Chapter 5 Visiting the Vescari Estate
Evelyn’s POV
At eight fifty-seven the next morning, the gates to the Vescari estate opened before Nora finished rolling down her window.
She looked at me from the passenger seat. “That’s not creepy.”
“They have our license plate.”
“Still creepy.”
The gates were black iron set between stone walls that disappeared into the trees. No family crest. No sign. Just a guardhouse built from the same gray stone and two men in dark suits who already knew who we were.
I stopped where one of them indicated and lowered my window.
“Ms. Brooks.”
“Yes.”
“Ms. Reed.”
Nora leaned slightly toward me. “Still here.”
He checked our identification anyway, then handed both cards back.
“Follow the drive to the main house. Someone will meet you at the entrance. Photography is prohibited anywhere on the property unless specifically authorized.”
“I know.”
“Your phones may remain with you.”
“That’s an improvement.”
He looked at me for a second before stepping back.
Nora waited until the window was up.
“You really can’t help yourself.”
“I answered him.”
“You argued with their security yesterday.”
“I negotiated.”
“You called their contract a presidential summit.”
“It practically was.”
I drove through the gates.
The house wasn’t visible from the entrance. The driveway curved through old trees, some tall enough that their branches met overhead. Stone walls appeared between the trunks, then disappeared again. We passed another road heading off to the right with a small black sign marked PRIVATE.
Nora pointed at it.
“Restricted area number one.”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m absolutely starting.”
I’d spent part of the drive reading my attorney’s comments on the revised agreement that had arrived a little after midnight.
The Vescaris had changed almost everything I asked them to.
The staff background checks now required written consent and were limited to criminal history, identity verification and security concerns connected to the event. My family was excluded. Existing clients were excluded unless I personally gave permission. Vendor approval had been limited to security clearance, and my company retained control over planning and event operations unless there was an actual security emergency.
Even the restricted-area clause had been rewritten.
My attorney still had two issues with the indemnification language and one part of the cancellation provision, but nothing serious enough to kill the deal.
I had been hoping the contract would give me an easy way out.
It hadn’t.
The house finally came into view around another bend.
Nora stopped talking.
I had worked at estates worth tens of millions of dollars that had been designed to look old.
This one was old.
Gray stone stretched across the top of a rise, broken by tall windows, chimneys and several wings that had clearly been added over time. Ivy covered part of one wall. The front steps dipped slightly in the center from years of use. The landscaping was beautiful without looking like somebody had forced every hedge into submission.
“This is going to photograph ridiculously well,” Nora said.
“I know.”
“You’re already planning.”
“I’m looking.”
“Where’d you put the ceremony?”
“I haven’t put it anywhere.”
“Uh-huh.”
I parked beside a dark SUV near the front steps.
“Depends what’s behind the house.”
Nora smiled.
“Shut up.”
Costanza came through the front doors before we reached the steps.
She wore black trousers, flat boots and a long cream sweater, her hair pulled loosely back.
“You came.”
“I said I would.”
“You said ‘apparently.’”
“That still counted.”
She hugged Nora before Nora had time to decide whether they were at that point, then turned to me.
“Did you get the revised contract?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“My attorney still has notes.”
Costanza sighed. “Of course he does.”
“That’s why I pay him.”
“I know. I’m just impatient.”
“That’s going to be a problem with eleven weeks.”
“You’ll fix me.”
“No. I plan weddings.”
Costanza laughed and started up the steps with us.
The doors opened into an entrance hall two stories high.
The stone floor was worn where people had crossed it for years. A huge staircase curved toward the second level, its railing dark with age. Paintings covered the walls, but none of them looked chosen to match the room.
Portraits.
Landscapes.
Horses.
People in clothes that belonged to another century.
Nora leaned closer. “I feel underdressed.”
“You’re wearing a blazer.”
“I should’ve worn one with inherited wealth.”
Costanza heard her.
“You get used to it.”
“I don’t think I have enough ancestors.”
“You can borrow ours. We have too many.”
“Costanza.”
Tanner’s voice came from the doorway on our left.
He was dressed much as he had been yesterday, except without a tie.
“Good morning, Ms. Brooks. Ms. Reed.”
“Mr. Vescari.”
“Tancredi.”
“No.”
Costanza turned away laughing.
Tanner looked at me. “No?”
“You’ve been Tanner in every piece of paperwork and every conversation I’ve had about you. I’m not changing now.”
“I was being polite.”
“So was I.”
