Savannah opened the second folder slowly enough that no one could pretend the moment had been misunderstood.
The first page wasn’t a photograph, a secret will, or some dramatic family document.
It was worse for Vivian because it was ordinary.
It was paperwork.
A printed reservation audit from Rosewood Hall.
Dates.
Times.
Account notes.
The history of every change made to my booking that morning.
Savannah turned the folder so I could see it.
“Your reservation was paid in full six months ago,” she said.
“At 9:14 this morning, someone marked it for release.
At 9:19, the Wellington inquiry was attached to the same date.
There is no cancellation request from you anywhere in the file.”
Vivian recovered quickly.
“Then it’s an administrative issue.
Fine.
Correct the paperwork and put our event there.
We already offered to cover the difference.”
Savannah looked at her.
“There is no difference to cover.
The date wasn’t available.”
The lobby became very quiet.
Clara stood behind the desk with both hands clasped together.
Mrs.
Delaney finally turned toward Vivian.
“Rosewood does not auction signed contracts to the highest bidder.”
Vivian gave a little laugh.
“Please.
Businesses make accommodations for larger clients every day.”
“Not by canceling smaller clients without permission.”
That word landed harder than released had.
Canceling.
Because that was what had happened.
No soft language.
No family excuse.
No suggestion that my wedding had simply become inconvenient.
Someone had looked at my paid contract, looked at Vivian’s larger budget, and decided I was easier to displace.
Savannah turned another page.
“Rosewood’s contract requires written authorization from the client before a paid wedding date can be surrendered or transferred.
There isn’t one.”
She glanced at me.
“Did you authorize anyone to speak for you?”
“No.”
“Did Ethan?”
“No.”
“Then your contract never stopped being valid.”
Vivian’s jaw tightened.
“We’re family.
This could have been handled privately.”
I almost laughed.
She had tried to erase my wedding date before I even knew there was a problem, and now privacy mattered.
Savannah pulled another sheet from the folder.
“It was handled privately.
This morning.
Without Violet.”
