Chapter 15: The Hales' Table

The Hales lived in a limestone house on the Upper East Side with a ballroom on the top floor.

I came up the stairs on Lucian's arm in a green silk dress that Renata had pressed that afternoon, with my heart going hard.

Lucian leaned on his cane with each step, slow and grey, and the whole room watched him do it.

Two old men sat at the head table with Aldo.

They were the Commission's senior men, and they looked at Lucian without any warmth at all.

"Don't hurry," I said under my breath.

"I'm dying," Lucian said. "I never hurry."

Conway was standing by the auction table with a glass in his hand.

He saw me over the heads of two bankers, and his smile stayed where it was.

Lacey stood beside him in a gold dress.

She was wearing my emerald earrings, the ones he'd given me on the day we married.

I walked straight toward them, because the room had seen me, and walking away would have been worse.

"Mara," Conway said, loudly enough for the nearest tables. "Thank God. We've all been so worried."

"Have you."

"Your friends have been sick over it." He turned to the people near us, with his hand open. "My wife hasn't been herself since the spring."

A woman in pearls put her hand to her mouth.

"She's been staying with Mr. Ruggiero," Conway said sadly. "I won't say more. I only want her home."

The room had gone quiet.

Lucian lowered himself into a chair and rested both hands on his cane.

He didn't speak.

I didn't look at him, because if I looked at him I would stop.

"You're right, Conway," I said. "I haven't been myself. I've been better."

A man laughed, then stopped.

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