Chapter 19: The Gala

Willa's POV

The Ashcroft Foundation gala filled a ballroom on Michigan Avenue with four hundred people and a thousand roses.

Margaret had grown most of them.

I stood at the edge of the floor in a green dress cut loose over my stomach.

Rowan stood beside me in black, with one hand at my back.

"Here," he said.

He took a long white envelope out of his breast pocket and held it out.

I looked at the clear window and the lab's logo.

"It came yesterday," he said.

"Yesterday."

"I opened it in the elevator. I read it."

His eyes did not leave mine.

"I should have called you," he said. "I wanted you to be the one who said it, in this room."

"And?"

"I was wrong not to tell you first."

I felt my face go hot.

I was furious, and I was also holding it, and the fury could wait.

"We're going to talk about that tonight," I said.

"Yes."

"For a long time."

"As long as you like."

I took the envelope and did not open it.

Across the ballroom, Jodie raised her phone over her head.

She had spent all evening in the sound booth, making friends with the technician.

She gave me two thumbs up.

Margaret took the stage after the salad.

She thanked the donors, and the nurses, and the rose society.

Then Preston Aldous stood up at table eleven.

He walked to the front of the room with his napkin still in his hand.

"Mrs. Ashcroft," he said. "May I?"

"Of course," Margaret said, and stepped back from the microphone.

He turned to the ballroom.

Mr. Aldous, still at table eleven, put down his fork.

"I'm sorry to take your evening," Preston said. "Some of you heard a version of this last week."

He lifted his chin.

"I want you to hear it from me, properly. Willa Fenner is carrying my child."

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