“Fine,” my mother said, though she didn’t look convinced. “Just discussing final details.” “Wonderful.” Adrian’s arm slid around my waist. “Elena and I should get going. We have the menu tasting this afternoon.” As we left, I felt my mother’s eyes on my back. She knew something was wrong. But knowing and being able to help were two different things. The menu tasting was another exercise in control. Every dish I preferred, Adrian rejected. “Too simple,” he’d say. Or “Not impressive enough.” He chose everything. The food. The wine. The presentation. “This is our wedding,” I finally said. “Shouldn’t I have some say?” “Of course you should.” His smile was indulgent. “But darling, you’re not thinking clearly. Still weak from your illness. Let me handle the details. I know what’s best.” What’s best. Translation: what he wanted. “I don’t like fish,” I said when he selected a seafood course. “You’ll learn to like it.” His hand covered mine. “I’ll teach you.” The head chef look
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