Chapter 6: Her Own Face

By Saturday morning my face was on every phone in the country.

It was the photo Rocco had taken, with a new caption.

Heiress Wife Snaps: Venturi Executive's Wife Attacks Grieving Sister-in-Law.

A gossip site had cropped out the bodyguards and the hands on my arms.

It had cropped Rocco out entirely.

All that was left was my swollen face and a headline that made me the one who had done something.

Under it, a quote from "a family source": Britta has not been well since the miscarriage.

I had never had a miscarriage.

I read the line twice with my coffee going cold.

"He's lying about a baby," I said.

Brennan stood behind me at the kitchen island, reading over my shoulder.

"He's lying about a baby that never existed," he said. "He'll be sorry he picked that one. It's checkable."

"It's cruel."

"It's a mistake. He's frightened." His jaw moved. "That's the part I like."

A hum of engines rose beyond the gate.

Brennan went to the window and let the curtain fall.

"Four vans," he said. "And two cars that aren't press."

"Rocco's."

"Probably."

I put down my cup.

"I'll talk to them."

"You don't have to."

"If I don't, the headline is all there is." I picked up my coat. "I want them to see my face with no filter and no cropping."

He opened his mouth, then shut it.

"I'll be at your elbow," he said.

"You'll be at the gate behind me."

"Then I'll be at the gate behind you."

I walked down the drive in the cold with my hair unpinned.

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