Chapter 4
Vivian removed her veil.
Slowly.
Like the fabric had become too heavy to wear.
“Mom,” she said, “tell me this is not true.”
Portia straightened.
The slap mark on her cheek was red now.
She still tried to look royal.
“Your grandmother hated me. She would write anything.”
Cedric’s voice cracked.
“My mother feared you.”
Portia turned on him.
“And you let her.”
That sentence carried history.
Old history.
Ugly history.
I looked at Flora.
“You found the envelope. Did you know it was there?”
“No, sir.”
But her eyes shifted.
I caught it.
“Flora.”
She swallowed.
“I knew the vase was never to be moved.”
“Who told you?”
“Mrs. Portia. She said if anyone touched it, I would disappear like Elena.”
Maisie cried harder.
“Elena,” I repeated.
The name hit something buried in me.
My father had a housekeeper named Elena when I was young.
Beautiful.
Quiet.
Gone one summer without explanation.
I looked at Maisie.
Dark curls.
Gray eyes.
The same eyes my father had.
I turned back to the letter.
Maisie’s mother was Elena Rossi.
My breath stopped.
Portia stepped backward.
I looked at my bodyguards.
“Do not let her leave.”
She laughed sharply.
“You cannot imprison me at my daughter’s wedding.”
“No,” I said. “But I can call police.”
Her face changed.
That was when I knew.
The letter was not old gossip.
May you like
It was evidence.
And the broken vase had just opened a grave.
