The man gave a short nod before stepping inside, handing his coat off to a waiter.
“Weren’t you supposed to be throwing me a welcome-back dinner?”
“We were.
Mom said you’ve been buried in work since taking over the Shaw family business.
You haven’t had time to come see her in years.
She told me to make sure you’re properly looked after tonight.”
Ethan gestured for a chair to be pulled out, signaling that dinner could start.
“Uncle, please, sit.”
He turned back toward the sofa.
Rosalind’s shoes were still lying off to the side.
Ethan’s eyes cut to Claire, sharp with irritation.
“Go back to your own room.”
He was furious enough over one badly-handled shoe that he didn’t want her staying a second longer.
Something inside Claire cracked, thin fractures spreading like a spider’s web across glass.
Ethan picked the shoes up himself, slid them onto Rosalind’s feet, and zipped them for her.
Rosalind looped her arms around his neck as he lifted her, murmuring gently, “Ethan, her friends still haven’t arrived.
Where’s she supposed to go?
And your uncle’s here shouldn’t she at least say hello?”
Ethan looked at Claire the way someone looks at an old coat they don’t know what to do with.
“Leave her be.”
He carried Rosalind to the table, settled her into a chair, and turned to the newcomer.
“How long are you in town this time, Uncle?”
Weston Shaw glanced once at the woman sitting alone on the sofa, head bowed pale as a plum blossom bent under frost.
“Two days.
I leave the day after tomorrow.”
Rosalind sighed, disappointed.
“So soon?
Ethan’s mentioned for years how close you two were growing up.
We hoped you’d stay longer.”
Weston’s brow twitched faintly.
He looked away.
“And this young woman is…?”
“Rosalind,” Ethan said.
“She fell at the funeral today and hurt her foot.
I’d already taken her to the hospital by the time you arrived, that’s why we missed each other.”
Weston’s gaze slid away again.
“Ah.
Julian’s widow.
She wasn’t in mourning clothes, forgive me, my eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
One of the women at the table let out a short laugh, then quickly swallowed it back.
Derek choked on his drink, coughing hard enough to earn a sharp look from Ethan.
It wasn’t just that Rosalind hadn’t worn black.
She’d come dressed for a party full makeup, a soft lavender gown, glowing brighter than Claire all night.
Rosalind’s hand tightened around her wineglass, her smile going stiff.
The pale little figure on the sofa rose without a sound, quiet as a passing breeze, and slipped out of the room.
By the time Naomi burst through the door of the Rose room, Claire had practically memorized the entire menu.
She threw herself into Claire’s arms.
“Your Highness, I’m guilty as charged!
Forgive me!”
Claire laughed despite herself.
“Enough theatrics, I’m starving.
Order something!”
They picked out four of The Gilded Fork’s signature dishes, two stir-fries, and a soup.
When Naomi found out Ethan had already signed the divorce papers, she flagged down the waiter for a bottle of champagne on top of everything.
Once the food arrived, Naomi gave the bottle a good hard shake first.
“A toast!
To my girl Claire, officially escaping the worst relationship in recorded history!”
Pop
Champagne sprayed out in a burst of white mist, and Claire scrambled to catch it with her glass, laughing.
When Ethan stepped out for a smoke and some air, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses drew his attention to the Rose room’s door, left slightly ajar.
Claire had shed her coat.
Her off-white knit dress traced the line of her waist, her figure caught in the low light.
She looked a little drunk, glass in hand, spinning slowly, laughter bright in her eyes.
He stared.
Something about the sight stopped him cold.
Her usual quiet, obedient softness had always been easy to overlook.
But this loose, glowing, alive was hard to look away from.
Why has it taken me this long to notice that?
“Ethan.
What are you staring at?”
Rosalind had made her way outside, limping, following his gaze.
Something uneasy sparked behind her eyes.
“Ethan…
have you started falling for Claire?”
The word falling landed somewhere tender in his chest and twisted.
