The question caught Apollo and Claire off guard, and they were not the only ones. Everyone who heard Ares’ question went silent. They were either processing the shock or waiting for an answer.
A tray of crystal glasses suddenly shattered against the floor as Wilder knocked over a heavy glass pitcher of fruit punch, sending red liquid splashing everywhere.
The entire party gasped, turning around to stare.
Wilder stood amidst the puddle of punch, blinking innocently. In her mind, she figured the Ashfords were bound to scream at her, curse her out, and finally drop the nice act-- which would not only give her the satisfaction of a good fight, but would instantly rescue Claire from the awkward wedding interrogation trap.
Griffin rushed over, dodging the broken glass. "Oh goodness! Wilder, are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?"
Wilder burst out laughing awkwardly, waving a hand in the air. "Ha! Clumsy me! Just slipped on my feather boa!"
There was a brief fuss by the Ashfords--all of it an expression or worry for Wilder. None of them were mad. Some were even calling for a doctor. Suddenly, Wilder was the one in need of rescuing.
Claire rushed over, grabbed Wilder’s arm and introduced her proudly to the patriarch. "Mr. Ares Ashford, this is my wonderful grandmother, Wilder Prescott."
Ares broke into a wide, welcoming grin, taking Wilder’s hand and shaking it vigorously. "A pleasure! Anyone who raised a brilliant woman like Claire is family in my book." He swept an arm toward the best table in the room. "Come, come! Sit with us! You’re family now!"
As they walked toward the VIP table, Wilder leaned close to Claire and whispered out of the corner of her mouth, "Well... I have to admit. These rich fellows are holding it together surprisingly well. They’re not doing badly so far."
Claire rolled her eyes, "It is too soon to tell."
When the celebratory speeches began, Claire excused herself to the bathroom. Wilder immediately saw her opportunity. It was time to dismantle the Ashfords’ nauseatingly placid image, one social disaster at a time.
When Ares raised his glass for a toast, Wilder swung her goblet with the precision of a woman who had absolutely nothing to lose. The crystal struck his silver platter with a violent clang, snapping its delicate stem. Red wine flew through the air in a magnificent arc before landing squarely on Paisley’s white silk dress.
Wilder leaned back, waiting.
Any second now, the woman would shriek. Someone would demand compensation. Perhaps a lawyer would be summoned. Then, they would insult her and Claire’s background, saying she was not good enough for their precious Apollo. Just like it happened in TV dramas.
Paisley looked down at her wine-soaked dress and gasped.
"Oh, dear!"
Wilder blinked. "Here we go."
"Red wine stains are considered a sign of good luck in some ancient traditions!" Paisley announced cheerfully, dabbing at the stain with her napkin. "I haven’t had this much luck in ages! Thank you, Wilder."
Wilder stared at her in horror. What kind of lunatic was grateful for being baptized in Cabernet Sauvignon?
Fine. One down. Several more to traumatize.
She turned her attention to Griffin thirty minutes later. He was halfway through an emotional speech about his father’s sacrifices, leadership and unwavering dedication to the company.
Wilder inhaled deeply, raised a handkerchief to her face and blew her nose. It was a sound somewhere between a ship’s foghorn, a malfunctioning tractor and a rhinoceros being strangled.
The entire room fell silent.
Griffin paused.
Wilder held her breath, practically vibrating with anticipation.
Then Griffin smiled at her. "Exactly!" he exclaimed, pointing his glass in her direction. "That’s precisely how I feel! Father, you’ve always moved us to tears!"
Several people nodded solemnly. Someone even dabbed their eyes with a napkin.
Wilder slowly lowered her handkerchief and slumped into her chair. She realized that the Ashfords were either really good at damage control, or they were simply determined to embrace Claire and her family, no matter what. Of course, they could also have perfected the art of pretense.
No matter what she did, she would not get a rise out of them today.
Claire slipped back into the grand celebration hall right as the food brigade rolled in. Waiters were practically sprinting, pushing trolleys loaded high with seafood platters that smelled so aggressively good they could wake the dead.
Chef Laurent had seriously outdone himself. The aroma hanging in the air was powerful enough to make someone who had just finished a three-course buffet suddenly panic that they were starving.
Claire’s eyes drifted over to one of the VIP tables, where the mayor was currently inhaling shrimp like a vacuum cleaner on turbo mode. He didn’t even notice or care that bright red cocktail soup was splattering all over his expensive white shirt.
"Oh, sweet mercy!" the mayor’s wife shouted, waving a half-eaten prawn in the air. "This is the best shrimp I have ever tasted in my entire life!"
People at the neighboring tables nodded vigorously, their mouths too full to speak, frantically flagging down passing waiters for shrimp refills.
Claire smiled to herself, practically glowing with pride. Oh yeah, business is about to boom, she thought. Cooking the sea food for this high-society circus was the ultimate marketing strategy.
She turned to head back to her seat, and bam!
A food trolley rammed straight into her hip.
The waiter didn’t even pause to mumble a sorry. Claire frowned, staring up at him. He had a face mask pulled high, but those grey, almond-shaped eyes...
The waiter quickly averted his gaze, shoved the trolley past her, and hurried away.
Claire shrugged, rubbing her hip. Nah, I’m overthinking, she thought. It’s not like Andrew Jones has a monopoly on grey eyes. She continued walking toward her table, where the Ashford family was currently destroying the seafood platters like they hadn’t eaten in a week. Grandpa Ares, in particular, was going hard on the crabs.
Chef Laurent was explaining to the guests his dishes and how the ingredients had been selectively picked.
Between chews, Ares pointed a buttery claw at the platter and ordered Griffin to immediately sign an exclusive, lock-it-down contract with the supplier. Then, pausing mid-crack, he squinted and asked who the new supplier actually was.
Wilder beamed with absolute pride. "That would be my granddaughter."
Everyone at the table who didn’t already know turned their heads so fast you could hear necks popping.
Ares blinked at Claire. "Is that true, young lady?"
Claire took a polite sip of water. "Well, yes. After Alden and Heimi Foods booted me out, I had to make a living in another way, so I became a fisherman."
Grandpa Ares threw his head back and let out a laugh that rattled the crystal chandeliers, slapping his knee. "Good for you! Ha! Those former parents of yours are clowns for letting a goldmine walk out the door." He leaned in with a mischievous grin. "I’ve always wanted to poach you, but you were loyal to your family. Now you are becoming my granddaughter-in-law, and all that loyalty will be switched to the Ashford group for life. I cannot thank Alden Dane enough for this."
Claire barely had time to blink at the compliment because her internal Spidey senses suddenly went berserk. Something was about to happen--something bad.