My mother said I should stay in the kitchen during the wedding photos—only until the “important guests” were gone. I didn’t mention that for the past year I had been dating a man whose arrival required a presidential security sweep. Then the security team cleared the main hall.

The room froze, and Mr. Redcliff’s eyes widened like he was calculating immediate social value.

“That includes Penelope’s family,” Christian added. “We can’t celebrate without the bride’s sister.”

“Clare should finish getting ready,” I said softly to break the tension. “You look beautiful, Serena.”

Serena let out a shaky laugh that turned into tears. “Pen,” she whispered, like she didn’t know how to reach me anymore.

Christian squeezed my hand. “My team needs the seating chart confirmed, and I’ll be sitting with Penelope, of course.”

“Yes, family section,” my mother nodded quickly.

“Front row,” Christian added.

“And photos,” he continued. “My mom loves pictures from friends’ weddings and will want some of Penelope with her sister.”

An hour later, I was led outside where the seating area had been rearranged in a quiet flurry. My name card, which had been at a side table near the catering entrance, was gone.

In its place was a chair in the front row beside Christian’s. Guests watched as we walked down the aisle, whispers rippling behind fans and champagne smiles.