It was early morning in the Sun-Times newsroom. Guinevere was there, along with the managing editor and a few reporters getting a jump start on their day. She went to the mailroom first thing, collecting the envelopes from her box. They ranged from business to professional. She was having her mail forwarded to the office since she didn't have a home address at the moment.

When she was seated at her desk in her office, she flipped through the envelopes stacking up the work related mail, setting it aside for later, along with a separate stack with a few bills. The first envelope she picked up was an informal invitation to Rosemary's bachelorette party. She flipped the page on her desk calendar, making a note on the appropriate day. Two weeks after that was the big day. Guinevere opened her top drawer and pulled out a heavy rectangle of cardstock with cursive writing. It came in the mail a week earlier.

Mr. & Mrs. Stephen Endicott

request the pleasure of your company

at the marriage of their daughter

Rosemary Eloise Endicott

to

Tristan Ike Dugray

son of Mr. & Ms. Alexander Dugray

Saturday, the second of August

two thousand and eight

Guinevere sighed. "So this is really happening," she said. She already had her brother's nuptials noted. Things were changing in big ways this year. She and Tristan were on a train that kept lurching forward, and they had boarded on roughly the same day last fall.

Their mother was in the kitchen, preparing the food for Thanksgiving dinner. Guinevere had just finished mashing the potatoes and stepped out to see what everyone else was doing in the den. Her father and his older brother, Joe, were on the couch watching a football game. Their uncle Joe and his wife were the only ones that showed up this year. It made for an uncharacteristically small crowd.

Guinevere glanced at the TV to check out the score before catching Tristan's eye. He looked slightly anxious and quickly got up when she tilted her head toward the door. She followed him to the formal sitting room at the front of the house. It was the one they used when company came over. Tristan sat down at the end of one of the couches and Guinevere took a seat in the adjacent love seat.

"Small crowd this year," she commented. They wouldn't even be able to play football in the backyard like usual. "Do you think anyone would notice if I snuck away this afternoon?"

"Probably," Tristan said. "Where are you going?"

"Mitchum and Shira's."

They never visited their mother's family at Thanksgiving. Caroline traditionally prepared the meal for the whole Dugray family, but things were different this year. Grandpa had died that spring and this was their first Thanksgiving without him. Their two other uncles and their families were MIA today, on account of their other plans. They lied though. They were on the outs with her parents, unhappy with the way Janlen had divvied up his estate. Caroline had been like the sister her three brothers-in-law never had, up until the moment she was treated as such in the will. It had come as a shock when their feelings became resentful toward her. But as their culture dictated, they could not openly express this. Passive aggression was their only outlet.

Guinevere added, "Mitchum invited me."

Tristan raised a brow. "Really?"

She glanced at the doorway. "Mm-hmm."

"Did he say why?"

"He did after I asked," she said, pausing to draw out the drama. She leaned in toward her brother so he would do the same. "He wants to talk to me about taking some meetings with him."

Tristan's eyes widened slightly, impressed. Everyone figured Mitchum would just call in his son-in-law, Josh, after Logan quit earlier that year. Nothing was going as planned or presumed. Logan was supposed to be the be-all and end-all. Even if there was a succession line mapped out, Guinevere would be near the very bottom. That's where the girls in the family ranked—dead last, behind every possible boy, even the ones by marriage.

Guinevere still went to the Vineyard in June. It would be stupid to sit on her hands just because it was a longshot. And now she was invited to Thanksgiving.

"Mom will probably be upset if you leave," Tristan said. "It hasn't been a great day for her."

"I know, but I have to go."

He nodded silently. After a pause, he said, "Hey, I wanted to show you something. His eyes darted toward the door to make sure no one was coming before he reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. He opened it to let her see the diamond ring sitting inside.

Guinevere blinked. "This is a little sudden."

He shot her a grim look and closed the box. "It's for Rosemary, her Christmas present."

She took a second, but said again, "This is a little sudden, isn't it?"

Tristan frowned and shook his head. "We've been dating for over a year." He went on, "And I know she'll say yes."

"Why are you so confident?"

He pocketed the box. "When she was telling me about how Logan proposed to his girlfriend at graduation, and she didn't know why he got rejected, since they were both out of college." He added, "Rosemary has already been out of school for a year, so she wants to get married."

But did that mean Tristan did too? He didn't move to Boston to be with his girlfriend after he graduated college that spring. That was a red flag. Another was his reasoning. If not for her hinting, would he have gone out and bought a ring of his own volition?

