Tomorrow, my family planned to put me in the shadows.
Daniel had other plans.
Part 2
Saturday morning arrived with perfect weather, the kind that made everything feel staged. A bright sky. Crisp air. Sunlight that turned the grass on the Wellington estate into something magazine-worthy.
I dressed in the modest navy dress I’d originally planned—simple, safe, easy to disappear in. My mother wanted me to arrive after the ceremony began, so I timed my drive to slip in late. Invisible. Convenient.
At 10:00 a.m., my phone rang.
My mother’s voice hit my ear like an alarm. “Sophia, what did you do?”
“What are you talking about?”
“There are Secret Service agents here,” she hissed, as if whispering could shrink reality. “At the Wellington estate. They’re doing security sweeps. Asking about you. What is happening?”
I closed my eyes and leaned against my car door in my parents’ driveway. “I didn’t do anything.”
“They said something about a protected individual attending the wedding,” she said, the words barely comprehensible. “Sophia, please tell me you didn’t do something crazy like contact the White House.”
I exhaled slowly. There was no gentle way to say it. “I’m dating someone, Mom. Someone who requires security protection.”
A pause. “Who?”
“Daniel Chin,” I said. “The president’s son.”
Silence so complete I checked my screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.
“You’re…” Her voice wavered. “You’re dating the president’s son.”
“We’ve been together for a year,” I said, surprised at how steady I sounded. Like I’d been waiting a year to say it out loud.
“For a year,” she repeated, faint. “And you never mentioned this.”
“You never asked about my personal life,” I replied, not sharp, just factual. “You stopped being interested years ago.”
She inhaled shakily, like she’d just realized the floor could disappear. “The Wellingtons are losing their minds. They’re setting up checkpoints. They’re searching bags. Guests are being turned away until they go through metal detectors. They’re threatening to cancel the wedding. You need to get here now.”
“I thought you wanted me to arrive late and sit in the back,” I said, letting the words land where they belonged.
“That was before,” she snapped, then softened immediately into desperation. “Please. Just get here.”
I took my time.
It wasn’t spite. It was control. For once, I got to decide how I entered a room that had always been arranged around everyone else.
I went inside, swapped my navy dress for something I’d never worn around my family: a deep green formal dress that fit perfectly, elegant without being loud. I’d bought it for a state dinner and kept it tucked away like a secret. I pinned my hair up. Applied makeup carefully. Not to impress the Wellingtons. Not to compete with Clare. Just to remind myself that I wasn’t a mistake to be hidden.
