Page 84 of Her Dark Lies

Claire. Your mother lies. You know this. There were plenty of opportunities for her to drink some champagne, or something stronger. There is nothing in your tea. You have a concussion—they told you the side effects: dizziness, nausea, blurred vision, headaches, fatigue. Don’t be an idiot.

I toss the tea anyway, pour myself a tall, cool glass of water and gulp it down. The dizziness is passing. They said I could take ibuprofen, and I do. I breathe through it, feeling better, steadier, with each inhalation.

See? You aren’t being poisoned. Way to get all paranoid there, Claire.

Still a little lightheaded, I take a seat in the dressing room, and assess.

My rehearsal dinner dress hangs inert, waiting for me to slide into it and practice my vows. I suppose if my wedding gown is truly ruined, and I don’t want to accept Fatima’s gift, I can swap it out with my Laura Blake. It is more appealing to me than wearing the loaner from Fatima, but maybe that’s me being stubborn.

I pull it from its hook and hold it in front of me, thanking whatever ironic elves decided to have Fatima do my hair and makeup. I’m basically ready to go for tonight already.

Yes, the Blake is lovely, though a bit sexy for a church wedding. The world won’t end if I have to pivot. And I won’t have to bedeck myself in someone else’s dream.

There. Better. Logic brings calm.

I’m tired of making compromises. I’m tired of not feeling 100 percent. I’m sick and tired of the rain. And as bad as it sounds, I’m ready to just get this weekend over with. Say our vows and go home. I’ve had enough of the Comptons for the time being.

I’ve answered my earlier traitorous thought. I do want Jack. I want him badly. And I’m willing to fight for him.

My phone squawks, and I grab it, relieved to be drawn away from my dark thoughts. I recognize the New York number this time. Karmen, again.

“Karmen?”

“Hello, Claire.” She sounds rushed, harried. “I’m sending you some screenshots, just to confirm this is the same woman who came to see you. The picture isn’t the best.”

My phone dings. “Hold on.”

She’s sent a series of grainy shots; I recognize the intersection near my studio. And I recognize the woman who stands so stiffly, waiting for the light to change.

“That’s Ami Eister. Absolutely.”

“Okay. I’m going to load her into our facial recognition system and see what pops. You hang in there, Claire. I’ll be in touch.”

Seconds after I hang up, I get another text, this time from Harper.

I think I have a solution for your dress. Come see!

Finally.Finally.Something good.

I text her back with a lightness in my heart I haven’t felt in days.

On my way!

50

The Deepest Betrayals Start at Home

Jack finds his parents sitting together quietly in their bedroom. Brice has an arm around Ana’s back. Her shoulders move delicately as she cries. Henna was more than her right hand, she was her best friend, her confidant. Ana ruled the family with an iron fist; Henna was the velvet inside that glove.

“Mom. I’m so sorry.”

Her back stiffens. “Thank you, Jackson.”

“Tell me what I can do.”

She tosses a tissue into the trash and faces him. He hates this, her tear-streaked face, her nose red, her eyes swollen. He’s never seen his mother so distressed before. He doesn’t remember ever seeing her cry, outside of May’s funeral. Ana is the strong one. She is their backbone.

“There’s nothing that can be done, my darling. Nothing will bring her back. Accidents happen.”