Chapter 8

It was a cold Tuesday evening, but the restaurant was pleasantly warm. Emily. Silky brown hair throwing off gold light, center parted, slicked down over the scalp, and clipped back with a pretty brooch. Lips too pink, and eyes too warm for someone who’d let me suffer for years under her son’s thumb. She sat down before me, her skin paler than I remembered. The deep purple dress stood out starkly against her complexion.

Oh, no fake tan today.

“The ring’s nice,” I commented with a sip of my wine.

“His name’s George,” she said carelessly. “He has great taste, doesn’t he?”

“Acquired?” I said, boring my eyes into hers.

Her gaze was sharp. “You’ve gotten brave.”

“Better than being desperate.” I set my wine down gently. “Don’t want anything ruining your big day, I assume?”

“It’s been years, Lilian.”

She sounded so casual and dismissive.

“You think invalidating my pain will get you anywhere?”

The waiter arrived, asking for our orders. Emily didn’t have the chance to stare me down as she turne