Chapter 11

The dining room was exactly as I'd seen it through the window. Vaulted ceiling. Candlelight. That endless table. Thirty Blackwoods in their Sunday best, murmuring over crystal. Every conversation stopped when I walked in. Adrian was already standing. Pale. Hollow-eyed. Vivian sat at his side in cream silk, the tennis bracelet catching the light. Theo was nowhere in sight. Martha had taken him to the kitchen for cookies. Eleanor walked me to the chair at Adrian's right hand. The chair where...