I Left Him at the Altar, So the Best Man Took Me Off the Island novel · Chapter 33 of 40

Chapter 33: Ansel's POV: Thanksgiving

Ansel's POV

The table in the big house was set for twelve.

The good china stood on a lace cloth, and a branch of bittersweet sat in a pitcher.

At the head of the table stood my father's chair.

It was carved oak with arms, and nobody had sat in it for three years.

Constance had laid a place there.

"Ansel," she said, rising. "Dear boy. I'm so glad you came."

She kissed my cheek.

She wore a plum-colored dress and her pearls, and she smelled of the same rose water she'd worn when I was fourteen.

"Sit," she said. "There."

She gestured at the head of the table.

I stayed on my feet.

"Constance," I said. "I came to say something."

"After the soup."

"Before," I said.

"We have guests, dear."

I looked around the room.

Bryce lounged at her right in a blue blazer, with a drink.

Her lawyer sat across from him.

Four couples from the yacht club filled the middle of the table, people I'd known since I was a boy, and a man I didn't know at all sat at the far end in a good gray suit, studying the silverware.

None of them looked at me directly.

"Sit," Constance said again. "Please. For your father."

I sat.

I sat in the second chair down, on her left, and left my father's empty.

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