“She probably borrowed it,” Celeste said. “Women like Mia always need props.” But her hand tightened around the champagne flute. The bridesmaid noticed. Celeste set the glass down untouched.
Adrian was near the bar, surrounded by groomsmen and business contacts, when he saw Mia. His smile widened first, because he thought she had come alone and because cruelty always excited him when he believed he controlled the room. Then his gaze dropped to the blanket in her arms. His face changed so quickly that one of his groomsmen asked if he was okay.
Mia walked toward him slowly, not because she wanted drama, but because postpartum stitches did not care about symbolism. Every step cost her. Every eye turned. Adrian’s confidence cracked by inches as she approached, and by the time she stopped in front of him, his jaw was tight enough to break.
“Mia,” he said. “What are you doing?”
She smiled politely. “You invited me.”
His eyes flicked to the baby. “Whose child is that?”
The question fell between them like a glass dropped on marble. A few guests stopped pretending not to listen. Patricia moved closer, pale and furious. Celeste appeared at the top of the stone steps in her wedding gown, one hand on her stomach and the other gripping her bouquet like a weapon.
Mia looked down at Elise. The baby stirred, making a soft sound, then settled again against her mother’s chest. “This is Elise Grace Vale,” Mia said. “She was born eleven days ago at Piedmont Atlanta Hospital. Seven pounds, one ounce.” Adrian stared at her, and for the first time in years, he had no ready insult. Mia lifted her eyes to his. “She is your daughter.”
The courtyard went silent. Not quiet. Silent. Even the quartet seemed to stumble, one violin note stretching thin before fading into nothing. Adrian’s face drained of color, then flushed red. “That’s impossible,” he said.
“It isn’t,” Mia replied. “The timeline is very clear.”
Celeste descended the steps. “This is disgusting,” she snapped, but her voice shook. “You show up at my wedding with some random baby and expect everyone to believe this?” She looked around at the guests, trying to gather support, but people were watching Adrian now. A man could mock an ex-wife for infertility and survive it socially if everyone believed she was childless. But a newborn with his chin made the story harder to sell.
Adrian leaned close to Mia, lowering his voice. “You should leave before you humiliate yourself.”
Mia did not move. “You said that on the phone too.”
