Avery reached into his briefcase and pulled out a glossy brochure. The cover showed a sprawling estate with white columns and manicured gardens. “Green Valley Estate,” he said. “It’s in Westchester, about an hour north of the city.”
I took the brochure and studied the photos—a grand ballroom with crystal chandeliers, outdoor terraces overlooking a lake, gardens with stone pathways, tables set with fine china and gold-rimmed glasses, floral arrangements that looked like waterfalls of white roses and peonies. It was beautiful, undeniably so, the kind of venue you see in magazines.
“It’s gorgeous,” I admitted.
Taylor pulled out her phone, and I recognized the excited animation in her voice that I’d heard countless times before—the tone she used when she wanted something expensive. “There’s a full-service package. The venue includes the ceremony space, cocktail hour on the terrace, reception in the grand ballroom, tables and chairs, linens, and basic lighting. That’s thirty-five thousand.”
I tried not to react, though my heart sank. Thirty-five thousand dollars for one day.