ounded by a sleeping winter garden. It was nothing like the col

, stood there, her kind eyes taking in Eve's swollen face and broken

d faintly of lavender and old books. The knot in her chest f

, and pressed a mug of warm milk into her cold hands. Then

r in the planner's office, the photographs, the canceled rec

face slowly hardening int

er hand. "Child," she said, her voice steady,

the answer was yes - it had to be. But now, faced with the sim

e-woman show, Eve. If a relationship brings you nothin

rds were a key, unlocking a door she h

vo

er childhood bed. It was the first

ouse. It was as empty and silent as she

ure and curated art, felt like a luxury

celebrated socialite, a philanthropist, a style icon. There were photos of her and Augustine through the year

y crowned them: A Lo

esh cut, reinforcing the narrative that Ev

, anything. She reached into her coat pocket, her fingers searching for the hard, familiar s

ket was

her throat. She stood

ing ring

m the estate, stopping on the highway, her gr

down, her hands shaking as she checked between the sof

s if it had vanis

er marriage. However broken and painful i

er at the Rhodes estate.

usan searched the entire hous

iluted panic washing over her. She was adr

, her phone buzzed. She fumbled for it, ho

n unknow

idn't answer. She needed to talk to Augu

me in her contacts, and pressed call.