Amelia thought things had settled after the meeting with the wedding planner. She believed Arielle had finally accepted that she and Dean wanted a small, intimate wedding. But three weeks later, she started to notice little things that didn’t add up.
It began with a phone call she overheard late at night. Arielle’s voice drifted through the hallway when Amelia visited the mansion to drop off Sophie for the weekend.
“Yes, I think the ballroom should hold at least two hundred,” Arielle said softly. “No, three hundred is too much… but we can manage two. Yes, gold accents, white orchids, and a full string ensemble…”
Amelia froze at the bottom of the stairs, her hand gripping the banister. A ballroom? Two hundred guests? White orchids?
Her mother had promised her she’d back off.
She didn’t confront her right away. Instead, she went home that night, pacing the living room while Dean watched her from the couch, holding his coffee mug.
“You okay?” he asked finally.
“No,” she said, sitting down beside him. “I think Mom’s up to something.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”
“I overheard her talking about a ballroom,” Amelia said, throwing her hands up. “A ballroom, Dean. She’s planning some massive thing behind our backs.”
Dean set his mug down. “Let me guess. She thinks she’s helping.”
“Helping?” Amelia stared at him. “She’s taking over.”
Dean leaned back, calm as ever. “I’ll talk to her.”
“No,” Amelia said quickly, shaking her head. “If you confront her, she’ll just get defensive. I need to handle this myself.”
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The following week, Amelia’s suspicions were confirmed. Clara called her one afternoon, whispering into the phone like she was hiding in a closet.
“Amelia,” Clara said, “I was at the mansion today and overheard Mom talking to the wedding planner.”
Amelia straightened. “And?”
“She’s going big,” Clara whispered urgently. “Like… huge. They were looking at floral budgets that made my eyes water. She’s already booked a designer for your dress.”
“What?” Amelia nearly dropped her phone. “I haven’t even looked at dresses yet!”
“That’s not the worst part,” Clara continued. “She put a deposit down for the ballroom at the Clarendon Hotel.”
Amelia’s jaw dropped. “She what?”
“She’s calling it a ‘just-in-case reservation,’” Clara said grimly. “But we both know her.”
Amelia rubbed her forehead, her frustration growing by the second.
“Are you going to talk to her?” Clara asked.
“I don’t have a choice,” Amelia said, grabbing her car keys. “This has to stop.”
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When Amelia arrived at the mansion, she found Arielle sitting in the study with Seraphine Hart, the wedding planner, reviewing mood boards and floral arrangements spread across the desk.
“Mom,” Amelia said sharply, stepping into the room.
Arielle glanced up, smiling brightly. “Sweetheart! We were just—”
“Planning my wedding without me?” Amelia cut in.
Seraphine looked up briefly, then politely closed her tablet and excused herself. “I’ll leave you two to talk,” she said smoothly before slipping out of the room.
Arielle sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Amelia, darling, you’re overreacting.”
“Overreacting?” Amelia stared at her in disbelief. “You booked a ballroom. You hired a dress designer. You’ve been planning every detail like I don’t even exist.”
Arielle waved a hand dismissively. “I’m just preparing options. That’s all.”
“Options?” Amelia’s voice rose. “You’re making decisions without even asking me!”
Her mother’s expression softened, but her tone stayed firm. “Amy, this is your wedding, yes. But it’s also a family event. It’s an opportunity to bring people together. You’ll thank me later.”
Amelia shook her head, feeling the frustration boiling over. “No, Mom. I won’t. Because this isn’t what I want.”
Arielle hesitated, clearly taken aback. “You’re serious.”
“I’ve always been serious,” Amelia said, her voice trembling slightly. “I want a small, intimate wedding. Seventy-five people. Maybe less. No ballroom, no orchestra, no five-star gala.”
There was a long silence before Arielle finally sighed. “I just want it to be perfect for you,” she said softly.
Amelia exhaled slowly, her anger cooling slightly. “Perfect for me means simple. Can you trust me on that?”
Arielle studied her for a long moment, then nodded reluctantly. “Alright. I’ll… scale back.”
