A young server stopped in the middle of the lawn with a silver tray balanced against his palm.
Nobody told Vanessa to turn off the water.
Nobody stepped between us.
Nobody asked my name.
I lowered myself onto one knee because the ground was slick and because I wanted every voice around me to remain exactly as careless as it had been before.
“I was trying to find Mr. Ethan Carter,” I said.
Vanessa handed the hose to an attendant and walked closer.
Her heels pressed neat holes into the soaked grass.
“Mr. Carter doesn’t meet random drifters who trespass on private property,” she said. “Especially not during his engagement party.”
