Her white hair was pressed against her face, and the woman I’d planned to marry was still holding down the hose trigger.
« Would you look at that pitiful woman? » Charles Whitmore, my future father-in-law, announced from the terrace, raising his champagne glass. « She looks like she wandered in from a bus station. »
Vanessa smiled beneath her long cathedral veil.
« Relax, Daniel, » she said. « I’m only rinsing the smell of poverty off her. »
The freezing water struck my mother’s shoulder, making her stumble backward.
I stepped between them. The next stream hit me across the chest.
« Put down the hose. »
She rolled her eyes. « Don’t ruin the fun. »
My mother, Eleanor, gently touched my arm. « Danny, please, » she whispered. « Not today. »
She was the one being publicly humiliated, yet she was apologizing because she didn’t want to spoil my wedding.
