Sienna appears a moment later wearing a white dress that I’m sure she purchased today, her chin high, a clear signal she’s still angry. She doesn’t kiss my cheek this time. She barely looks at Fran.
“Nice dress,” she says with a sugary tone that could rot teeth. “I saw it on clearance last year.”
Before I can intervene, I hear the sound of heels against marble.
Elizabeth steps into the room, hesitant but composed, and for a moment everything else just—stops.
The soft gold light catches on the deep green of her dress, on the delicate line of her collarbone, on the faint shimmer in her hair. It’s simple, modest even, but she wears it like she doesn’trealize she’s breathtaking. And she is breathtaking. Fuck. I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman.
Fran says something to me but I don’t catch it. My gaze is locked on Elizabeth as she moves closer, every line of her body tense and uncertain, but dignified. I hate that she’s nervous.
“Good evening,” she says quietly.
I find my voice. “You clean up well, Miss Miller.”
A hint of color rises in her cheeks, and she glances down like she’s not used to compliments. “Thank you.”
Fran steps forward then, her perfume cutting through the air like a blade.
“You must be Birdie,” she says with that practiced sweetness that makes my jaw clench. “Lorenzo mentioned you were staying with them for a while.”
Funny. I never told her shit about my guest. And she already knew Elizabeth was here when she met her earlier today.
Elizabeth offers a polite smile. “Just until I can go home.”
The words hang there, sharp enough to draw blood. Sienna smirks into her wineglass while Fran’s smile tightens.
“Of course,” she says smoothly. “I’m sure it’ll be no time before you can leave. Lorenzo’s very efficient.”
“I’ve noticed,” Elizabeth replies before she can stop herself.
For the briefest second, our eyes meet across the room. I can see it in her expression. She hadn’t meant to challenge Fran, but she isn’t backing down either.
Rosa appears then, saving the moment by announcing that dinner is ready. We take our seats. Instead of taking my spot at the head of the table, I sit in the chair to the left. Fran slides into the chair beside me and Sienna plants herself across from her like she’s preparing for battle. Elizabeth ends up at the other end of the table, the candlelight painting her face in soft gold.
Why did she sit so far away instead of sitting across from me?
I tell myself to focus. To listen to Fran’s chatter about upcoming charity galas and the opera. To keep the peace. But my attention keeps drifting to the quiet woman at the far end of the table who doesn’t belong here and somehow feels more real than anything else in the room.
Fran laughs at something I didn’t hear and rests her hand on mine. I murmur a polite response, but my gaze slides back to Elizabeth, who’s pretending not to notice that I’m watching her.
And in that instant, I realize something I hadn’t planned for.
Fran is the life I chose.
Elizabeth is the complication I never saw coming.
6
Birdie
This dinner is almost unbearable.
“So, Birdie,” Francesca begins, her tone dipped in honey and venom, “did you enjoy spending my fiancé’s money today?”
Strike that. It’stotallyunbearable.
I set down my fork and look up, forcing a polite smile.
