“And last but not least,” said Tristan Vaughn, raising his champagne glass, “my future brother-in-law. Dan!”

Everybody in the ballroom of the Belmont Hotel turned to look at my husband.

Dan was standing beside me in his navy cardigan, holding a glass of sparkling water. He gave a small, polite wave.

“Dan, buddy,” said Tristan, grinning, “remind me what you do again? You count pennies at a bank, right? Teller?”

“Something like that,” said Dan.

“Something like that!” Tristan laughed. “The man, the myth, the cardigan. Dan drove here tonight in a twelve-year-old Camry, everybody. I had the valet park it next to my Lamborghini so it wouldn't feel lonely.”

Two hundred people laughed.

My little sister Kelsey laughed the loudest. She was standing next to Tristan in a white dress, with a diamond on her finger the size of a grape.

“Don't worry, Dan,” said Tristan, winking. “When I'm family, I'll give you some investment tips. Get you out of that cardigan.”

More laughter.

I looked at Dan. My quiet, kind, patient husband of fifteen years.

He was looking at Tristan very carefully. Not angry. Not embarrassed.

Just watching.

The way he watches a storm coming in over the lake.