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.

That night, I ate takeout alone in my childhood bedroom while my family attended the dinner at an exclusive restaurant. Through social media, I watched Serena post photos with the Redcliffs, everyone raising champagne flutes with polished smiles.

My phone buzzed with a text from Christian. “Advance team is coordinating with local security for tomorrow, and they’re confused why you’re listed in the back.”

I stared at the message, reflecting on the ridiculousness of my family treating me like an embarrassment while federal agents planned around my existence. I typed back, “Just go along with whatever they say and try not to make waves.”

“Too late,” his response came immediately. “Wherever you’re sitting is now part of the secure perimeter.”

I lay back on my bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to the ceiling from when I was twelve. Tomorrow, my family planned to put me in the shadows, but Christian had other plans.

Saturday morning arrived with perfect weather that made everything look staged. The sunlight turned the grass on the Redcliff estate into something worthy of a magazine.