Nora cleared her throat. “I’m staying out of this one.”
Costanza took her arm.
“Come on. I’ll show you the ballroom.”
“It isn’t a ballroom,” Tanner said.
“It has held balls.”
“That doesn’t make it a ballroom.”
“It literally does.”
He looked at his sister.
She kept walking.
I followed.
The room Costanza called a ballroom was large enough to seat one hundred eighty-seven people without forcing anyone to eat with their chair pressed against the table behind them.
That helped.
Tall windows lined one wall, though heavy drapes covered most of them despite the clear morning. The room had a dark wooden ceiling, old chandeliers and a stone fireplace large enough to stand inside.
Costanza spread her arms.
“Dinner.”
“Maybe.”
Her face fell. “Maybe?”
“Where does catering come from?”
She looked toward Tanner.
He pointed to a set of doors at the far end. “Service corridor. Kitchen is through there.”
“How big is the kitchen?”
“Commercial.”
“Actually commercial or rich-people commercial?”
Nora laughed.
Tanner looked at me. “What’s the difference?”
“Whether twenty cooks can work in it or whether somebody installed six ovens because it sounded impressive.”
“The first one.”
“Good.”
I crossed to the windows and pulled one curtain back.
Morning light fell across the floor.
Behind me, Costanza said, “We usually keep those closed.”
“Why?”
“The room gets warm.”
“In November?”
She hesitated.
“It still can.”
I let the curtain fall.
“Fine. They’ll be closed for dinner anyway if we keep the candlelight heavy.”
She nodded.
“Bathrooms?”
“Down the corridor.”
“How many?”
“Six on this floor.”
“Guest bathrooms?”
“Yes.”
“Coat check?”
“We can clear the west sitting room.”
“Show me later.”
Nora was already taking notes.
I walked the path guests would take from the entrance to dinner, then out toward the back of the house.
“How are they getting here?”
“Cars,” Tanner said.
“One hundred eighty-seven people in individual cars?”
“Some will have drivers.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“I can put more staff at the entrance.”
“This is traffic, not staffing.”
I looked at Costanza. “Any shuttles?”
“My grandmother will refuse.”
“She doesn’t have to ride one.”
“She’ll refuse for everyone else.”
“She sounds fun.”
“She isn’t.”
Tanner said, “We can stage cars on the north drive.”
“Show me later.”
The terrace behind the house changed everything.
It stretched nearly the full width of the main building before opening onto a lawn bordered by old stone walls and a line of trees farther down the slope. Beyond them, the land dropped enough to reveal the river in the distance.
Costanza watched me.
“Well?”
“This is why you want the ceremony outside.”
“Yes.”
“I get it.”
She smiled.
I walked down the terrace steps and turned back toward the house.
At ten-thirty at night, the stone façade would sit behind the ceremony. Candles along the terrace. Low lighting in the trees. Dark flowers. No tent unless the weather forced one.
It could be beautiful.
Nora came down beside me.
“You’ve already redone half of it.”
“I’m working.”
“You don’t work here yet.”
I ignored her.
Costanza joined us.
“I want the aisle coming from the house.”
“No.”
Her smile vanished. “Why?”
“Everyone inside will see you before the processional starts.”
“They can close the doors.”
“You’re also asking every bridesmaid to walk down stone steps in formal shoes at ten-thirty at night.”
“Oh.”
“We can bring you in from the east side. What’s over there?”
“A garden.”
“Show me.”
“Grandmother hates it.”
I looked at her.
“What does your grandmother like?”
“Her own opinions.”
Nora laughed.
Tanner came down behind us.
“What about weather?” he asked.
“I told you yesterday. You need an indoor backup.”
“We have one.”
“Show me.”
He looked at Costanza.
She made a face.
“I don’t want the chapel.”
“Chapel?”
“It’s not really a chapel,” Tanner said.
Costanza turned on him. “It has an altar.”
“It hasn’t been used as a chapel in years.”
“It’s a chapel.”
I looked between them. “And nobody thought to mention this yesterday?”
“I hate it,” Costanza said.
“Why?”
“It’s dark.”
“So is your entire wedding.”
“Not like this.”
“Now I definitely want to see it.”
We went back through the house.
The difference showed once we passed the main staircase.
The public rooms had been old but lived in. This side of the house was quieter. The hall narrowed. The windows were smaller. Most of the doors were closed.
At the end, Tanner stopped beside one.
“Beyond this point is private.”
I looked down the hallway.
“There are no signs.”
