Page 26 of Everyone’s a Liar

The defiant words were searing through her mind at the same time she was reaching out to shove open the door. Why fight her impulse? She was inevitably going to end up in her mother’s rooms before leaving. It happened every time she stayed at the Willows. As if she hoped she would eventually feel a connection to the woman who’d given her birth and then a couple years later jumped to her death.

Stepping into a room that was decorated in elegant shades of cream and gold, she moved to the center of the carpet and turned in a slow circle. The ceiling was high, with a sparkling chandelier dangling in the center, and the wallpaper was an antique ivory shade to match the lush carpet. Thankfully, the French doors leading to the balcony were hidden behind heavy curtains, but the floor-to-ceiling windows were left uncovered, allowing the late afternoon sunlight to pour in.

This space, with its delicate furnishings and gold satin duvet, was designed for a pampered princess, not a new mother devoted to her child. In fact, the only indication that she had a baby was a framed picture of Livia on the nightstand next to the canopy bed.

Livia was told that she’d stayed in an attached suite with the nanny. She didn’t have any memory of living at the Willows, but one peek into her old bedroom revealed it’d already been stripped down to a few stuffed toys and the clothes she’d outgrown. She’d been sent off to her foster family less than a month after her mother’s death and her presence wiped away.

This room, though, had been preserved as if time stood still. The walk-in closet was still stuffed with Giselle’s clothes, and her makeup was spread across the mirrored dresser. There was even a pair of fancy heels near the bed, as if she’d kicked them off before climbing onto the mattress. It looked like she might waltz through the door any minute.

The sound of a footstep behind her had Livia stifling a scream as she whirled toward the open door. Had Helene been right? Was Giselle’s spirit roaming the grounds of the Willows?

“Livia.” The voice shattered her moment of fear. It was male, and all too familiar. She stiffened as Adrian Benoit entered the room to regard her with a disapproving scowl. “What are you doing in here?”

Livia sucked in a deep breath, refusing to apologize. She had every right to be in the room.

“Just seeing if anything had changed,” she smoothly lied.

His scowl deepened. He was wearing a gray tailored suit and a crisp white shirt, prepared for the evening despite the fact that it was only four o’clock. Did he get ready early so he could sneak down for a couple of drinks out of the critical gaze of his wife?

Probably, but who could blame him?

“Why would it change?” he asked, as if confused by the question.

“My mother has been dead for twenty-eight years. Haven’t you ever thought about cleaning it out?” She didn’t add that her own room had been emptied quick enough.

“Your grandfather requested it remain exactly as Giselle left it.”

“Like a shrine?”

His jaw clenched. “I suppose that’s what it is.”

Livia turned to drift toward the dresser, picking up a crystal bottle of perfume and holding it close to her nose. She shivered at the light floral scent. She had no tangible memory of Giselle, but there were moments when she was certain she could recall her soft voice whispering in her ear and this unique fragrance.

“It’s odd,” she murmured.

“What is?”

Livia asked the question that had been troubling her for years. “Her clothes and stuff are here, but where is her purse or phone? Or even her computer? There’s nothing personal except for a few trinkets. What happened to them?”