My Publicist Mother Called My 8-Year-Old Daughter Useless At My Sister's $400,000 Malibu Wedding — Until Lily Stole The DJ Mic And Broadcasted The Studio Audio
Julian’s jaw worked, a muscle ticking in his cheek. He didn’t say another word, just turned on his heel and walked away, his expensive shoes crunching on the gravel path. His back radiated cold anger.
I returned to Table 14, my head held high. Lily was still on the tablet, humming a quiet tune. No one had come with water. No one had offered food.
The main dinner buffet was now open. Guests were gracefully moving toward the lavish spread, platters piled high with lobster and prime rib. The aroma wafted towards us, making Lily lift her head, sniffing the air.
“Mom, can we get some food?” she asked, her eyes wide. “I’m really hungry.”
My heart ached. I nodded. “Of course, sweetie. Let’s go.”
We stood up and began walking towards the buffet line, Lily skipping a little, her hunger overriding her earlier quietness. As we neared the entrance to the serving area, Eleanor’s voice cut through the background chatter, sharp and clear.
“Staff captain!” she called out, loud enough to make several guests turn their heads.
A stout man in a chef’s jacket hurried over to her. Eleanor leaned in, whispering, but her words carried. My ears strained.
“Table 14,” she hissed, glancing pointedly in our direction. “They are… special guests. No food service for that table tonight. Understood?”
The staff captain’s face tightened. He looked from Eleanor to me and Lily, then back to Eleanor. “Madam, with all due respect, the child—”
“The child is with her,” Eleanor cut him off, her voice laced with ice. “They are under my direct instruction. Keep them away from the buffet.” She then raised her voice slightly. “And ensure the child is properly supervised. She has a tendency to wander, you see.”
My blood ran cold. She wasn’t just insulting me anymore. She was targeting Lily, humiliating her, starving her.
Several guests who were already filling their plates paused, their forks hovering. They looked at Eleanor, then at me and Lily, then back to their plates, a strange mix of discomfort and feigned disinterest on their faces. A woman from a major studio marketing department quickly turned her back, pretending to be engrossed in the roasted vegetables.
The staff captain, after a tense moment, nodded stiffly at Eleanor. He then stepped directly into our path, blocking the buffet entrance.
“I apologize, ma’am,” he said to me, his voice low and regretful. “But I have been instructed. No service for your table.”
Lily looked up at me, her small face confused, her hunger forgotten. “Mom?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why can’t we eat?”
I looked at the captain, then over his shoulder at Eleanor, who was now smiling sweetly at a passing senator. Her eyes, however, were fixed on us, a triumphant glint in them.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” I murmured to Lily, trying to sound brave. My jaw was clenched so tight it ached. “We’ll find something else.”
We turned away from the overflowing buffet, away from the hungry guests, and back towards our isolated table, the empty chairs around it a stark reminder of our banishment.
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