“Where is that coming from?
Claire’s like a little sister to me.
I can take care of her, provide for her, that’s not the same as love.”
Besides, he reasoned silently, if I actually felt something for her, I wouldn’t have made her tend to your ankle tonight.
I know exactly what you were doing, staking your claim in front of everyone.
He reached out, brushing a thumb gently along the bridge of Rosalind’s nose, eyes warm.
Satisfied, she slipped back into her gentler, more magnanimous role.
“I know how you feel.
There’s no need to scold her like that in front of everyone, though she’s young, she’s sensitive.
Imagine how humiliated she must feel.”
Ethan sighed.
“She made a mistake.
Am I not allowed to correct my own sister a little?
I didn’t raise her all these years for nothing.
If she can’t take a few sharp words without falling apart, we might as well just get divorced someday and”
He stopped himself, a strange tightness gripping his chest.
Claire was an orphan.
Taken in by the Ashfords, then quietly discarded, handed off to be raised by the family’s groundskeeper.
She’d spent her whole life walking on eggshells.
Only in the years since marrying him had she gotten to breathe a little easier.
If she really left with how fragile she was underneath he genuinely didn’t know how she’d survive out there alone.
Rosalind watched the hesitation flicker across his face and dug her nails harder into her palm.
Of course.
Childhood ties run deep.
He’ll never actually let her go, never actually divorce her for me.
Ethan pressed his lips together.
“Rosalind, tonight I promise you’ll always feel safe with me.
It’s just, my brother only just passed.
I have to think about how this looks, for your sake.”
“I understand.
It’s enough just knowing you’re protecting me.
I’m not that greedy,” Rosalind said, forcing a small smile.
“Let’s go back in.
I don’t know how to talk to your uncle without you there.
I pushed through the pain in my foot just to come find you.”
Relief eased across Ethan’s face.
“My uncle’s just a man of few words.
He’s good to the people close to him.
The Ashfords and the Shaws do a lot of business together these days you’ll be seeing plenty of him.
You’ll get used to it.”
Claire and Naomi ate until they were stuffed, but when they asked for the check, they were told it had already been settled by Ethan.
Claire followed the waiter’s gesture toward the entrance
Out in the pouring rain, Ethan had Rosalind wrapped in his arms, his own coat draped carefully over her, a man notoriously fussy about his clothes, not caring at all that it was getting soaked.
Priya held the umbrella mostly over Rosalind’s head.
Ethan’s shoulder was already drenched, and he didn’t seem to notice or care, entirely absorbed in the woman he was cradling.
He set Rosalind gently into the back seat before circling around to climb in himself.
The Rolls-Royce pulled away, tires cutting through standing water.
Naomi ground her teeth.
“The nerve of those two!
Who cares if he paid the bill!”
Claire looked away.
“Consider it a dine-and-dash, then.
Your ride’s here, go home, get some rest.
And don’t forget, come help me pack up my things whenever you’re free.”
Naomi pulled her into a tight hug.
“Say no more.
Leave it to me.
Get some sleep, eat properly, and stop wasting your energy on people and things that don’t deserve it.”
Claire held the umbrella over Naomi until she was safely in her car, then walked back and climbed into her own.
A while into the drive, something felt off.
“Frank, this isn’t the way back to Ashford Manor, is it?”
The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror, puzzled.
“Mrs.
Ashford said to bring you straight to the old estate.
She didn’t tell you?”
Claire’s eyes flickered.
Her fingers twisted together in her lap.
“I know now.”
Because of where she’d come from and because Ethan had defied his own family to marry her her mother-in-law, Margaret, had never once warmed to her.
Every time Ethan was away, Margaret would summon her to the old estate, and it never once ended well.
This time
The second Claire stepped into the living room, a teacup came flying and struck her square in the forehead with a sharp crack.
Blood ran down, painting her vision red.
“Claire.
Get on your knees.”