or of the guest

She just turned on her heel and marched down th

ned the floor-to-ceiling velvet drapes, the antique mahogany

t a long,

off her shoulder and dropped it o

h

ached up and pulled the heavy black frames off her face. She pinched the bridg

cratchy sweaters. They were a muddy brown color, poorly knitted, and smelled faintly of

e sun pierced throug

yellow foundation. She drew the thick, ugly eye

imming pool shimmered in the morning light. Averi's expression hardened for a fraction of a seco

lowed the smell of fresh coff

silver platters and fine bone china. Holt sat near

froze. His jaw clenched so hard the m

d straight toward him and pulled o

r the heavy, solid silver fo

deliberate

an

the bone china plate. The sharp, piercing no

s shut and let out a loud, aggress

her Rust Belt accent, making it sound nasal an

newspaper. His eyes drifted over the hideous, oversiz

utler contact a stylist from Fifth Avenue. We need

nel, Grandpa, and she'd still reek of cheap detergent a

r chest, clutching the collar of her ugly

d sincerity. "My grandmother knitted these sweaters for me before she passed.

The moral high ground she just claimed made

ed against the hardwood floor. He pointed a

the hell out of this house right now. I am not

sh to her face. Within seconds, her eyes pooled with tears. She bit

ct," she whispered. Her voice was so

d his cane aga

wn! Your lack of manners is a d

with humiliation. He didn't dare defy his grandfathe

air. He spun around and stormed out of the dining

trembling finger and wiped a single, p

the corner of her mouth twitched u

ned from his face. "Do not let his wor

ed her chair back and stood up. "I'm full.

r posture rigid, and tu

he moment she reached the second-floor ha

guest room and pushed

ed the d

Her spine straightened. The fake tears dried up, l