Amelia crossed her arms. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” Arielle said, though her tone carried a trace of reluctance.
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Later that night, Amelia told Dean everything. They were sitting on the couch, her legs curled beneath her while he leaned back with an arm stretched along the top.
“She just doesn’t get it,” Amelia muttered, pulling at a loose thread on her sweater. “She keeps saying she wants it to be perfect, but she doesn’t understand what perfect even means to me.”
Dean reached over, gently tugging the thread from her fingers. “She loves you. That’s where this is coming from.”
“I know,” Amelia said, her shoulders slumping. “But it doesn’t make it any less exhausting.”
Dean hesitated for a moment, then said, “What if we plan a few things on our own? Just us. Pick the venue, the photographer, the menu—lock them in before anyone else gets a say.”
Amelia blinked at him. “…That’s actually brilliant.”
Dean shrugged casually. “Sometimes I have good ideas.”
She smiled faintly, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Thank you.”
“Always,” he said quietly.
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A few days later, Seraphine called Dean directly.
“I wanted to confirm Amelia’s preferences,” she said in her smooth, professional tone. “She insists on a small guest list, correct?”
“Yes,” Dean said firmly. “Seventy-five max.”
“Understood,” Seraphine said. “But Arielle is still pushing for something larger. She’s very persuasive.”
Dean rubbed his temple. “Seraphine, I need you to understand something. Amelia gets the final say. Not her mother. Not me. Not anyone else. You work for her.”
There was a pause before Seraphine said quietly, “I understand. I’ll handle it.”
Dean hung up, his jaw tight. He knew Arielle meant well, but if she kept pushing, she’d end up hurting Amelia more than helping her.
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Two nights later, Clara invited Amelia over for dinner, pulling her into the kitchen while Luca and Dean talked in the living room.
“Just a heads up,” Clara whispered, pouring wine into two glasses, “Mom hasn’t given up. She’s talking about a second guest list.”
Amelia groaned loudly. “I thought we had an understanding.”
“You do,” Clara said sympathetically. “She just… doesn’t think you mean it.”
Amelia dropped her forehead onto the counter. “This is my nightmare.”
Clara handed her a glass of wine. “Welcome to wedding planning.”
Amelia took a long sip. “I’m eloping,” she muttered.
Clara grinned. “Dean would probably go for it.”
Amelia paused, glancing toward the living room where Dean was laughing with Luca. A small smile tugged at her lips. “…Yeah,” she admitted softly. “He would.”
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A few days later, Dean found Amelia sitting on their balcony, staring out at the city lights.
“Long day?” he asked, leaning on the railing beside her.
“Long week,” she muttered. “I feel like I’m fighting everyone just to have a wedding that actually feels like us.”
Dean reached over, taking her hand in his. “Then stop fighting.”
She turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“Stop trying to please everyone,” he said simply. “This is about us, Amelia. No one else. Let them be upset if they want. We’ll do it our way.”
She searched his face, quiet for a long moment. “…You make it sound so simple.”
“It is,” he said gently. “Because at the end of the day, none of it matters. Not the venue, not the flowers, not the guest list. Just you and me.”
For the first time in weeks, Amelia felt the weight lift off her chest.
“You’re right,” she whispered.
Dean smiled faintly. “Always am.”
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Two weeks later, Arielle called Amelia to invite her to another “planning session.” But when Amelia arrived, she was surprised to find her parents, Clara, Kieran, Luca, and Dean all gathered in the living room.
Dean stood, smiling warmly. “This isn’t a planning session,” he said. “This is a compromise session.”
Arielle looked guilty but nodded. “I may have gotten carried away,” she admitted softly. “I just wanted it to be special.”
“It will be special,” Amelia said gently. “Because it’ll be ours.”
Arielle hesitated, then finally smiled. “Alright,” she said, reaching over to squeeze her daughter’s hand. “We’ll do it your way.”
Dean’s hand slipped into Amelia’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. For the first time since the engagement, everything felt like it was finally falling into place.