დ Aidan დ
The Vance dining room was a theater. Tall ceilings. Fresh lilies on the sideboard. Crystal that caught the light and threw it back at you in sharp little shards. The world outside was spring, but in here, it was always perfect. Seasonless, airless, full of the careful choreography that people like Vivienne and Gregory Vance had mastered for decades. Celeste was radiant at the head of the table, catalog in hand, talking through the last decisions like a producer with her script: flowers, menu, guest list, the order of the processional, the color of the ribbons on the programs. Her hair was swept back, her lipstick fresh, her smile that exact right mix of warmth and precision. Vivienne took notes, her voice occasionally cut in with:
“classic, darling, not garish” or “hydrangeas a