“There will be for the wedding.”
“They need to be there before vendors arrive.”
“They will.”
Costanza opened the door beside him.
The chapel was beautiful.
And she was right.
It was dark.
Not because there weren’t windows. Six narrow ones sat high in the stone walls, but the glass was old and deep red in places, softening the morning light.
The wooden benches had been removed years ago, leaving an open stone floor. The altar remained beneath a carved arch.
“This can seat one eighty-seven?”
“Comfortably,” Tanner said.
“How?”
“There are chairs in storage.”
“I mean physically.”
“It opens into the adjoining room.”
Costanza pulled open another set of doors.
The space doubled.
“Fine. This works as weather backup.”
“I still want outside.”
“I know. This is insurance.”
She looked toward the altar.
“This room is also used for one of the family observances.”
“Which one?”
“The second.”
I walked partway toward the front.
“Do I need the room cleared before then?”
“No,” Tanner said.
“Do the chairs stay?”
“Yes.”
“Flowers?”
“No.”
“Candles?”
“Yes.”
“Mine or yours?”
“Ours.”
“How many?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“The observance.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“You don’t need to supply them.”
“I need to know whether I’m moving guests into a room that’s just had two hundred candles burning in it.”
“You won’t.”
“How long between the observance ending and guest seating?”
“Thirty minutes.”
“I want forty-five.”
“It isn’t necessary.”
“It is if I have to move one hundred eighty-seven people from dinner and seat them without a crowd forming in the hall.”
Costanza said, “Give her forty-five.”
Tanner looked at his sister.
“I want forty-five too.”
“You didn’t yesterday.”
“I do now.”
“Why?”
“Because she explained it.”
He looked at me.
“Forty-five.”
“Good.”
I studied the room again.
The stone floor would need runners for heels. The lighting needed work for older guests. The side entrance looked wide enough to bring chairs through without crossing the front.
It could work.
Then I saw the portrait.
It hung near the doors, smaller than the ones downstairs.
A man in black stood against a dark background, one hand resting on the back of a chair. The clothes belonged to another century.
The face belonged to Tanner.
I walked closer.
Nora came beside me.
“Oh.”
Costanza joined us.
Nora looked from the painting to Tanner.
“That is unsettling.”
The resemblance was too close to dismiss as a passing family likeness. Same eyes. Same nose. Same jaw. Even the same mouth.
Only the hair was different, longer in the portrait and tied at the nape.
I read the brass plaque beneath the frame.
Tancredi Vescari, 1817.
Then I looked at Tanner.
“Seriously?”
Costanza didn’t pretend not to know what I meant.
“It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”
“That’s one word.”
Nora stepped closer. “That is not normal family resemblance.”
Tanner stayed several feet behind us.
“My family repeats names.”
“And faces, apparently,” Nora said.
Costanza smiled. “Everyone says Tanner got the worst of it.”
“The worst?”
“He looks exactly like him. My father used to joke that the family never needed another portrait.”
“Who was he?”
“An ancestor,” Tanner said.
“That narrows it down.”
“My great-great-great-grandfather.”
Costanza looked at him.
Just for a second.
Then back at me.
I read the date again.
Families repeated names. Features carried down. Genetics did strange things.
Still, the resemblance was almost exact.
“You should stop standing next to it,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because it makes it worse.”
Nora laughed.
Costanza took my arm.
“Come see the garden before you decide we’re too strange to work for.”
“I made that decision yesterday.”
“That’s fair.”
The east garden solved the processional problem.
A gravel path ran behind a tall hedge before opening near the ceremony lawn. Costanza and the wedding party could come from the house unseen and enter from the side without using the terrace steps.
“Lighting all the way down here,” I said.
“Yes.”
“No open flame along the walkway.”
Costanza groaned. “Why?”
“Hair. Dresses. People not paying attention.”
“LED candles?”
“Good ones.”
“Tanner hates them.”
“Tanner isn’t walking down the aisle.”
“I’m standing right here.”
“I know.”
We continued toward the far end of the garden, where another building sat partly hidden behind the trees.
I pointed at it.
“What’s that?”
Costanza answered immediately.
“Private.”
“Restricted area number two,” Nora said.
“I told you not to count.”
“I’m doing it quietly.”
Tanner stopped beside us.
“That building will not be used for the wedding.”
“Fine.”
I marked it on the property map Aldo had given Nora when we arrived.