Guinevere's mind worked through his analogy. It wasn't the first time Tristan had mentioned this bit of gossip to her, since Rosemary was friends with their cousin. However, that didn't mean Guinevere ever believed it. In fact, no part of Logan's relationship ever added up for her. "Think about what you're saying."

"What about it?"

"Do you really believe Logan—Magog—would ever want to get married? And when he's only 25?" Guinevere asked, creases firmly in place between her brows. "Think of all the girls he'd be giving up forever."

"You think Rosemary made up the story?" Tristan asked, not impressed. "Why would she lie about something like that?"

"Gee, I don't know, to drop a hint so you'd get her a ring?" Guinevere said pointedly. "You should have just bought her that ridiculously expensive bag she wanted when everyone else had one. At least that wouldn't come with a major life commitment."

Tristan looked crestfallen. "You've never given her a chance. You write off anyone who's friends with Logan."

"Well, it takes a certain degree of poor character judgment, yes, but that's beside the point right now."

Irritated, he said, "I know you have to think everyone is lying, but she wasn't manipulating me into marriage."

"If you haven't noticed, Logan isn't engaged. How do you explain that?"

"He got turned down."

She scoffed. "Well sure, he isn't as useful to her now that he doesn't want to be a Huntzberger."

"Are you really that jaded?" Tristan asked. "It has to be forced."

"Fine, let's say it's true. How has it stayed such a well-kept secret?"

He lifted his shoulders and held a palm up, exasperated. "I don't know, maybe because it's embarrassing for him and everyone wants to stay on Mitchum and Shira's good side," he said. "We don't know that no one talks about it—Mom doesn't run in the circles that gossip. When she and the men talk shop, they don't discuss their kids' love lives."

Convenient, Guinevere thought. It was all very convenient. She wanted to point out that he just called them kids, and he was right. He was a kid. But she knew that argument wasn't going to get any traction here. He'd just pull the 'Mom and Dad' card. He refused to acknowledge that Caroline and Alex Dugray were not realistic. By normal standards, they should have divorced a long time ago—like the 80's, when everyone else was splitting up. At the very least they should be stuck in a stagnate, loveless marriage.

Tristan still had a naivety about him that he hadn't quite grown out of.

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter, this isn't about Logan. Rosemary and I have been dating for a while, so I'm proposing. It's the natural order of things. And even if she did hint that she wants to get married, who cares? Girls hint at what they want all the time." He asked, "Can't you just be happy for me?"

Guinevere took a deep breath to calm down. "I'm sorry. If this is what you want, and it makes you happy, then I'm happy for you."

It was her brother's choice. He was the one who had to live with his decisions. Guinevere scrunched up her lips in thought. Who would she know at this bachelorette party? The bride, obviously, and her friend—the one who may or may not have an eating disorder. Juliet, that was her name.

Honor would probably be there, which wasn't exactly comforting. Where they had previously shared friendly indifference toward each other, amicably gossiping about mutual acquaintances, there was now an underlying tension. The dynamic in the family had shifted, but it remained uncharacteristically ignored. Huntzberger's didn't tip toe around elephants in the room, until now. Guinevere was the elephant and no one was acknowledging it. It was disconcerting that they'd let things lie. Honor and Shira weren't happy with Guinevere's new status, but were pretending they didn't care.

Rosemary had not seemed to notice though, if her bridal shower was any indication. If a stranger had observed the party goers, they might have confused Shira and Honor as the mother and sister of the groom. Rosemary rubbed elbows with them with ease, and they played along. Guinevere and Caroline socialized with Aunt Kassie. Of all the members in the clan, Kassie was the only one who could get along with everyone without effort. She bridged the many gaps.

It was quite possible Guinevere and Caroline were that unlikable. Or maybe Rosemary just didn't get it. It was probably both. The Dugray women couldn't be confused for ladies who lunch. They didn't always fit in certain social situations. An all-girl event was one of them.

She picked up her phone and dialed her brother.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Hey, when is your bachelor party?"

"Two weeks before the wedding, the same time as the bachelorette party."

"Isn't that kind of early?"

"A little. But we wanted the parties to be at the same time, and that's the only night both sides of the wedding party could all get together. Are you going to be able to make it? Rosemary invited you."

"I know, I just got the invitation in the mail. I want to go to your party instead."

"My party is for the guys."

