Her jaw clenched. “Because you made him feel guilty.”
That one landed. Maren looked at her clipboard. Colleen’s mouth tightened. Brett stared at the gravel.
I breathed in slowly. The lake wind moved through the birch leaves. Behind Eden, two more cars turned into the drive — guests. Women in summer dresses. Men in polos. They slowed at the sight of the half-built tent and the circle of tense adults.
Eden saw them too. Panic crossed her face before pride covered it. “Can we not do this right now?” she said, lowering her voice.
“You brought it here.”
“Victoria.”
“No.”
Maren stepped forward, professional again. “Mrs. Sutton, you represented in the signed agreement that you had authorization to use this property.”
Eden gave a little laugh like glass cracking. “It’s a family property.”
“It is not in your name,” Maren said.
“Families share things.”
“Not without permission from the legal owner.”
Eden looked at me with pure frustration. “Are you really going to embarrass me in front of everyone?”
“You embarrassed yourself when you invited them to a place you didn’t have.”
More cars arrived. A silver sedan. A black SUV. A couple with a gift bag. Someone paused near the driveway, clearly unsure whether to walk forward or reverse into the road and pretend they were lost.
Brett finally spoke. “Eden, we should talk to Maren.” She turned on him. “Not now.” “Yes,” he said, low. “Now.”
That was when I noticed how gray he looked. Not annoyed. Gray. His commission checks had been slow, Eden would tell me later. But in that moment, watching him look at the tent, the staff, the guests, his wife’s trembling composure, I realized he had known money was tight long before the party was booked.
Maren turned the clipboard toward Eden. “Because setup began and the crew was dispatched on the information you provided, cancellation terms apply. The remaining balance is still owed.”
Eden blinked. “What?”
“The contract covers labor, rental delivery, custom florals, tenting, food service coordination. Your deposit is nonrefundable, and because the location was never legally secured, the cancellation falls under client breach.”
“That’s insane. You can’t charge me for a party that isn’t happening.”
“I can charge you for resources reserved and deployed under a signed contract.”
Maren pointed at the page. I saw the number before Eden did.
$6,400.
Eden stared. Then she laughed — not because it was funny, but because disbelief needed somewhere to go. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not paying over six thousand dollars because my sister is being petty.”
Maren’s expression hardened. “Your sister did not sign this agreement.”
“My sister is doing this to punish me.”
I stepped closer. “For what?”
Eden’s eyes flashed. “For Pop. For the will. For everything.”