Chapter 2 - The Words He Borrowed
Jenna arrived at the Bellamy estate on Thursday afternoon carrying the blue family album and one small suitcase.
The property looked like something designed for a magazine cover.
White columns rose above wide stone steps. Ancient oak trees framed the lawn, their branches draped in Spanish moss. Workers moved between flower arches and long dining tables while wedding planners spoke urgently into headsets.
Nicholas stood near the entrance with a tailor, two assistants, and a clipboard.
When he saw Jenna, he checked his watch.
“You’re twelve minutes late.”
“My flight was delayed.”
“You should have booked an earlier one.”
Jenna held out the photo album.
“I brought what you asked for.”
Nicholas took it without thanking her.
He looked at her navy travel dress.
“That isn’t what you’re wearing to the rehearsal dinner, is it?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He turned toward the house before she could ask where she was staying.
Jenna followed him upstairs, where he pointed toward a narrow room at the end of the corridor.
The larger guest rooms had been reserved for Victoria’s relatives and Nicholas’s business contacts. Jenna had been given a former storage room containing a single bed and a small window overlooking the service driveway.
“I thought I was staying in the east wing with the family,” she said.
“Plans changed.”
“Where are Dad and Denise?”
“Main guest suite.”
“And Aunt Rebecca?”
“Garden cottage.”
Jenna waited.
Nicholas sighed.
“Victoria’s college friends needed the other rooms. It’s only for three nights.”
The room itself did not upset Jenna.
She had slept in airports, backstage offices, and conference rooms while finishing urgent drafts.
What hurt was how easily Nicholas expected her to accept being moved aside.
He placed the album on the bed.
“I need one more thing.”
“Of course you do.”
He either missed the bitterness in her voice or chose to ignore it.
“I haven’t finished my rehearsal dinner toast.”
“Nicholas, the dinner is in four hours.”
“I’ve been busy.”
He handed her several sheets of hotel stationery. The page contained scattered phrases.
Victoria makes me better.
Building our future.
Power couple but not arrogant.
Mention her father’s guidance.
Something emotional about Mom.
Jenna looked up.
“You want me to write it.”
“You’re good at this kind of thing.”
“The little online content thing?”
His jaw tightened.
“Can we not do this today?”
“You brought it up.”
“I need a polished three-minute toast. Warm, intelligent, memorable. Nothing embarrassing.”
“Then speak honestly.”
“I don’t have time for a lecture, Jenna.”
“No. You only have time for me to make you sound like the man you wish people believed you were.”
For a moment, something uncertain crossed Nicholas’s face.
Then it disappeared.
“Please,” he said, softer this time. “Victoria’s father will be listening.”
There it was.
Not Victoria.
Not the woman he was marrying.
Her father.
The potential connections.
The future contracts.
Jenna should have refused.
But she remembered the boy who had built a blanket tent during thunderstorms.
She remembered how their mother used to say that family members carried each other when one of them became tired.
Their mother had died seven years earlier, and Jenna still found herself protecting the memories that remained.
“Three minutes,” she said. “And I’m not writing a performance. I’m writing what you should mean.”
Nicholas smiled with relief.
“I knew I could count on you.”
Jenna spent the next two hours interviewing him.
She asked when he had first realized he loved Victoria.
He gave a vague answer about a weekend in Napa.
She asked what Victoria feared.
He did not know.
She asked what sacrifice Victoria had made for him.
He mentioned that she had moved one charity committee meeting.
Jenna nearly closed her notebook.
Then she asked about a moment when Victoria had shown him kindness.
Nicholas became quiet.
Finally, he described the night Aurelius Events had lost its largest client. He had returned home after midnight and found Victoria waiting in the kitchen. She had removed his shoes, made him scrambled eggs, and listened while he admitted that he was terrified his company might fail.
“That,” Jenna said, “is the speech.”
She wrote about love being most visible when the audience had gone home.
She wrote that partnership was not built during celebrations but in quiet kitchens after difficult days.
She included one sentence about their mother:
My mother taught me that love is not the person who applauds the loudest when you win. Love is the person who sits beside you when you have nothing left to perform.
At the rehearsal dinner, Nicholas delivered Jenna’s words perfectly.
Victoria cried.
Her father placed a hand over his heart.
Guests lifted their glasses.
When Nicholas finished, the room erupted in applause.
Jenna sat near the back beside two distant cousins.
Nicholas accepted every compliment.
“What a beautiful speech,” Victoria’s mother told him.
“You have a remarkable way with words,” said a venture capitalist.
Nicholas smiled modestly.
“I just spoke from the heart.”
His gaze moved briefly toward Jenna.
She waited for him to acknowledge her.
He did not.
Across the room, an elderly man with silver hair watched the exchange.
Jenna recognized Emmett Stewart immediately.
She had not known he would attend the rehearsal dinner.
Emmett did not approach her. Their professional relationship was still confidential, and Jenna appreciated his discretion.
But as Nicholas accepted another compliment, Emmett lifted his glass slightly in Jenna’s direction.
A private acknowledgment.
A silent statement.
I know whose words those are.
May you like
For the first time that evening, Jenna smiled.
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