Heading down the hall, I hear Eleanor and Lawrence arguing in the kitchen and my optimism about the day fades. They’re on the far side of the massive kitchen, near the terrace, so they don’t see me, but their voices carry across the wide open space.

Side by side, my parents make a stunning couple. Today, Eleanor has on a dove gray Kiton skirt, navy blouse, and understated gold jewelry. I’m sure she’s been showered and dressed since dawn, as opposed to her husband, who hasn’t shaved in days, and slouches against the counter in baggy shorts, a faded Wellesley T-shirt, and battered loafers.

Lawrence and Eleanor fell in love at first sight, or so the story goes. The way he tells it, Eleanor’s society ways, proper diction, and icy elegance knocked him sideways. I can see it too: Lawrence doing soft-shoe, jazz hands, anything, to win her over while she stood back, amused, watching him spin. But Eleanor was equally intrigued. Despite CW’s endorsement, Lawrence Quinn was the type of uncultured, unrestrained boy her parents derided. A boy who talked too much and drank too much. Who had the gall to mock her uptight bearing, yet knew enough to court her properly, with handwritten notes on heavy card stock. With Lawrence, Eleanor felt girlish. With Eleanor, Lawrence felt like an insider. Together, they were a perfect couple. So perfect, Eleanor wouldn’t sign a prenup. Her parents balked, but she stood firm. In the end, the parties compromised, and Lawrence was welcomed into the fold with a lavish wedding, while Eleanor’s fortune remained under her control, the majority sealed in a trust. Lawrence can access their assets, but he needs Eleanor’s authorization to spend above a certain threshold. And so the perfect couple lived happily ever after.

This morning, though, I see no happiness, only rancor. Eleanor’s lips are pursed, and Lawrence is raking his hands through his hair. I assume they’re arguing about Peter DeFiore, but just as I’m about to call out a cheery hello, Eleanor says, “She’s going with you today. That’s why she raced home—to support her brother.” And I realize they’re fighting about me.

“It’s better if I go alone,” Lawrence says. “If the press is there, they’ll pounce. Until this whole thing goes away, the less we appear in public the better.”

“That’s why we pay a PR firm. So far, they’ve done their job.”

“It hasn’t even been three days, Eleanor. I’m telling you Cassie should not show up in court. Why won’t you listen to me?”

“I’m sorry you feel this way,” she replies, without sympathy. “But Burt wants the whole family there. A united front, he said.”