Now she stops in front of you and lowers her voice.
“Teresa,” she says. “May we talk?”
You nod.
She leads you away from the center of the hall to a quiet corner near a wall of ivy and hanging lights. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The music is soft behind you. Guests are laughing. Glasses clink. Somewhere, a child shrieks with happiness and is immediately hushed by two adults at once.
Then Elena surprises you.
“I owe you an apology.”
You look at her steadily.
Her hands tighten around her clutch. “When Lara first told us about Marco’s background, I judged things I should never have judged. I thought about status, appearances, what our friends would say, whether they would ‘fit.’” She gives a bitter little smile at her own choice of words. “I am ashamed to hear myself say it now.”
You do not rescue her from the discomfort.
