"What the fuck is she doing here?" Alaric demanded as he walked up to the table.
Everybody stopped talking and stared at him.
"Language now, Alaric," Clara cautioned gently, sipping her drink.
He shot her a look, anger building inside her chest. "I need my answers!"
"She's a guest," Clara said casually, refusing to meet his eyes. "And she's here to celebrate you."
"By wearing white when she's not the bride?" Alaric snapped, glancing angrily at Violet before turning to his mother.
"It's ivory, not white," Violet said with a sheepish smile—so innocently that he almost believed her.
"See," Clara said, looking at him now. "She says it's not white."
"But it's a fucking wedding gown, and she's not the bride!" he fired up, hating how both his mom and Violet were trying to downplay the situation.
"Language, Alaric!" Clara snapped. "It's not a wedding gown; it's just a… gown."
"What are you so worked up about anyway?" Julius asked, eyes narrowing with annoyance.
