For my fiancé's mother's fiftieth birthday party, my parents and I picked out our gifts with care and traveled hundreds of miles to his family's home out in the country.

The moment my parents stepped through the courtyard gate, a huge string of firecrackers went off right over their heads.

In the crackle and the roar and the sparks, my mother's silk qipao caught fire, and she went down hard from the shock.

My father's face was struck by the blast, blood welling up out of the scorched skin, his tailored suit torn open in several places.

Then Russ Abbott's little childhood sweetheart came at them with a basin of cold water, crying out,

"Sir, ma'am, you've come at such a bad time. How did you have to walk right into the lucky-hour firecrackers?"

"Let me splash a little water on you, wash off the bad luck."

Sitting in the mud, my parents scrambled into a tangled heap, the whole crowd of villagers around them laughing and egging it on.

I was shaking with fury, ready to storm over and have it out with them.

Russ stepped forward, seized my arm in a death grip, and said with a light laugh,

"Rosalie Galloway's the quick one. If not for her, your parents would've been badly burned today. Aren't you going to thank her?"

I looked at Rosalie, holding the firecracker pole up in triumph, smirking at me, and thought that yes, a bitch and a dog really did suit each other.

I wrenched my arm out of his grip and struck him across the face, a loud, ringing slap.

"Russ, how should I thank her?"

"Should I light a string of firecrackers off in your face too, to thank you properly?"

...

The lively little courtyard fell dead silent in an instant, and before anyone could react, Rosalie was the first to throw herself at Russ, cradling his face, stroking it in distress.

"Russ, does it hurt? It's already swelling up."

Then she whipped around and shoved her palm hard into my chest.

"Philippa Gilbert, is this how you treat your own husband? Slapping your man in the face in front of all these relatives and friends?"

"Just because you people couldn't watch where you were going and got hit by firecrackers, you're going to take it out on Russ?"

The disapproving murmurs rose up around us.

"City girls really are savages. Whoever heard of a woman slapping her own man in public? Does she even know how a wife's supposed to behave?"

"A girl like that just wasn't raised right. If it were my boy, three beatings a day would set her straight."

My heel twisted, and a stabbing pain shot up through my foot. I stumbled, and my father caught me from behind.

Listening to them go on in that sneering, needling tone, I was shaking with rage. I turned to face Rosalie.

"Rosalie, who do you think you are—"

Before I could finish, Russ had already planted himself between us, tucking her behind him, and said in a low voice,

"Enough, Philippa. Stop making a scene. All these relatives are watching. Don't embarrass us."

I stared at him.

Embarrass?

My parents were sitting on the ground, hurt, faces smeared with mud, made a joke of by his family, and he couldn't see that?

Now he was worried about him and Rosalie being embarrassed.

That was when Deborah Abbott came forward and took hold of my parents.

"Oh dear, in-laws, I'm so sorry. The young ones are just careless. The firecrackers gave you a fright, didn't they?"

"Come, sit down, have a cup of tea to settle your nerves."

My father patted the back of my hand, shook his head, and turned to Deborah.

"It's our fault for not paying attention on the way in. It was all a misunderstanding. Congratulations, and happy birthday to you..."

Watching my father walk into the main house side by side with Deborah, I took a deep breath and followed them in.

I knew what my father meant. A lifetime in business had given him a manner nothing could ruffle.

Angry as he was today, he would never lose his composure in front of everyone.

My mother trailed behind too, apologizing, saying all the sorry things.

And everyone else filed into the main house along with them, as if what had just happened really had been nothing but an accident.

Mom and Dad had barely settled into their chairs and lifted their tea when Rosalie came bouncing back over.

"Uncle, Auntie, how can you be so careless? Sitting down to drink tea covered in filth like that."

"Even if your clothes are the finest money can buy, you don't have to show them off to us right now."

My parents' faces darkened at once.

A lifetime of dignity and gentle manners, and never once had they met such naked humiliation, such open provocation.

Rosalie lifted her chin, her tone lofty, as though lecturing a junior.

"We country folk care about being thrifty and plain, about living honestly, not about all that luxury and face and vanity."

"Uncle and Auntie, at your age, still chasing after designer luxuries. That really is a bit vain. Now that you've joined families with Auntie's household, you ought to break yourselves of these showy habits."

Dad's breathing turned heavy, and his hand tightened around the cup.

I turned to look at Russ, waiting to see what he would actually say.

Russ frowned, a flash of temper on his face, and in front of all the villagers he scolded her in a low voice. "Rosalie, stop making trouble. They're your elders. It's not your place to speak like that."

Something in me eased, because for once he was being fair. The next second, my heart sank.

"I'm not making trouble. I just can't stand the way they look down on everyone, can't stand all this waste and extravagance. I only feel bad for you."

The instant Rosalie's eyes reddened, the sternness dropped from Russ's face and it went soft, his tone almost fawning.

"All right, all right, don't cry. It's my fault, I shouldn't have been harsh with you."

"I know you mean well for me. I'm not blaming you. I just got worked up for a moment and came down too hard."

I stood there, cold all the way through.

My parents had been blasted with firecrackers, had cold water thrown on them in front of everyone, been mocked to their faces, and my fiancé hadn't offered a single apology, a single word of comfort.

