“Grandma.”
I stood up, and for a moment my composure cracked.
“You came.”
She crossed the lobby and took my face in her hands, examining my cheek with eyes that missed nothing.
“She hit you?”
“Yes.”
Eleanor’s jaw tightened. Then she kissed my forehead gently, the way she had when I was a child and had fallen off my bicycle.
“Then let’s finish this,” she said.
We walked into the ballroom together.
The wedding was in chaos. Clusters of guests huddled in conversation, their champagne forgotten. Madison was crying—actually crying this time—while Tyler and his parents hovered nearby, looking mortified.