"Yes, and being 'one of the guys' should get me into my brother's bachelor party. There aren't that many other benefits," she said. The quagmire that was the friend zone certainly wasn't one. "I would have to get Rosemary a gift, and I don't know what that entails for a bachelorette party." This was the first one she'd ever been invited to, except for Honor's a couple years ago. But she was family, so it was only an obligatory invite. Guinevere hadn't made it to that anyway. She added, "I have no intention of buying negligee that my brother will be removing." She shuddered.

"You'll have to talk to my best man if you want to come to mine. He's making all the arrangements," Tristan said, giving her the phone number. "I'm not sure if there's going to be a stripper, but I think there will be a steak dinner, just to warn you."

"I'll eat the baked potato and a salad," she said. "I'll be fine." And if there was a stripper, she probably had an interesting origin story.

"So, have you found a place to live yet?" he asked.

"I have not."

"You'll have better luck if you leave the newsroom."

Guinevere sighed. "There aren't a lot of rental options around here. I might have to get a house."

"You're such a grown up."

"I know." Maybe she'd feel like one soon. She added, "I need a car too. I can't drive a rental forever."

"You could just get a couch for your office. That would kill two birds with one stone." Then he asked, "I know you were living in New York and no one drives there, but why didn't you just leave your car at home?"

Guinevere exhaled. "I needed the money."

"To support some kind of addiction?"

"In a way. I accumulated some debt in college." She rested her chin in her palm and wistfully looked out the window. "It was sophomore year and I wanted to go to Super Bowl Media Day. So I got a credit card and went. But it was a bust—the players were forced to be there, the reporters were cynical."

"Where was it that year?"

"San Diego. The Packers and the Broncos were playing. Anyway, Media Day was disappointing, so when spring break rolled around in mid-March, I went to cover some NCAA finals games."

"How many?"

She paused. "Enough to extend my spring break another week. Or two. March Madness quickly segued into Opening Day."

She could hear Tristan smirking on the other end when he asked, "What about your classes?"

"I skipped some, obviously." It led to her falling behind in Chemistry and it was too late to drop the class, so her grade—and GPA—slipped. She didn't even get picked to be the next editor of the paper after all that. They chose someone else, who didn't go the extra mile. Bastards.

"Dad came up to the Berkshires a week before my birthday and took me out for lunch, where he proceeded to tell me he wasn't going to pay off the seven credit cards I didn't need to open." She went on, "So when I tried to warn you that your high school escapades were going to catch up with you, it was because I knew from experience."

"Huh." Tristan mused, "Dad's like Joe Paterson. Screw up and you're going down."

"Oh yeah, he'd definitely fire me if he had to," she said. "There's a Ford dealership about an hour away. I'm thinking about a getting a Mustang. Then we'll both have one."

"I don't have one."

"You're getting Dad's."

"I am?" he asked, pleasantly surprised.

"Yeah. He gave me Ike's watch, so you're getting the Mustang," she said. "He said you wanted it more since you snuck it out."

"He knows about that?" Tristan asked.

"Apparently. It's going to come with paperwork that legally prohibits you from selling it." She asked, "When did you take it out?"

"Summer before junior year." That summer. "I had to take it for Tristan Dugray's Day Off. We skipped class and went to New York."

"Who's we?"

There was a silent beat. "No one."

"Okay," she said slowly.

He abruptly changed the subject, "Have things improved with your assistant?"

"Well, when I asked him something yesterday, he finished his answer with, 'at least that's how we do it in print journalism'," she said. "Dude, my first job was at Newsday, I know how we do things. Save the snark."

"In his defense, that was a tabloid layout, not a broadsheet."

She gasped. "Don't speak ill of Alicia Paterson's paper to me. The format was innovative."

"Not when she did it. She was just copying what her dad did at The Daily News," Tristan reminded her. "You know how One Tree Hill is overly occupied with basketball?"

"No, but I'll humor you. What about it?"

"Our family is a lot like that, but with newspapers."

Guinevere grinned. She was about to let Tristan get back to his day and start her own, when he asked, "Hey, have you ever had a recurring dream?"

"I've never had a dream repeat itself verbatim, but I've had dreams with recurring themes," she said. "Like when I have something big coming up—an important game to cover or presentation for school. In real life I'm anxious, and in the dreams I'm running late and can't get my shit together to leave on time." She continued, "I'll be putting on pants and look down and I'm like, well these are clear, I can't wear these. Then I wake up and realize I have a couple days before the big thing. It actually relieves some of the anxiety. Why?" she asked. "Are you dreaming about being late for the wedding?"

