Chapter 2 - THE LIES IN HER DESIGNER HANDBAG
Camille’s face went completely white.
She looked around the dining room.
Thirty wealthy guests were staring at her in absolute silence.
The clinking of silverware had stopped.
The string quartet in the corner had frozen.
“Sebastian,” Camille whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re misunderstanding this.”
He didn’t blink.
He didn’t raise his voice.
But the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
“Explain it to me, then.”
She reached for his arm.
He stepped back.
“I didn’t know she was your sister!” Camille pleaded, tears spilling over her mascara. “I swear. When I met Elizabeth in Boston five years ago, she was just a waitress. I didn’t know her real name was Anna.”
Margaret clutched her worn purse against her chest.
“You’re lying,” the old woman said softly.
Camille snapped her head toward her.
“Shut up, you senile old bat!”
Sebastian’s hand shot out.
He grabbed the edge of the dining table.
The heavy mahogany groaned under his grip.
“Don’t you ever,” he said, his voice a lethal whisper, “speak to Maggie that way again.”
Camille shrank back.
I stood paralyzed holding the silver serving tray, my heart pounding in my throat.
I had seen Sebastian Blackwood handle disrespect before.
He was a man who moved empires with a single phone call.
But this was different. This was his family.
“Leave,” Sebastian told her.
Camille gasped. “What? Our guests—”
“The engagement is over. The wedding is canceled. Pack your things and get out of my house before I start asking how my missing sister ended up in your personal files.”
Camille looked at the wealthy guests, her humiliation complete.
She snatched her designer handbag from the chair.
As she stormed past me, her elbow clipped the serving tray in my hands.
The tray tilted.
A crystal water pitcher shattered across the marble floor.
“Clean it up, you idiot,” Camille hissed at me.
She marched out the front door.
The heavy oak slammed shut behind her.
The dining room was dead silent.
Sebastian slowly turned to his guests.
“Please excuse yourselves. The evening is over.”
Nobody argued.
Within three minutes, the grand hall was empty.
Only Sebastian, Margaret, and I remained.
I knelt on the floor, picking up the jagged pieces of crystal with shaking hands.
Sebastian crouched beside Margaret.
He took the photograph of the young woman at the bakery again.
His thumb gently traced the face of the sister he hadn’t seen in twenty-nine years.
“Maggie,” he said softly. “Do you know where this bakery is?”
Margaret shook her head. “There was no return address on the envelope. Just the buckle, the picture, and a note that said, ‘Keep this safe for Leo.’”
Sebastian frowned. “Who is Leo?”
“The little boy in the picture,” Margaret said. “Her son.”
Sebastian’s breath caught.
A nephew. He had a nephew.
I reached for a large piece of broken glass near Margaret’s chair.
As I did, my eyes fell on Camille’s chair.
When she had snatched her bag in a panic, something had fallen out.
A small, folded piece of thick cream paper.
I picked it up.
It was a receipt.
“Mr. Blackwood,” I whispered.
He looked down at me.
I handed him the receipt.
“Camille dropped this.”
Sebastian unfolded it.
I saw his jaw tighten.
The receipt was from a private courier service.
It was dated yesterday.
And the destination address was a pediatric hospital in downtown Seattle.
But it was the name on the delivery line that made Sebastian stand up.
May you like
It didn’t say Camille Sterling.
It said, “Patient: Leo Blackwood.”
