Budget, not plans. Budget, not ideas. Budget, as if I was a bank that needed to be consulted before a transfer.
Kevin’s fingers tightened around his water glass. His knuckles went pale.
Vanessa flipped the portfolio open and slid glossy pages toward me: photos of ballrooms, floral arches, chandeliers, ice sculptures, dresses that looked like clouds made of money.
“We’ve worked with a top wedding planner,” she continued, “and we’ve determined that for the wedding we envision, we’ll need two million dollars.”
My scotch arrived. I took a slow sip, letting the burn give my face a reason to remain calm.
“Two million,” I repeated, neutral. “That’s quite specific.”
“Oh, it breaks down very precisely,” Vanessa said, warming to the subject. Her eyes gleamed in a way I’d seen before in deposition rooms when a witness thought they had the perfect story rehearsed. “Eight hundred thousand for the venue alone. We’re looking at the Rosewood Mansion on Turtle Creek for three hundred guests. Then four hundred thousand for floral arrangements and décor. I’ve always dreamed of having cherry blossoms flown in from Japan.”
She said it casually, like flying in cherry blossoms was a normal thing people did when they loved someone.
“And the ice sculptures alone,” she added, “will be another two hundred thousand.”
Kevin’s jaw clenched. I could see the muscle jump.
Vanessa touched her collarbone in what she probably thought was demure. “Three hundred thousand for my dress. Vera Wang is designing it personally. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime piece.”
Patricia chimed in with syrupy charm. “Our family has certain standards, Richard. Vanessa is our only daughter. We want her day to be perfect.”
I glanced at Kevin. Our eyes met for a heartbeat. In that instant, I saw something I hadn’t seen since he was ten and broke a neighbor’s window with a baseball: pure panic.
“Two million,” I said again, setting down my glass. “And you’re sharing this budget with me because…?”
Vanessa’s smile didn’t waver, but something cold flickered in her eyes. “Well, traditionally the groom’s family contributes significantly to wedding expenses. And Kevin mentioned that you’re comfortable.”
Comfortable. The word was a scalpel. Not wealthy. Not rich. Comfortable. A polite way of saying: we know you have money, and we know you’re the kind of man who will feel guilty if you don’t spend it on your son.