By ten fifteen, we had gone through the ceremony site, dinner room, backup space, cocktail areas, kitchen, loading access, bathrooms, bridal suite and the rooms available to the wedding party.
I had a list of problems.
None of them were serious enough to stop the wedding.
Parking would be difficult. The late ceremony needed a tight transportation schedule. Dinner before the ceremony meant the guests had to understand from the start that the evening would run differently. The outdoor site needed separate plans for cold, rain and wind.
But it was manageable.
We were back in the main hall when a small man in a camel-colored coat appeared through one of the side doors carrying an enormous leather portfolio.
Costanza stopped.
“No.”
He smiled.
“Miss Vescari.”
“No.”
I looked at Nora.
She whispered, “Florist?”
The man approached.
“Your grandmother said you would be here this morning.”
Costanza turned toward Tanner.
“You knew about this?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You get that face.”
“I have one face.”
I nearly laughed.
The man reached us and offered me his hand.
“Gianni Moretti.”
“Evelyn Brooks.”
Recognition crossed his face.
“So you are the planner.”
“No.”
“Yes,” Costanza said.
I looked at her.
“Potential planner.”
Gianni opened the portfolio.
“I have handled Vescari family flowers for thirty-two years.”
“That’s impressive.”
He showed me the first page.
Gold stands.
White roses.
Cream roses.
More white roses.
Then an enormous arrangement of white lilies.
I looked at Costanza.
She looked miserable.
“You like white?” I asked.
“No.”
“Gold?”
“No.”
“Lilies?”
“I hate lilies.”
Gianni looked offended. “Your grandmother loves lilies.”
“I’m not marrying my grandmother.”
I closed the portfolio.
Gianni put one hand over it.
“I have not shown you the full concept.”
“You don’t need to.”
He stared at me.
“The bride doesn’t want white, cream, gold or lilies.”
“The Vescari family has always used—”
“Costanza is the one getting married.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Gianni looked toward Tanner.
Tanner slipped his hands into his pockets.
“Don’t look at me.”
“Mr. Vescari—”
“My sister asked for a planner.”
“I haven’t hired her yet,” Costanza said.
I looked at her.
“You are not helping.”
“You know what I mean.”
Gianni frowned. “Mrs. Vescari specifically requested—”
“My grandmother can have lilies at her birthday,” Costanza said.
“Her birthday is in January.”
“Perfect.”
He looked wounded.
I almost felt bad for him.
Almost.
“You can submit something new,” I said. “But it needs to be based on what Costanza wants. Deep reds. Darker foliage. Texture. Nothing pale just because somebody thinks weddings have to look bridal.”
He hesitated.
“Black flowers?”
“No dyed flowers.”
Costanza and I said it together.
We looked at each other.
“See?” she said. “This is why I need you.”
Gianni closed his portfolio.
“I will revise.”
“Good.”
He gave Costanza a small bow and walked away.
We waited until the door closed.
She turned to me.
“You said he wasn’t our florist.”
“He isn’t.”
“You just told him to revise.”
“I told him he could submit something.”
“That’s how it starts.”
“You really don’t like him.”
“He put baby’s breath in my sister’s engagement party.”
“You have another sister?”
Costanza’s face changed.
“No.”
Tanner answered before I could ask anything else.
“She meant a cousin.”
Costanza looked at him.
Then at me.
“Yes. Cousin.”
I didn’t push.
My phone rang.
The hospital number.
“Excuse me.”
I stepped away and answered.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Brooks? This is patient financial services calling regarding Margaret Brooks.”
“Yes.”
“We received the appeal request. It has been submitted, but there has been no change in the authorization status yet.”
“How long are they saying?”
“We still have to allow the insurer time to review it.”
“So nothing changed.”
“Not yet.”
“And the self-pay estimate is still forty-eight thousand seven hundred?”
“Yes. That remains the estimate.”
“All right.”
“If authorization comes through before testing begins, we would update the account.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry I don’t have better news.”
“Thank you for calling.”
I hung up and stayed there for a moment.
Forty-eight thousand seven hundred dollars.
The planning fee was six hundred and fifty thousand.
Three hundred twenty-five thousand as soon as I signed.
Nora came over.
“Hospital?”
“Financial services.”
“Anything?”
“No.”
She nodded and left it there.
I put my phone away.
Tanner was watching me when I returned.
“Where are we with the contract?” I asked.
Aldo had joined us.
“We received your attorney’s comments this morning.”
“All three?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“We accepted two. The indemnification language needed a narrower revision.”
“What did you change?”
