The ceremony was beautiful. I’ll grant them that. Emma floated down the aisle like something from a fairy tale, and Marcus cleaned up nicely in his expensive suit. But during cocktail hour, I noticed something fascinating about my new son‑in‑law. He had different smiles—megawatt charm for the obviously wealthy guests, practiced politeness for the useful ones, and complete indifference for anyone who looked like they might ask favors instead of offering opportunities.

“Mrs. Hartley,” I turned to find Marcus himself approaching, armed with his most dazzling smile, the one reserved for people he was about to manipulate. “Isn’t this just magical?” he said, gesturing at the reception like he’d personally arranged the sunset. “You must be absolutely bursting with pride.”

“Oh, I’m practically vibrating with maternal joy,” I replied, my voice sweeter than artificial sweetener. “Though I must say, the view from here is quite educational.