Chapter 12: Peach Tart

The flash came from a phone, and the phone belonged to Linnea.

She stood in the doorway of the coat check in her white dress, with her ankle healed and her thumb on the screen.

"Oh!" she said. "I'm so sorry. I was looking for the ladies' room."

Phillip had stepped in front of me before I could fix my dress.

"Delete it."

"Of course," she said sweetly, and did something to the phone. "You two looked so happy."

She went back down the corridor, and I stood in the dark and listened to her heels.

"She followed us," I said.

"I told her to stay home," Phillip said.

His voice had gone strange, and I filed that away to ask about later.

Sunday dinner at the estate was lamb again.

My mother-in-law sat at the head, with her leather notebook by her fork and a peach tart under glass on the sideboard.

Jax, Sterne and Willem were not invited.

I had made a point of that.

I sat across from Linnea, who had borrowed a cream-colored cardigan from my own closet and had pulled the sleeves down over her hands.

Phillip sat at my side.

He had been sitting at my side all weekend, and neither of us had mentioned it.

Halfway through the soup, Linnea began to cry.

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