachelor days and heartfelt sentiments about finding true love. The maid of honor followed with stories about Victoria’s perfectionism and her romantic nature, about how she’d always dreamed of a fairytale wedding.
I waited for someone to mention me, to acknowledge my existence in even the most minimal way. But speech after speech passed, and my name never came up. I was the ghost at the feast. Present, but unseen.
Dessert was served. A elaborate tiered creation of chocolate and raspberry that looked impressive, but lacked the depth of flavor it should have had. The ganache was too sweet, the cake layers too dry.
