Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN IN THE SILVER GOWN
The grand ballroom glittered beneath twelve crystal chandeliers.
Clara carried trays among guests whose names regularly appeared in financial newspapers. She moved quietly, keeping her eyes lowered and her thoughts fixed on the nursery downstairs.
For nearly an hour, nothing unusual happened.
Then Vivian Valmont entered.
She wore a silver gown embroidered with thousands of tiny stones. Her dark hair was arranged in a precise twist, and a diamond serpent rested around her throat.
The guests moved aside as she passed.
Vivian was Alessandro’s younger cousin, although newspapers often described her as the true social face of the family. She hosted galas, attended royal weddings, and sat on the boards of several charities.
Clara recognized her immediately.
Not from magazines.
From Gabriel’s hidden photograph.
Three weeks after his death, Clara had discovered a torn image beneath the false bottom of his desk drawer. It showed Gabriel standing beside a younger Vivian in front of a black aircraft.
On the back, someone had written three words.
She betrayed us.
Clara had taken the photograph to the police. The detective had dismissed it as meaningless.
Now Vivian was walking directly toward her.
Clara’s hands tightened around the tray.
Vivian took a glass of champagne and looked at Clara’s face.
For one second, neither woman moved.
Then Vivian’s gaze dropped to the simple gold chain around Clara’s neck.
Gabriel’s wedding ring hung from it.
Vivian’s fingers froze around the glass.
“Where did you get that?”
Clara instinctively touched the ring.
“It belonged to my husband.”
“What was his name?”
The question came too quickly.
Clara hesitated.
“Gabriel Bennett.”
Vivian’s face remained perfectly composed, but the champagne trembled inside her glass.
“Was?”
“He died.”
“When?”
“Eighteen months ago.”
Vivian studied Clara with frightening intensity.
“How?”
“A car accident.”
The tension disappeared from Vivian’s shoulders.
She smiled.
Not sympathetically.
With relief.
“How tragic.”
Before Clara could answer, a tall man approached. He introduced himself as Marcus Vale, chief of palace security.
“Mrs. Valmont, your presence is requested in the east gallery.”
Vivian ignored him.
“Did your husband leave you anything?”
Clara felt the warning rise inside her.
“Nothing important.”
“Documents?”
“No.”
“Keys?”
“No.”
“Objects that did not belong to him?”
Clara thought of the rabbit.
“No.”
Vivian’s eyes remained on her.
Marcus intervened.
“Mrs. Valmont.”
Vivian finally turned away.
But before she left, she leaned toward Clara and whispered, “Some widows survive by forgetting their husbands. You should consider doing the same.”
Clara stood motionless.
Marcus watched Vivian disappear into the crowd.
Then he faced Clara.
“You should leave the palace.”
Clara blinked.
“My shift isn’t finished.”
“Take your daughter and leave now.”
“How do you know I have a daughter?”
Marcus’s jaw tightened.
“You were seen entering the staff nursery.”
“Why does Vivian care about my husband?”
Marcus looked toward the cameras above the ballroom.
“We cannot speak here.”
Clara’s pulse accelerated.
“Then where?”
“Nowhere inside this house.”
He slipped a folded card beneath the edge of her tray.
“Meet me at the north greenhouse in twenty minutes.”
Before Clara could ask another question, he walked away.
The card contained only a handwritten number.
27.
May you like
Clara knew that number.
It had been engraved inside Gabriel’s wedding ring.
