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.

But for the sake of his ridiculous pride, he sided with Rosalie Galloway again and again, and humiliated my parents.

Two minutes later, my parents were shoved back into the living room.

My tears spilled over at once.

My father, always so refined, had been stripped of his expensive shirt and put into a gray, threadbare mourning robe. The coarse fabric hung loose and shapeless on his frame, and two young men were laughing as they tied the hemp rope around his waist.

"Uncle, it's a little big, but once we cinch the belt it'll fit just right."

He held his spine straight, the veins standing out one by one at his temple, and still he swallowed it down. My mother hid behind him, tears falling drop by drop.

Rosalie came out after them, and covered her mouth in fake surprise.

"Oh no, how did I grab the wrong clothes? These are the mourning robes from when Grandpa passed. Uncle, Auntie, you really did put them on."

"Now what do we do? Your clothes were so dirty I just tossed them out in the yard. Butch probably dragged them off to line his doghouse."

At her words, everyone turned to look at the yard of the Abbott house.

Sure enough, a big black dog was in its kennel, tearing furiously at my parents' clothes.

That carefully chosen outfit was already shredded into strips and threads, coiled beneath the dog.

All the relatives were whispering and tittering, their eyes on my parents mocking, contemptuous, out for a show.

Those looks were like countless needles, packed close, driving into my heart, one sharp sting after another.

I couldn't hold back the fury surging up in me any longer, and drove my foot hard into Russ Abbott's groin.

The instant they lost their grip, I rushed over, yanked apart the two young men crowding my parents, and pulled my parents toward the door.

I couldn't stand another second of it. I was getting my parents out of this den of wolves that ate people alive.

Only outside the yard did I realize my car keys were gone.

I didn't have to think about it to know Rosalie had taken them in the chaos.

Looking at the rough mountain road, I gritted my teeth and told my parents to wait for me.

I turned and went back to the living room. The moment I stepped inside, every drop of blood in me froze where I stood.

My fiancé, Russ Abbott, had one arm wrapped tenderly around Rosalie's waist, carefully dabbing ointment onto her face.

His touch was gentle, his eyes full of tenderness.

But when my parents were degraded, when I wept over and over, he saw none of it.

One faint red mark on Rosalie's face, and he cradled and fussed over her like this.

Beside them, the young man from before said, unhappy,

"Russ, that wife of yours needs to be taught a good lesson. She dared to lay a hand on my sister in front of all these people."

"So she's got a little money, big deal? She's your wife, isn't her money all yours too? You need to stand up like a man. Don't let a woman ride roughshod over you."

Hearing my footsteps, Russ looked up and saw me, and his expression turned instantly cold and full of impatience.

"Philippa Gilbert, today is my mother's big birthday. Do you really have to make a scene until both families lose all face?"

"Apologize to Rosalie right now. Apologize to my mother."

I lifted my eyes and swept them over the Abbott elders and relatives, all in their fine clothes, watching and snickering, wearing that look of scorn as they waited for the show. I drew in a deep breath and pressed down the fury churning inside me.

Once I'd given up on him completely, thinking of my parents still waiting for me outside, in that moment a strange, absolute calm rose up in me instead. My voice was flat, without a single ripple, as I said, "Fine."

Seeing me yield, Russ let out a breath and exchanged a satisfied glance with Rosalie.

Smugness crossed Deborah's face, and now she stopped playing the mute, opening her mouth in a slow, leisurely drawl.

"Since Philippa knows she was wrong, and knows our rules now, we'll let today's matter go."

"All right, today is my birthday. Philippa, go fetch a basin of water and kneel down to wash my feet. This is our custom too. When the mother-in-law has her birthday, the new bride kneels down to wash the birthday elder's feet."