Chapter 4 - The Morning After
The sun rose over Newport on Saturday morning in a blaze of brilliant golden light, painting the Atlantic in shimmering hues of turquoise and amber. Down in the sunken rose garden, a small army of floral designers and estate staff were putting the finishing touches on the wedding setup—hanging cascading white wisteria, polishing mahogany chairs, and aligning the pristine white aisle runner.
I dressed in an elegant, tailored emerald-green silk jumpsuit—striking, sophisticated, and completely commanding without stealing focus from the bride. When I walked down to the bridal suite to check on Grace, I found her sitting before the vanity mirror while a makeup artist dusted powder across her cheekbones.
She looked up as I entered, her reflection meeting mine in the glass. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying the night before, but there was a profound sense of relief in her expression.
"Maya," Grace said softly, standing up and walking over to me. "I wanted to apologize again for my parents. What they did... it was unforgivable. I was so afraid you were going to cancel the wedding entirely."
I placed my hands gently on her shoulders, smiling warmly. "I would never punish you or Owen for your parents' shortcomings, Grace. You are marrying into this family now, and we protect our own. Besides, look at the bright side—the seating chart just got a whole lot easier to manage."
Grace let out a genuine, bubbling laugh, the last vestiges of stress melting away from her face. "You're unbelievable, you know that? My dad tried to call my cell phone twelve times this morning, but I blocked his number."
"Good for you," I winked. "Now, let’s go get you married."
By 3:30 p.m., the courtyard was filled with soft classical music played by a string quartet. The guests were seated under a canopy of white silk sails, murmuring appreciatively at the breathtaking beauty of the estate. My mother sat proudly in the front row, wearing a stunning royal-blue dress that brought out the warmth in her eyes, completely surrounded by loving relatives who treated her with the deep respect she had earned through a lifetime of quiet sacrifice.
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When the wedding march began to play, Owen stood at the altar, looking handsome and impossibly nervous in his tailored tuxedo. Since Conrad Alden was banned from the property and refusing to attend out of wounded pride, Grace had asked my mother and me to walk her down the aisle together. It was an unorthodox, deeply modern gesture that symbolized the true foundation of family—not bloodlines or social status, but mutual respect and unconditional love.
As the three of us walked down the white aisle runner, hundreds of Newport’s elite looked on in respectful awe. And up at the altar, waiting for his radiant bride, Owen caught my eye and gave me a subtle, grateful nod.
