Chapter 3 - A Designer With No Face

For three seconds, Vanessa heard nothing but the blood rushing in her ears.

Then the room erupted.

Guests whispered. Chairs scraped. Someone near the back said, “What does she mean, doesn’t exist?”

Vanessa stepped toward Celeste. “I had six fittings.”

“With assistants,” Celeste said quickly.

“I exchanged emails with Isabelle for four months.”

“With a studio account.”

“I paid forty-two thousand dollars.”

Celeste looked down.

Daniel’s voice dropped. “Answer her.”

Celeste drew a breath. “Isabelle March is a house name. A private label. There is no single woman by that name.”

Vanessa stared at her. “You told me she personally designed my dress.”

“I told you the March Atelier designed it.”

“No. You said, ‘Isabelle thinks the gold birds are perfect for you.’ I remember the message.”

Brooke touched Vanessa’s arm. “Van, breathe.”

Vanessa pulled away. “Don’t tell me to breathe.”

Margaret moved closer. “Where did the atelier get the design?”

Celeste shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Daniel gave a short, humorless laugh. “You knew enough to run.”

“I wasn’t running.”

“You were opening the door.”

“I have a wedding to manage!”

“Not anymore.” Daniel’s tone changed. Quiet. Final. “Give me your access badge.”

Celeste went still.

Vanessa looked at him. “Access badge?”

Daniel’s face tightened.

Another silence landed over the room.

Margaret’s eyes narrowed. “You gave her access to the house?”

Daniel rubbed a hand over his mouth.

“Daniel,” Vanessa said. “What access badge?”

He looked at her at last. “Celeste has been coordinating events for the Whitmore Foundation for two years. She had temporary access to the family archive room during the anniversary gala.”

Margaret’s face drained of color.

“The archive room is beside my study.”

Celeste’s head snapped up. “I never entered your study.”

“No one said you did,” Margaret replied.

Celeste realized her mistake.

Daniel held out his hand. “Badge.”

Slowly, Celeste opened her clutch.

But instead of a badge, a small brass key slipped from her fingers and hit the marble floor.

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Margaret stared down at it.

Then she whispered, “That opens Emily’s cedar box.”