"Something like that," he said before they ended the call.

XXX

Francie parked her car in the lot and she and the girls got out. They were just getting in from a movie, and now she only had to get them to bed. The younger was looking tired, but the tween wanted to stay up late to watch Conan. She was going to argue that it was, after all, Friday night. She should get to stay up little later. Luckily, their mother was home and still awake, so the decision was up to her while Francie was free to work on homework.

It was almost one in the morning when she finished. Her bed looked inviting, but she couldn't find her phone and needed to set her alarm. She checked her purse and couldn't find it, and a pat down of her pants wasn't fruitful either, so she picked up her keys and went back out to her car. Her cell was there, still in a cup holder where she'd sat it earlier.

Francie was about to get out and go back inside, when four people stumbled out of the building's front door—two guys and two girls. It was Rosemary with a blond girl, but neither of the two guys was Tristan. Francie quietly pulled her car door to an almost shut position and rolled the window down, keeping very still.

Two of the boisterous group members headed for a car, waving to Rosemary and the remaining man. He had tanned skin and jet black hair. Francie detected his Australian accent.

"Okay, here's your car," Rosemary told him with a giggle. "I've seen you down safely, so can I go back upstairs now?"

"Wait," he said, grabbing her by the wrist. "I can't go yet. I haven't successfully talked you out of this yet."

"Talked me out of what?"

"Out of marrying this—this Logan Huntzberger knock-off," the Australian said, slurring slightly. "I can't let you."

"Finn," Rosemary said with a groan. "We talked about this. I'm going to marry Tristan. In a month."

Finn shook his head. "What about us?"

"There is no us. There never has been."

"You know that isn't true."

Rosemary exhaled heavily. "Tristan is the kind of guy I belong with. He's marriage material, for one thing. And for another, with his sister taking Logan's place in the company, she'll need to name an heir one day. It's not like she has any prospects. So any kids we have . . ."

"Ah, you want to be the new dowager queen. You'll have to pry that title out of Shira's cold dead hands."

"A dowager queen is the widow of a dead king."

"No, she's the mother of the next heir."

"Maybe by coincidence, but that's not what the word means," Rosemary said. "How did you get into Yale?"

"I slept with the recruiter, and I'm not saying that to make you jealous." A beat. "Unless it does."

"Finn . . ."

He shook his head. "If you think everyone in your little scenario lives happily ever after, you're dreaming, or high. Maybe both."

"I am not. Logan escaped, like he always wanted, and Guinevere stepped up. Things have resolved peacefully. End of story."

Finn looked at her, pityingly. "Darling, that family is a powder keg, and it's giving off sparks. It's not over till it's over."

"What are you talking about?" she asked doubtfully.

"Mitchum, Dark Lord though he is, always hoped his dear son would willingly follow in his footsteps one day. He never thought to manipulate him into it."

Rosemary frowned. "Meaning?"

"Meaning, he has now done the one thing that will drive Logan crazy. He moved on. He took the option away."

"But this is Logan we're talking about," she said. "He never saw it as an option so much as a life sentence."

"You don't know him the way I do," Finn said. "He doesn't like being told what he has to do any more than likes being told what he can't do. Why do you think he became a boyfriend?"

"Because of Rory," Rosemary said. "She's special."

Finn shook his head. "We hadn't seen her for weeks, and I know he wasn't trying to contact her. What happened was, she tried to cut him off and move on. He didn't like that. Suddenly he was calling himself a boyfriend and bragging about how good he'd be at it."

"Maybe he prefers to be the one doing the rejecting."

He shrugged. "Could be. But it's more likely he can't walk away from a challenge. Do you really think Mitchum will hand things over to Gwenny if his dear boy gives the slightest sign of making a comeback?"

Rosemary considered this for a moment. "I guess not."

"The Prodigal son will get his slaughtered calf," Finn said confidently.

Francie listened from her car, disappointed for Guinevere. It wasn't fair, and yet she had a feeling Tristan would agree with what Finn was saying.

"That's if you're right about Logan," Rosemary said.

"I am. There's something else you don't realize about the Huntzberger's. They can't quit the family, as much as they want to," he said. "Your future mother-in-law is probably the biggest masochist of them all."

She sighed, thinking it over for a moment. "Well, at least now I won't feel bad when I tell Tristan I don't want to move to South Carolina."

"Why on earth would you move to South Carolina?" he deadpanned.

