“Well, I’m just not sure which couple I dislike more,” he said. “The old money snobs or the grasping newly rich.”

“Why do we have to choose?” I asked. I scanned the veranda, looking for the bride and groom. I wondered if they saw their parents heading toward each other like a cruise ship and an iceberg, or maybe that was just me.

Rita made the first move. She tossed her long dark hair, so like Piper’s, and leaned in with her arms wide. Davina stiffened once her personal bubble was breached, and the greeting hit a solid ten out of ten on the awkward scale.

It felt as if the entire veranda had gone silent and was watching. I saw Sirus lean over and hiss in Davina’s ear. She cast him a look of pure loathing and then stepped forward, her smile as fake as her tan as she flapped around Rita in an air hug before quickly stepping back.

Sirus and Matthew shook hands, resignation slumping both of their shoulders. They didn’t meet each other’s eyes. The greeting seemed begrudging and was ended as quickly as possible.

I thought about Harry’s parents and my parents. They’d met shortly after our engagement when my parents came to London for a visit. I’d been nervous, which was ridiculous, as they got on like long-lost friends to the point where our moms were now in an online book club together and our dads texted each other truly awful dad jokes that they thought were hilarious. Perhaps it helped that my mother was British, but I think it would have worked out that way anyway.

When there is no vast fortune or title or impossible standard to be reached, it was much easier to find common ground in everyday things like your favorite biscuit or vacation spot. Thankfully, they were all in accord about Hobnobs and Aruba.

A laugh from across the veranda brought my attention back to the parents. Rita was telling a story with lots of gestures and a big smile. The men nodded, watching her with an amused detachment while Davina looked slightly ill. Her gaze kept flitting to the right as if she was seeking an escape.

“Where did Dooney go?” I asked. I really felt like this was something he should be dealing with as Piper watched the parents converse from the safety of the circle of her bridesmaids, looking nervous and embarrassed.

We scanned the crowd. There were other guests on the veranda. Viv recognized one as a London-based makeup artist, while others had the look of the Portis family with their distinctive noses, or the May family with their very high foreheads. I wondered briefly how it would work out for any children of Piper and Dooney, especially if they got both the nose and the forehead. Yikes.

“He’s over there with Quentin,” Viv said. She tipped her head and I followed the direction.