Page 112 of The Professor's Wife

During the planning, she had grown erratic. Withdrawn. She’d sit quietly while I gushed about flower arrangements or seating charts, her eyes clouded with something I couldn’t name.

“You’ve invited people you never cared about before,” she said one night, her voice low as we folded invitations at the kitchen table. “You’re rushing.”

I looked up, confused. “What do you mean?”

“You’re young, Daisy. You’ve barely lived. You don’t know what you’re giving up.”

I blinked at her, stunned. “I’m not giving anything up. I’m gaining everything.”

She hesitated, then whispered, “You don’t know him. He doesn’t know you.”

I felt anger rise in my chest. “I do know him. He knows me, too.”

“Then can’t he see you’re too young for this? You barely have a hold of your own emotions at the best of times. How will he react when you snap?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“How can you say something like that?” I retorted.

“I’m your sister—”

“And you’ve been against us from the start. Againstme. You keep thinking I’m going to ruin everything—”

“It’s not that,” she cut in, exasperated. “It’s that a man like him is refined, experienced—”

“And you still can’t believe he’s in love with me?”

She pursed her lips, nose flaring. “He’s in love with theideaof you.”

Her words were a blow to my chest, dredging up every insecurity and fault I had. I barely spoke to her after that. I was shaking and flustered. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream.

Oliver had to calm me down that night when I unloaded what she had said. He wrapped me in his arms and kissed my forehead, murmuring, “She’s jealous. You have everything she doesn’t. A man who loves you. A child who adores you. A future.”

I wanted to believe him. I did. I kept thinking of June’s words, trying to understand where she was coming from, but I got too angry, too frustrated. I resented her. Didn’t want to see her. I knew every time I was around her, she’d bring me down somehow. And she would do it with that concerned look in her eye, as though she cared.

She didn’t.

Not when she said things like that to me.

Oliver had to be right. She was jealous, and I was letting it ruin important moments in my life. I made a promise to myself that it would stop. I wouldn’t let her views taint me. I wouldn’t let her say another negative word to me again.

The ceremony went off without a hitch. The vows were beautiful. The reception was lavish. As day turned to night, we danced under the stars, and when Oliver twirled me around the patio, I felt like a princess in a movie—the kind who finally gets her happy ending.

But there was a moment later—brief, but unforgettable—when I saw June speaking to Oliver near the edge of the patio. Her arms were crossed, her expression tight. Oliver’s face was unreadable, but he didn’t look happy. Neither did she.

Something was wrong.

What had she done this time?

She’d fled after their conversation. She hadn’t wished me good night. Hadn’t even hugged Rowe goodbye. It made me mad that she did that to her nephew when he’d spent so much of that very day chasing after her.

Later, when I asked Oliver about it, he pulled me aside and whispered, “She told me your true nature would show. That I’d regret marrying you. That you’ve made so many horrible mistakes, they’re bound to surface.”

I felt like the floor dropped beneath me. “She said that?”

He nodded, his jaw clenched. “She’s trying to sabotage this. She’s bitter, Daisy. It’s best you keep her at arm’s length.”

And I did.