Chapter 15: The Rehearsal

Lana's POV

By the second Saturday in the Ashcroft house, I could smile on command.

Constance called the dinner a rehearsal.

It was a long table in a private room at the Ashcroft Grand, forty guests, white roses, and a string quartet.

I knew it was a performance, because two board members and the family's trustee sat at the head of it.

The trustee was the only person Constance watched.

He was a small, dry man in his seventies who had read my paperwork before he ever met me.

I wore the ivory dress for the second fitting, and the pen was clipped under the neckline.

Lawrence held my chair.

He kept one hand on my shoulder while the soup came, his thumb moving back and forth against my collarbone.

Every time it moved, my skin tried to crawl off my body.

I smiled at him.

"You're glowing," said the woman across from me.

"It's the vitamins," I said, and Lawrence laughed and kissed my temple.

Halfway through the fish, his hand left my shoulder and settled on my knee under the tablecloth.

It slid higher.

I put down my fork very carefully so it wouldn't shake.

I thought of a hand over my mouth in a glass room full of orchids.

I thought of the pen under my collar, and how many hours were left on it.

Then the trustee tapped his glass, and the room went quiet.

"A toast," he said, "from the one person who has not yet spoken tonight. Miss Hastings."

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