His Perfect Lie, Her Vicious Truth

die

etings, insisting we ate dinner together. He personally changed the bandages on my arm

nd nearly setting off the smoke alarm. "Is it... edible?" he asked, hovering

me, murmuring apologies, stroking my hair. I accepted his gestures,

us," he announced one evening, his voice ho

on the screen, followed by a plaintive message. "Br

ched him, my fingers unconsciously tracing the neatly folde

ould respond to her. "Bridgett needs you. We sho

, whispering secrets into his ear, her hand resting intimately on his thigh. S

s not even bothering to flicker towards them. They were

ointment to a small scratch on Bridgett' s arm, murmuring comforting wor

me. He gently took my arm. "Elodie, wait. I... I have to ask you somethi

is hand still resting on my arm.

te. And I know sometimes she can be a little much. I just want to make sure you're

ection, Bronson?" I asked, a sliver of ice in my voice. "Do you th

his face pali

oing, Bronson? Still trying to worm her way into your good g

d. "Just leave him alone, Elodie.

my voice low and dangerous. "If he never loved me, why did he marry me?" I leaned in, my v

lips trembled, and she stumble

my voice echoing in the sudden, dead silence. I turne

oset door. I was folding the last few items into

?" he asked, his voice strained

cking some things away. Clearing out th

at me, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes. "Are

perceptible smile touching my lips. "Le

r his face. "Don't joke like that, Elodie. Not about so

ing. He walked towards me, his arms wrapping around me, pu

my hair, his voice muffled, laced with a fear he could

almost imperceptible shift. "I won't," I s

of relief escaping him. "Now, go on to the estate, darling. Have dinner with Mo

tate. Anner sat in the drawing-room, her posture rigid,

s, her voice surprisingly gentle. "Such a trying time

sipping my tea, unti

elain clinking softly. "Anner," I began,

ith shock. "What... what ar

eady. "And I know about your son's secret vasectomy. I know our marriag

hand trembled, tea slosh

ow laced with a quiet despair. "

ispered, her voice choked with grief. "My poor, sweet girl." She reach

hed' by Clifton for 'neglecting' me over the past five years? How many times he claimed to fight for me? He wasn' t

ed my hand, her touch surprisingly firm. "I am so, so sorry, Elodie," she