He handed me a printed copy.
I read the section standing there.
It was better.
“My attorney needs this.”
“I emailed it to him eight minutes ago.”
I looked up.
Aldo smiled slightly. “You gave us his contact information for contract revisions.”
My phone buzzed.
An email from my attorney.
This version resolves my remaining concern. From a legal standpoint, I have no objection if you want to proceed.
I read it twice.
Nora leaned toward me.
“Well?”
“He’s fine with it.”
Costanza clasped her hands together.
I pointed at her. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was going to breathe.”
“Quietly.”
She laughed.
Aldo handed me another document.
“The privacy addendum regarding your mother.”
I looked at Tanner.
He said nothing.
I read it.
Margaret Brooks was excluded from all investigation, verification, contact and inquiry connected to my work with the Vescari family. No hospital, physician, medical provider or third party connected to her care could be contacted without my written consent.
The next line confirmed that any information already collected about Margaret during preliminary due diligence had been removed.
I looked at Aldo.
“Already done?”
“Yes.”
“How do I know?”
“You don’t.”
At least he didn’t dress it up.
“But it has been removed,” he said.
I looked at Tanner.
“You agreed to this?”
“Yes.”
“Without arguing?”
“You made your position clear.”
“That usually doesn’t stop you.”
Costanza laughed under her breath.
I read the clause again, then the payment section.
Six hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
Three hundred twenty-five thousand on execution.
My mother needed forty-eight thousand seven hundred dollars in testing insurance had decided not to cover.
I looked at Costanza.
“Your guest list stays at one eighty-seven.”
“Yes.”
“No adding forty people two weeks before.”
“I won’t.”
“Your grandmother doesn’t redesign the wedding.”
“Yes.”
“No lilies.”
“Yes.”
“Lorenzo answers my questions when I ask them.”
“He will.”
“If the ceremony has to move inside because of weather, I make that call.”
Costanza hesitated.
I waited.
She sighed.
“You make the call.”
I turned to Tanner.
“My staff gets treated like professionals.”
“Yes.”
“No surprises with security.”
“As much as possible.”
“That isn’t the answer I want.”
“It’s the honest one.”
Fair enough.
“If something changes that affects my event, somebody tells me.”
“Yes.”
“And the family observances stay inside the time you give me.”
“Within reason.”
“You already have extra time built in.”
“That should be enough.”
Aldo held out a pen.
I looked at it.
Nora said quietly, “Evelyn.”
“I know.”
I took it.
Costanza went completely still.
“I am not responsible for your grandmother.”
“No one is.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I looked down at the contract.
I had enough reasons to walk away.
I also had enough reasons not to.
I signed my name.
Costanza let out a breath.
Nora smiled.
Aldo turned the contract around for Tanner.
He signed below me.
That was it.
Two signatures.
Aldo gathered the copies.
“I’ll have the executed agreement sent to your office within the hour. Accounting will release the deposit today.”
Three hundred twenty-five thousand dollars.
I set the pen down.
Costanza came around the table and hugged me before I could stop her.
“Thank you.”
“You may regret this.”
“I won’t.”
“You haven’t seen my production calendar yet.”
“I’m not scared.”
“You should be.”
She laughed and stepped back.
Nora said, “I’m scared enough for everyone.”
Tanner was still standing across from me.
“Welcome to the Vescari family, Ms. Brooks.”
“No.”
His brow lifted.
“I’m planning your sister’s wedding. I didn’t join the family.”
Costanza laughed.
Aldo looked away.
Tanner picked up his copy of the agreement.
“We’ll see.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“That didn’t sound like nothing.”
He walked out before answering.
I looked at Costanza.
She shrugged.
“That’s how he communicates.”
“I’m charging extra for him.”
“You should.”
Nora followed me toward the front doors while Costanza started arguing with Aldo about the florist.
Outside, I looked back at the stone house.
Yesterday I had been deciding whether I wanted anything to do with the Vescari family.
Now I had eleven weeks to plan their wedding.
I got into the car.
Nora buckled her seat belt beside me.
“You okay?”
I started the engine.
“Ask me after the deposit clears.”
“That’s fair.”
I backed out of the parking space.
As we drove toward the gates, the house disappeared behind the trees.
The contract was signed.
The wedding was mine.
And I still couldn’t stop thinking about that portrait.
Tancredi Vescari.
Same face.
Same eyes.
I drove through the gates and tried not to think too hard about what else the Vescari family kept behind closed doors.