His little childhood sweetheart mocked my parents in front of the whole gathering, her eyes reddened for one moment, and he bowed his head and apologized like some scolded grandchild.

Only once he had coaxed Rosalie into a smile through her tears did Russ turn back, reluctantly, to explain to Dad.

"Dad, Rosalie's a country girl, she's got a blunt nature, she speaks bluntly. Don't take offense. I'll apologize on her behalf."

Then he turned to me, dragging and shoving me off into an empty corner, impatience written all over his face.

"Philippa. Today is my mother's fiftieth birthday. The whole village is here. Don't make an ugly scene."

"Rosalie's young, she doesn't know any better. She's just quick and blunt with her words, there's no malice in her. Don't hold it against her."

I stared at him, unable to believe it. Rosalie had humiliated my parents in front of everyone, and that was called being quick and blunt?

Seeing the anger in my face, Russ frowned harder, and his tone turned to impatient blame.

"Rosalie's used to living simply. She can't stand seeing your parents dressed so over the top. She thinks they're showing off. Saying a few words about it is only normal."

"Besides, she knows perfectly well we're country people. Why dress so loudly, if not to put us down a notch?"

"Enough. Everyone's a little at fault here. If you keep pressing it now, people will just think you city folk are using your money to look down on us country people. Can't you just bear with it? Don't be so petty and leave me unable to hold my head up in front of everyone."

He paused, a trace of self-mockery in his voice, though every word drove straight into my heart.

"The relatives and neighbors already say behind my back that marrying you makes me a live-in son-in-law, that I'm leaning on your family, a man with no backbone. If you make a scene today, doesn't that just prove the rumor true, that I'm a spineless live-in son-in-law?"

"What Rosalie did today was partly to stand up for me. Can't you give a little, be more meek about it?"

Something in me broke loose then, and I started to laugh, laughed until the tears ran down my face.

He still remembered people calling him a live-in son-in-law, a man with no backbone.

But how convenient that he'd forgotten the vows he swore when he was chasing me. He'd promised, over and over, that if he could only marry me, he'd gladly be my live-in husband in this life and the next, and he'd never let me suffer a single grievance.

He was the one who knelt in front of my parents and begged them to let me marry him.

He was the one, shameless, who said his family was poor and got my parents to buy him a big flat in a downtown building for our wedding home.

He was the one who thumped his chest and swore to my parents that he'd treat me well after the marriage, that he'd be a devoted son to them, that he'd care for them into old age and see them off at the end.

Back when his hand was out for my family's money and connections, devotion and duty were always on his lips.

Now my parents had traveled a thousand miles to celebrate his mother's birthday, taken every insult thrown at them, and he, for the sake of so-called face, was protecting his little childhood sweetheart and turning it back on my parents, calling them flashy and extravagant, calling us people who blew everything out of proportion.

I lifted a hand and wiped away the tears, looked straight at Russ, and said, steady,

"Fine. I'll give you your face."

I left the rest of it unsaid. If you're willing to give me up for the sake of face, then we're finished.

Russ saw the words and a huge grin spread across his face at once. He pulled me into his arms.

"Philippa, I knew you were the most gracious of anyone. I didn't misjudge you."

Not far off, a jealous, resentful stare was fixed on me. Rosalie watched me being held in Russ's arms, her face full of fury and grudging defeat.

Russ kept an arm around my shoulders and steered me back to the lively living room. The Abbott relatives stood around in twos and threes, laughing and chatting, everything warm and festive, which only made my parents look more out of place, wretched and ridiculous.

Just then Rosalie came hurrying over, dragging two sets of clothes.

I looked closer. Two sets of ragged, coarse country cloth, with a length of hemp rope for a belt. They looked like the mourning clothes people wore in the countryside for a funeral.

Rosalie put on a sweet, harmless smile.

"Uncle, Auntie, I was careless earlier, so I went and found you two clean outfits to make it up to you. Go on and change into them."

Before I could open my mouth to question it, Russ, at my side, nodded his approval right away, his voice full of doting favor for Rosalie.

"That's my Rosalie, always so thoughtful, always thinking of everything. Philippa, you should learn from her."

I stared at him, stunned. Was he blind? Could he really not see that the clothes Rosalie had brought my parents were mourning clothes, torn and old, reeking of mildew?

Seeing my parents' faces darken and the two of them go silent where they stood, Rosalie stepped up at once and started pushing my mother.

"Uncle, Auntie, hurry and change. The guests are all waiting. You can't go around in those rags and make Russ lose face."

My father's face turned to a black pool in an instant, anger in every line of it.

He was about to snap at them when two young men came forward too and shoved him toward the house.

"Uncle, Auntie's already changing. What are you waiting for?"

I moved to step in, and Russ locked his arm hard around my shoulders, pinning me against him, and murmured low in my ear,

"Philippa, your parents' clothes really are too showy. Rosalie's having them change into something more suitable is for their own good. You wouldn't want the relatives whispering that they stole my mother's thunder today, would you?"

Looking at how little any of it meant to him, I went cold to the bone.

My parents had spent half a month before this carefully choosing gifts and clothes to celebrate his mother's birthday.

My mother, wanting to fit in with local ways, had picked a plain-colored qipao on purpose, and she'd even chosen an expensive dress for Russ's mother and mailed it to her.

And now it was on the woman sitting in the seat of honor, pretending to be blind. His mother.