Chapter 2 - The Rehearsal of Shadows
The rehearsal dinner was held at a small,
upscale bistro in downtown Bozeman.
I had chosen it because of the local ingredients,
the way the chef treated every vegetable like a piece of art.
My parents arrived forty minutes late,
sweeping in with an air of frantic importance.
My mother was adjusting her silk scarf,
while my father checked his watch every thirty seconds.
Isabella wasn't with them.
"She’s resting,"
my mother announced,
not bothering to apologize for their tardiness.
"The stress of the gala is just too much for her delicate system."
We sat at the long wooden table,
the candlelight flickering against the wine glasses.
Elias sat beside me,
his hand resting firmly on my knee under the table.
My father looked at Elias,
his eyes tracing the slight fraying on the collar of Elias’s dress shirt.
"So,
Elias,"
my father said,
taking a long sip of his Cabernet.
"Have you figured out how you're going to pay for the honeymoon?"
"I hear those 'adventure tours' you lead aren't exactly lucrative this time of year."
Elias didn't blink.
He simply smiled,
a calm,
unshakable expression.
"We have it handled,
Hector,"
he replied.
"Penny and I prefer the quiet places anyway."
My mother sighed,
picking at her salad as if it were contaminated.
"It’s just such a shame,"
she murmured.
"Isabella’s gala has a guest list of three hundred,
including the mayor."
"And here we are,
in a...
quaint little shop."
I felt the familiar sting of their words,
but this time,
it felt distant.
I looked at my parents and realized they weren't talking to me.
They were talking to the version of me they had created in their heads.
The "practical" one.
The "placeholder" daughter.
"I’m glad you could make it at all,"
I said,
my voice cool and professional.
"Since you won't be staying for the full ceremony on Sunday."
My father cleared his throat,
looking slightly uncomfortable for a fleeting second.
"It’s about the family business,
Penny,"
he said.
"Preston’s investors are the priority right now."
"You understand."
"I do,"
I said,
locking eyes with him.
"I understand perfectly."
The rest of the dinner was a blur of passive-aggressive comments and thinly veiled insults.
They spoke about Isabella’s dress,
Isabella’s caterer,
Isabella’s "reinvention."
They didn't ask about my dress.
They didn't ask about the flowers I had spent months growing.
When the check arrived,
my father reached for it with a grand,
martyred gesture.
"Let me get this,"
he said.
"I know things must be tight for you two."
Elias reached out,
his hand gently stopping my father’s arm.
"Actually,
Hector,"
Elias said softly.
"The bill has already been taken care of."
"By whom?"
my mother asked,
frowning.
"By the owner,"
Elias replied.
"He’s an old friend."
My father laughed,
a short,
dismissive sound.
"I suppose even a mountain guide has friends in low places."
We walked out into the cool night air,
the neon signs of Bozeman reflecting in the puddles.
My parents hurried to their car,
barely saying goodbye.
Elias stood with me on the sidewalk,
his arm around my shoulders.
"They really have no idea,
do they?"
I asked.
"None,"
he said.
"And tomorrow,
the world they think they own is going to get a lot bigger."
I looked at him,
at the man who was a king in a world my father couldn't even imagine.
"Who is walking me,
Elias?"
He kissed my forehead,
May you like
the scent of the mountains clinging to him.
"You'll see when the doors open."
