Kelsey met Tristan Vaughn in Miami, six months before the engagement party.

She was twenty-nine. A hairdresser, with a big Instagram following. Beautiful, funny, and a little bit lost.

Tristan was thirty-eight and said he was a billionaire.

He ran a company called Vaughn Capital. He said it invested in real estate and new technology. He had a Lamborghini, a penthouse in Miami, a private jet he “shared with friends,” and a watch that cost more than our house.

He flew Kelsey to Paris for her birthday. He bought her a car. He posted pictures of her on a yacht with the caption, My queen.

Three months later, he proposed. On the same yacht. With a six-carat diamond.

The video got two million views.

My parents were dazzled. Dad had never been on a yacht in his life. Mom kept showing her friends at church the photos.

“He's so generous,” Mom said. “And so successful. Kelsey's set for life.”

The engagement party was at the Belmont, the fanciest hotel in Charlotte. Two hundred guests. An ice sculpture of a swan. A string quartet.

And a man in a white suit, standing on a stage, making fun of my husband's cardigan.