Part 5
But her breath still hurt.
And another fear had risen above the first.
What if he listened now only because Sera and Noelle were watching?
What if he believed her only when belief became socially convenient?
Her hand pressed against the curve of her stomach.
Vivienne followed the movement.
A flicker crossed her face.
Julian saw it.
The room became still again.
Vivienne wiped beneath one eye.
“You are all looking at me like I did something wrong,” she said.
Noelle spoke for the first time.
“We don’t know what happened.”
Vivienne looked at her.
The words were not an accusation. They were not even cruel.
But they were not support.
Vivienne’s shoulders pulled inward.
“I was trying to protect myself.”
“From what?” Sera asked.
Vivienne’s gaze moved to Alina.
Alina felt Julian’s attention settle on her.
For a horrible second, she thought Vivienne would say it.
She thought she would say Alina had threatened her. That Alina had tried to push her. That Alina had become hysterical. That Alina was dangerous.
Instead, Vivienne said, “From being blamed for things I didn’t do.”
Alina closed her eyes.
The marble was cold against her shoulder.
Julian lowered himself fully into a crouch beside her. He did not touch her at first. His hands hovered uncertainly over his knees. The hesitation was almost worse than distance. It showed how afraid he was of choosing wrong.
“I found something,” Alina said.
Julian leaned closer.
“What?”
Vivienne’s face tightened.
Alina looked at him.
“In your desk.”
Julian’s gaze flicked toward Vivienne.
“What did you find?”
“A message.”
He frowned.
“What message?”
“The one that said I was leaving you.”
His expression changed.
Not dramatically. Julian was not a dramatic man. His shock gathered in small places: the pause before he breathed, the tightening around his mouth, the way his eyes shifted as though he were rearranging a room in his head.
“I never wrote that,” he said.
“I know.”
Vivienne’s sob stopped.
Only for a second.
But everyone heard the silence where it had been.
Julian looked at her.
Vivienne’s hand remained against her chest.
“I don’t know what she means,” she said.
Alina laughed once, weakly.
“That’s what you always say.”
Vivienne’s eyes flashed.
“Alina, please.”
“No,” Alina said. “Not please.”
Her voice strengthened as the words came.
“You told me not to say anything. You said he would think I was unstable. You said he would choose you because you were his family.”
Julian stared at Vivienne.
Vivienne shook her head, slowly, sorrowfully.
“She’s twisting this.”
“I’m not.”
“You are upset.”
“You pushed me.”
“I moved away from you.”
“You pushed me.”
Vivienne’s gaze flicked toward Sera and Noelle.
Then back to Julian.
“Is this what we are doing?” she asked him softly. “Are you going to let her say anything she wants about me because she is scared?”
Julian did not answer.
The foyer seemed to grow warmer, though Alina was still cold.
She remembered a time, early in their relationship, when Julian had taken her hand under a restaurant table because Vivienne had made a cutting remark about Alina’s work. He had squeezed her fingers once, hidden beneath the tablecloth, and later told her he was sorry.
She had asked why he did not say anything.
He had said, “You know how she gets.”
At the time, Alina had accepted it.
Now those words rose inside her like something rotten.
You know how she gets.
Vivienne had always been excused before she was understood.
Julian’s eyes fell to the floor.
For one second, they stopped on Vivienne’s heel.
It was still near Alina’s face.
The distance between the shoe and her cheek was small enough to mean something.
Vivienne noticed where he was looking and drew her foot back.
Too late.
Not dramatically.
Only a step.
But Julian saw it.
So did Sera.
Sera’s gaze went from the heel to Alina’s hair, then toward the candelabra above them.
The silver arms were no longer moving. But one candle cup had tilted slightly from the impact, and the small disturbance looked strangely loud in the perfect foyer.
Noelle spoke again.
“Was that knocked over?”
Vivienne looked at the candelabra.
“No.”
Alina said, “I hit the table.”
Julian’s face tightened.
Vivienne looked at her sharply.
“You fell.”
“I hit the table because you pushed me.”
Julian rose halfway from his crouch.
The change in him was small but visible.
Vivienne began crying again.
This time, the sound was louder.
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“Julian, please,” she said. “I can’t do this.”
The performance was not entirely false. That was the hardest part. Vivienne was frightened now. Not of what she had done, perhaps, but of losing control of how it would be understood. Her tears had always come easily when people stopped looking at her the way she wanted.
