Margaret looked like she’d forgotten how to breathe. “Elena Richie… what are you doing here?”
My mother stepped forward and squeezed my shoulder. “I believe you’ve been getting to know my daughter,” she said gently, “though perhaps not as well as you thought.”
Margaret’s gaze darted between them. “I don’t understand,” she said, and for once, it wasn’t a performance. It was real confusion.
Elena laughed softly. “Catherine and I were roommates at university before I moved back to Milan,” she said. “She was the first American to model for our early collections.”
Margaret’s head snapped toward my mother. “Model?” she repeated, stunned.
My mother smiled modestly. “Just for a few years,” she said. “Before I met Sarah’s father and decided to move back home. But Elena and I remained close.”
Elena’s eyes softened when she looked at me. “And when Catherine told me about the wedding,” she said, “I insisted on making sure Sarah had something special. Catherine was like a sister during those early years. Her daughter is family.”
Beatrice’s face shifted from smug to fascinated. “Catherine Jensen,” she breathed. “You’re the face of Richie’s Breakthrough ’89 collection.”