William Croft paced the length of the living room, gesturing wildly at a series of easels displaying artist renderings of the Conservatory.
“A Masquerade Ball,” William announced, his eyes fever bright. “Broadcast live. Masks off at midnight to reveal the happy couple. It’s poetic, Sophie. We hide in plain sight, then reveal the truth of our joy.”
Sophie Laurent sat on the edge of the sofa, looking at the drawings of crowds, pyrotechnics, and cameras. It looked less like a wedding celebration and more like a coronation.
“William,” she said softly, “I thought we discussed a small dinner. Just family. I don’t want cameras. I don’t want a performance.”
William stopped pacing. The manic smile didn’t fade, but his eyes hardened. “Small doesn’t send a message, Sophie. We have to show the world we are happy. We have to prove that the Croft legacy isn’t just tragedy.”
“But what about what *I* want?” Sophie asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“Sophie, please,” William sighed, turning back to the easel. “Don’t be difficult. You just need to look beautiful and smile. Leave the narrative to me.”
Sophie shrank back against the cushions. He didn’t see her. He saw a prop for his redemption arc, a supporting character in his one-man show against grief.