Joyce stared at me like I’d suggested serving canned soup at Buckingham Palace.
Joyce complained.
She wasn’t particularly fond of homemade things, either.
One Christmas, a relative knitted her a beautiful scarf.
“Honestly, if people can’t afford a proper present, they should just send flowers,” Joyce complained.
I wondered whether anyone had explained to her how much flowers cost in this economy.
She was his family.
Colin knew his mother could be difficult, but he’d spent years ignoring her obsession with appearances.
Still, whenever Paige came up, he made one thing perfectly clear: she was his family.
I hoped Joyce would eventually accept that.
Until then, I intended to keep the peace.
For Colin’s sake, anyway.
She was making my dress.
When Colin proposed, Paige screamed so loudly that our neighbor came over to check if someone had been murdered.
Then, before I’d even picked a wedding date, she announced that she was making my dress.
