Chapter 20: The Wire

Ciara's POV

The wire was sewn into the hem of a plain navy dress, and Anthony's investigator fastened the last hook at my back with big careful fingers.

"Say something," he said.

"Testing, one, two."

He listened to the earpiece and nodded.

"It's good through cloth. Stay within thirty feet of the van."

Anthony stood by the cabin window with his arms crossed, not looking at the dress.

He had been looking at everything else.

"You don't have to do this," he said.

"Camille's rehearsing at the Lakeshore at four. She thinks I'm on a plane." I smoothed the skirt. "I'm the only person she'll say it to."

"She'll say it to me."

"She'll say it to you in a hospital voice with a nurse in the room. She says it to me on a dock."

He crossed the floor and stopped in front of me.

His hand came up and set the collar of the dress straight, and left a thumb against my pulse for a moment.

I thought about last night, and the weight of him, and the quilt.

I let myself think about it until it got dangerous, and then I put it away.

"Go to the van," I said. "Please."

The ballroom was empty except for the stage crew and the long rows of covered chairs.

Camille stood at the podium in a gray cardigan, reading from a binder, with Constance's assistant checking a clipboard.

She heard the kitchen door bump and looked up.

I had never seen her afraid before the lake. I saw it now, for a second, and then she rearranged it into pity.

"Please give us the room," she told the assistant.

The assistant left. The crew drifted to the lobby.

We were alone under the chandelier.

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