"Guinevere took a job at one of Mitchum's papers and Tristan wants me to consider moving there. He wants to be supportive." She went on, "I mean, that's where he went to military school. Why would he want to move back to the place he was exiled? It might make sense if it was boarding school in Europe. But the Deep South?"

Francie's brows furrowed. Rosemary had her Carolina's mixed up.

"You could make friends with Guinevere," Finn teased.

"We went shopping a few weeks ago. I've never not had fun shopping before."

"Was she pedantic?" he asked. "She does that sometimes. I once forwarded her a chain e-mail and she fact checked it and replied to all."

"She walked past Sephora like it wasn't there." Rosemary shook her head. "I didn't want to move to South Carolina anyway, but especially not if working for Mitchum won't get her anywhere. What's the point?"

Tristan would want to be there for his family, regardless, Francie though. It was the example set for him.

Rosemary went on, "I am still marrying him though, so don't get your hopes up." She brightened. "Hey, why don't I set you up with the nanny next door? She's a redhead. Everyone knows how much you like redheads."

"It's not redheads I like," he argued. "I like a girl who happens to be a redhead. If I pick up another, everyone will see through me."

"Well it turns out she's Tristan's what-if girl, so what does that make me?" Rosemary asked, somewhat hysterical. "He let me believe Rory Gilmore was the one that got away, but that wasn't true."

Francie's heart beat harder at the omission. Did Tristan say that about her? When? And why? Is that why he was still mad at her? She turned her attention back to Finn and Rosemary.

He was gently brushing her hair behind her ear, his hand lingering to cup the side of her face. He answered, "It makes you someone else's what-if girl." He leaned down toward her and she didn't pull away. Rosemary tilted her head up to accept Finn's kiss. He pulled her hips closer to him and her hands went to his neck.

When their lips parted, Finn didn't let her go. She didn't try to get away, but weakly protested, "Finn . . . I can't."

"Can't? Or don't want to?" He told her, "You're not married yet."

She was the one to kiss him again before letting him lead her to his car.

Francie's eyes were as wide as saucers. Where were they going? She had to know. Before Finn's car could disappear, Francie quickly turned the key in the ignition and slammed her door shut. She backed out of her parking spot and followed them. She tailed them from a distance that wouldn't be noticed, though she couldn't imagine either Finn or Rosemary being aware of anyone else right now.

Finn turned into a hotel parking lot and ushered his companion inside. Francie had no way of knowing if he already had a room, or was registering for one just for this rendezvous, but that didn't really matter. Tristan's fiancée was following another man into a hotel in the middle of the night.

Francie sat watching the entrance for a while, but neither Finn nor Rosemary emerged. It was late when she finally decided to head back.

But she couldn't sleep. Her mind was racing, wondering what she should do. She had to do something. She couldn't let Tristan marry Rosemary. Were the invitations already mailed? They probably were, the wedding was in less than six weeks.

Was Francie really thinking about trying to stop a wedding? She had never orchestrated a coup this big or dramatic. Or over something this important. This was life changing.

She paced in the living room, checking the window every time she heard any small sound outside. She didn't even know what she was going to do if Rosemary returned home.

Hours passed, and Francie stayed sentient. She was about to leave the living room to get the girls up for breakfast when she heard a car door slam out in the parking lot, followed by a honk to lock the doors. A peek out the window revealed Rosemary had finally returned. Francie had to intercept her.

Intercept her? And then what? She didn't know as she grabbed the key to the mailbox and went out to the hallway. It seemed like an eternity before the elevator dinged, and Francie's heart was pounding quickly when Rosemary stepped off. She pretended to be occupied with something in the mailbox until the other woman passed by.

"Good morning," Francie said pleasantly, turning back toward the apartment.

"Morning," Rosemary mumbled. She was wearing large sunglasses and her hair was messy.

"Late night?" When the other woman only frowned in response and unlocked her door, Francie said, "Tristan was sent to North Carolina, not south."

Rosemary lifted her head enough to meet Francie's eyes, or at least Francie assumed she could see the other woman's eyes if not for the sunglasses. "What?" she asked, unlocking her door and standing just inside her apartment.

"Last night, you told Finn that Tristan wants to move to South Carolina, where he was exiled," Francie said, using her old sugary sweet voice. "But he was sent to North Carolina. You remember saying that, don't you?" Dropping the friendly tone, she firmly said, "It was right before you went to that hotel with Finn."

Rosemary stared, her jaw locked. Silently, she slammed the door in Francie's face.