Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
JULIET
Imust have fallen into a deep sleep because I wake up suddenly to an insistent knocking. It yanks me from the depths of my exhaustion, and I bolt upright on a massive bed with a gasp. My heart is slamming against my ribs. Where the hell am I? The vast and beautiful room swims into focus.
Ah yes, I’m in Carolyn’s life.
And someone is urgently knocking on the door.
I hurry towards the sound. Outside, the housekeeper stands, her face pinched with unhappiness, arms crossed over her apron.
“Dinner is about to be served ,and everyone is already seated at the dinner table, Madam.
Will you not be joining them? Are you perhaps not well?
" she asks, but her voice is not concerned, and she is having difficulty reining her irritation in.
Looks like I've already committed a grave sin.
Carolyn didn't mention there was a strict dinner time—her briefings skipped the mundane rituals, focusing on the big lies. Still, I didn't know I'd nap this long; I must have been bushed, the day's whirlwind draining me more than I realized, body and mind collapsing under the weight.
"I'm sorry," I mumble, rubbing my eyes. “I fell asleep. Must have been tired. I’ll come down now. Thank you for coming to call me.”
She is taken aback by my apology, but she just nods curtly and turns away.
I close the door and run into the massive walk-in closet.
It is lit by soft recessed lights that flicker on automatically.
Racks of dresses gleam like treasures. I grab the nearest one I can find—a red and white polka dot thin-strap, soft cotton sundress from Diane von Furstenberg.
The fabric feels cool and breezy as I hurriedly slip it on over my head.
It hugs my boobs a little too snugly, but the hem swirls demurely around my knees.
I glance in the full-length mirror, and I wonder if this look is inappropriate.
The polka dots are playful, almost flirty.
Maybe rich people dress in suits even at home, with starched collars and pearls for dinner.
This summery slip of a thing that feels too casual, too revealing, but it’s too late to change now.
I slip into high-heeled sandals and rush out.
I run lightly down the curving stairs and only slow down as the dining room comes into view.
As I enter it, I'm struck once again by how regal they all are—they look like they belong in a painting, Frances at one end in her cashmere twinset, pearls glowing softly, Freya beside her with her curls tied in ribbons, Blake at the head, dark and beautiful just like in the dream.
The butler, his face vaguely forbidding, is standing to attention against a massive painting.
A waiter wearing white gloves is reaching for a plate under a covered silver dome.
"Sorry, I'm late," I apologize as I head over to the seat at the table that has been set for me.
No one answers me. Oh dear.
I note his mom and daughter are sitting side by side, chatting softly, but I, the wife, am all the way at the opposite end, isolated, like an afterthought.
A chasm in between. I'm beginning to get why Carolyn doesn't like them, this deliberate distance, the way they close ranks without her. But I shouldn’t judge so fast. What if it isn't their fault?
What if it is Carolyn's behavior that built this wall, brick by bitter brick?
I'm served immediately by the waiter. Deferentially, he places a plate before me with a soft clink.
I notice immediately that while the others are eating fish with deliciously golden potatoes on the side, I'm given a small green salad with pink curls of seafood dressed in a light vinaigrette.
It is clearly the kind of thing Carolyn ate to stay thin.
I try not to scrunch my nose at it, hesitating with the fork in hand, poking at a leaf. But what the hell? I’m not eating this food for the next three months. I should start the way I mean to carry on. I put my fork down and turn to the waiter.
"Could I have what the rest of the family is eating, please?"
Everyone freezes with shock. For a moment, they all turn to stare at me. Frances's brows lift, Freya's eyes are wide with surprise, and Blake's gaze is wary.
I ignore them all and keep my chin up as my plate is removed, though inside my pulse is racing. Have I just shattered another fragile piece of this facade?