Chapter 3

Vivian's welcome-home gala occupied three floors of the Lakebridge Museum of Art and enough floral arrangements to hide a small army.

The moment we entered the main gallery, a woman in a black evening gown detached herself from the crowd.

Vivian Clarke was beautiful in a sharp, polished way. She wore diamonds at her ears, confidence in every step, and enough perfume to announce her several seconds before she arrived.

"Adrian," she said warmly. "It's been forever."

She opened her arms and moved in for a hug.

Adrian caught my hand and stepped back so fast he nearly pulled me into a sculpture.

"Your perfume is overwhelming," he said. "It'll bother my daughter. Please keep your distance."

Vivian's smile froze.

She looked at me, then at the toddler in my arms.

"Ms. Hart must be very committed to the devoted-mother image," she said. "Bringing a child to an evening gala is an interesting choice."

The words were polite. But the tone was not.

Before I could answer, my daughter took one look at Vivian's hard expression and began to cry.

I bounced my daughter gently. "It's all right, baby. Mom's here."

Vivian's lips tightened, a flush creeping up her neck.

"This is my welcome-home party. You brought a crying baby to ruin the atmosphere? That's rather unlucky, don't you think?"

She glanced at Adrian as if inviting him to share the joke.

"Your taste has changed while I've been gone."

Vivian was operating under the delusion that Adrian would choose his old friend over me.

She had not considered that he would choose a mildly upset goldfish over anyone who insulted his daughter, so long as the fish made her smile.

She had made a fatal miscalculation.

At that time, Adrian took our little girl from my arms. He held her against his shoulder and rubbed slow circles over her back.

"Daddy's here," he murmured. "You're safe. Nobody gets to scare you."

Only when her crying softened did he look at Vivian.

"The only bad luck in this room is you."

Vivian's eyes widened. "Adrian-"

"I brought my daughter. If she isn't welcome, neither are we."

He shifted the child to one arm and reached for me with the other.

"Come on, Chloe. We're leaving."

He walked us through the crowd without looking back.

Vivian hurried after us. "Wait. That's not what I meant. Adrian, listen to me."

Adrian did not.

Four hours of preparation. Two minutes inside. Not even one canapé.

I had suffered for beauty and received no catering in return.

On the drive home, Vivian called Adrian repeatedly. He ignored the first two calls. On the third, he blocked her number.

The following morning, Adrian's mother invited us to dinner at the Bennett family estate.

"Just family," she said.

Her voice was entirely too casual.

I knew an ambush when I heard one.