redden.
It wasn’t genuine laughter.
It was the kind people use when they want everyone around them to believe they aren’t embarrassed.
Later, I pulled him aside near a quiet hallway.
Music from the reception drifted through the doors behind us.
“What is going on?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Forget the blue dress. I’m talking about you.”
“Mom—”
“I’ve watched Vanessa interrupt you and make decisions for you all day, and you haven’t said anything.”
“She’s stressed. It’s our wedding.”
“Grant, look at me.”
Eventually, he did.
Something in his expression
