CHAPTER FOUR – PETTY DEALINGS

"I think the Thistlewood party absolutely musts be at a separate table from the VanOors," Lillian mused, meticulously dragging and dropping the warring families' names to opposite ends of the chart. "Not after that dreadful episode at the Everleigh-Smythes' Christmas gala a few years back." "Noted on the Thistlewood versus Van Oors situation," Diane Montgomery replied in clipped tones, making a few efficient keystrokes on her own tablet. "Though I'd also advise putting some literal distance between the Rockwell party and Mrs. Penelope Chalmers for...obvious reasons." Curiosity instantly piqued, Charlotte sought out her mother's reaction. Sure enough, Lillian was struggling to maintain her usual veneer of unflappable poise. "Of course, you would only be too happy to segregate poor Penelope from the inner circle," she all but sniffed. Diane merely arched one perfectly tweezed eyebrow. "I'm simply looking out for my dear friend's interests and ensuring the evening flows smoothly without any...unpleasantries. But by all means, feel free to seat that dreadful social climber wherever your heart desires." The smallest of smirks danced across Diane's artfully painted lips. Charlotte instantly knew that they weren't just obliquely referring to event seating politics anymore. Clearly, there was some long-simmering grievance between the grand dames of the two families that went much deeper. She exchanged a helpless look with Alexander - both of them all too aware of their mothers' propensity to fan even the tiniest ember of discord into a raging inferno. Before Lillian could retort, her husband jumped into the fray with a rumbling chuckle. "Now, now ladies, let's not forget the real priority of the evening!" Richard rocked back in his leather armchair, puffing merrily on an impressively large cigar. "Ensuring my little girl's big day is a laughter and celebration to remember." "Precisely, Richard," Henry cut in, leaning forward to stab an emphatic finger against the iPad screen. "Which is why I must insist the Smythe-Underhills be given a premier table assignment.” Charlotte watched her father's shoulders stiffen ever so slightly at the other man's braggadocios name-dropping. Uh oh, here came the pissing contest over pedigree and wealth. Sure enough, Richard puffed out his chest like a strutting rooster. "Well I'd be equally inclined to ensure the Finchley-Watsons and Westinghouses nab a top spot. Fine folks, the lot of them. Partners in multiple Jones Incorporated holding companies for longer than your family's been out from under the Queen's rule, eh Monty?" A terse silence fell over the gathering as the two patriarchs locked eyes, neither seeming willing to blink first. Alexander visibly cringed beside Charlotte, his expression pained, while even Diane and Lillian paused their sniping to gape at their husbands' rapidly escalating hostility. "How phenomenally uncouth of you, Richard," Henry's words were measured but dripped with sneering condescension. "I should've expected such flagrant disrespect for social mores from a man who made his family's fortune on the railroads." "Better the railroads than being one of the original Remoaner bluebloods, too high and drunk on entitlement to see the potential for industry westward!" Richard roared, face purpling as he shot up from his wingback chair. Within seconds, a raucous shouting match consumed the entire great room, with both couples getting in their jabs at the other family's purported infractions against New York society's ancient code of order. "Oh, like you all didn't ride your emerald mine workers like cattle to build that so-called empire, Henry!" "Our standing preceded your kind by centuries on this continent, you arriviste lout!" "My bridge club saw you cheating at bezique during last week's tournament finals, Lillian!" "Well I heard that Montgomery Capital had the feds investigating its offshore tax shelters again, Diane!" On and on it went, devolving from barbed digs about business dealings and sordid rumors into outright unhinged bellowing and name-calling. Alexander and Charlotte could only sit in stunned silence, watching the unraveling before them with a mixture of horror and bewilderment. Finally, just when it seemed the vitriol would go on unabated, a shattering crash silenced the room. All eyes swiveled towards Charlotte who stood trembling, the remains of a priceless Qing dynasty vase shattered at her feet. "That's enough!" she yelled, her voice cracking slightly from the strain. Six pairs of stunned eyes swiveled towards her, mouths agape. Adrenaline thrummed through Charlotte's veins as she surged forward, planting herself directly between the two warring factions. "I can't...I won't allow this night to descend into a circus act of insults and juvenile squabbling. Not over my wedding." She cut her gaze towards her parents first, a muscle twitching in her jaw. "Mother, Father, you brought shame on our family name with that appalling display. Have you no sense of dignity?" Richard and Lillian at least had the decency to appear momentarily abashed, shrinking slightly in their seats. Pivoting towards the Montgomerys, Charlotte leveled an accusatory glare at Henry and Diane. "And you two. Constantly prattling on about legacies and tradition, only to completely obliterate any sense of decorum or class. You should be ashamed of yourselves." An indignant huff escaped Diane's lips, but she seemed to think better of protesting when Henry placed a restraining hand on her forearm. "We were meant to be celebrating the joyous union of Alexander and myself tonight," Charlotte continued, her voice becoming increasingly thick with unshed tears of frustration and disappointment. "Instead, I've endured being a spectator to my own families' self-immolation over petty squabbles." She shook her head slowly, feeling Alexander's comforting hand on the small of her back. "I don't even know who any of you are anymore. Or if I ever truly did." With that, she spun on her heel and strode from the great room, the crystal shards crunching beneath the soles of her Louboutin shoes. Alexander shot one final, withering glare at the befuddled assemblage before hurrying after her. He found her in the hall, slumped against the mahogany paneled walls with her face buried in her hands. Her shoulders shook with muffled sobs. "Oh Charlotte..." Wrapping her in his embrace, Alexander simply held her for long moments, stroking her dark tresses as she raged and wept and purged every roiling emotion from her system. When she finally pulled back, her makeup was hopelessly smeared and her eyes swollen. But her expression had regained some of its usual alabaster composure. "Well," she said with a wry, humorless laugh. "I think it's safe to say our wedding planning is well and truly pissed at this point." Despite himself, the corners of Alexander's lips twitched upwards. "It was certainly a doozy of a Montague-Capulet level feud, that's for sure." Slipping an arm around her slender shoulders, he guided them towards the elevators. "C'mon, gorgeous. The night's still young and all this family drama ridiculousness is making me crave a stiff drink. Let's go grab a bite and try to shake this all off, hmm?" Charlotte readily agreed, allowing Alexander to tuck her protectively against his side as they made their escape from the madness. If ever there was a time to lean into the "all is calm, all is bright" reprieve their bachelor/bachelorette weekends were supposed to provide, it was now. Two nights later, Alexander found himself ensconced in a sleek leather banquette at one of Manhattan's most exclusive underground speakeasies. Soft jazz lilted from the dimly lit corners, blending with the reassuring clinks of mixologists hard at work crafting bespoke cocktails. "This is more like it," he proclaimed with a satisfied grin, leaning back against the tufted crimson upholstery and loosening his tie. "A swanky, intimate evening with my mates, far away from the cirque du catastrophe our families have devolved into."