People laughed.
Then Adrian’s voice floated through the open window.
“My Camille is an incredible cook!
She’ll be right down with the specialty dishes she learned from my mother.”
I laughed once.
It sounded bitter even to me.
The specialty dishes had not come from Margaret.
They were recipes my grandmother taught me.
Adrian knew that.
But facts became flexible around his family.
I didn’t change my wet pajamas.
I wanted everyone to see exactly what had happened.
I walked into the hallway.
Each step felt harder.
I reached the stairs.
My hands shook against the railing.
Halfway down, I nearly fell.
A housekeeper named Rosa saw me.
Her eyes widened.
“Mrs. Bennett?”
I put one finger to my lips.
Then I kept moving.
The patio doors were open.
Sunlight poured across the marble floor.
Outside, relatives stood around white-covered tables.
The garden looked perfect.
I looked like I had crawled out of a storm.
The first person to notice me was Vanessa.
Her smile vanished.
Then another guest turned.
Then another.
Conversations stopped.
Adrian was standing near the center of the patio with a wineglass.
His face changed.
Margaret went pale.
“Camille.”
Adrian hurried toward me.
“What on earth are you doing dressed like that?”
I didn’t answer him.
I walked past him.
Two steps.
Then three.
My knees hit the stone.
Uncle Theodore Whitmore sat in front of me.
He was Richard Whitmore’s older brother.
He had always been the one member of Adrian’s family who treated me with uncomplicated kindness.
“Please… help me.”
My voice broke.
