Chapter 2 - The Woman in Navy Blue
I waited until Ethan was pulled away by his best man for another round of photographs.
Vivian stayed near me.
Of course she did.
She stood beside the table in her dark navy gown, silver-gray hair perfect, diamond earrings catching the chandelier light. To everyone else, she looked like the elegant mother of the groom checking on her new daughter-in-law.
To me, she looked like a woman guarding a crime scene.
“You should eat something,” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re trembling.”
“I’m cold.”
Her mouth curved. “In September?”
I looked at her. “What was in the glass?”
She did not blink.
“Champagne.”
“You touched it.”
“So did the waiter.”
“You opened your clutch first.”
For the first time, the polish slipped.
Just a little.
Vivian leaned down until her perfume overwhelmed the roses.
“You’ve had a long day,” she said quietly. “Do not ruin it by imagining things.”
My phone, hidden beneath a fold of my gown, kept recording.
“I’m not imagining anything.”
Her eyes sharpened. “Then perhaps you should ask yourself why you are so determined to create trouble on the first night you become part of this family.”
Part of this family.
Not married to Ethan.
Part of this family.
The words bothered me.
Before I could answer, my maid of honor, Rachel, hurried over. “Claire, your father wants you near the cake.”
Vivian straightened instantly and smiled.
“Go,” she said. “Enjoy your evening.”
I rose.
Then I noticed her clutch was open.
Inside, between a compact mirror and a lipstick, was a tiny brown pharmacy bottle.
No label.
I stared at it.
Vivian snapped the clutch shut.
Rachel took my arm and pulled me toward the cake table.
“What happened?” she whispered.
“Don’t turn around.”
Rachel’s smile stayed fixed for the photographers.
“Why?”
“I think Vivian put something in my champagne.”
Rachel nearly stopped walking.
I squeezed her hand.
“Keep smiling.”
“What do you mean, something?”
“I don’t know.”
“Claire, call security.”
“No. Not yet.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
I looked back.
Vivian was speaking to a waiter.
Then she pointed directly at the champagne flute I had left behind.
The waiter picked it up.
My stomach dropped.
She was getting rid of it.
“Rachel,” I said, “I need that glass.”
We turned.
Too late.
The waiter walked through a service door with my champagne.
Rachel muttered, “I’ll get it.”
She started after him.
But before she reached the door, another man stepped into her path.
Tall. Gray suit. Earpiece.
One of the Whitmore private security officers.
He smiled politely.
“Private staff area, ma’am.”
Rachel returned to me ten seconds later.
“That was not normal,” she whispered.
I looked across the ballroom.
Vivian was watching us.
And standing beside her now was Ethan’s father, Richard Whitmore.
He did not look confused.
He looked worried.
Then he said something to Vivian.
May you like
She answered without taking her eyes off me.
And Richard immediately pulled out his phone.
