2. Louella
— ? —
Louella
Three weeks later, I stood in the marble foyer of the Lauder estate and reminded myself that murder was illegal.
The monthly brunch had become my personal Vietnam.
Every fourth Sunday, I put on an outfit expensive and understated, painted my face into a pleasant mask, and submitted myself to Genevieve Lauder’s inspection like a horse at auction.
She’d examine my dress, my hair, my waistline.
She’d ask pointed questions about my “health” and make observations about how “tired” I looked.
And I’d smile and nod and die slowly inside while my husband did absolutely nothing.
“You look beautiful,” Hector said, squeezing my hand as we walked up the front steps.
“I look like I’m going to a funeral.”
“It’s just brunch.”
“It’s psychological warfare dressed up as eggs Benedict, and we both know it.”
He didn’t argue, which was its own kind of confession.
Inside, the estate gleamed with the particular shine of money that had been old long enough to become tasteful. Fresh flowers in crystal vases. Art that cost more than most people’s houses. A staff that moved like ghosts, appearing exactly when needed and vanishing the moment they weren’t.
Genevieve held court in the sunroom, surrounded by her orchids and her Limoges china and the crushing weight of her expectations.
She was in her sixties but looked a decade younger, thanks to excellent genetics and better dermatologists.
Her silver hair was swept into a perfect chignon, and her silk blouse probably cost more than I made in a good month.
“Louella.” She offered me her cheek to kiss, and I pressed my lips to skin that smelled like Chanel No. 5 and disapproval. “You’re looking well. A bit pale, perhaps. Are you sleeping enough?”
“Like the dead, Genevieve. Thank you for asking.”
Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. She didn’t like me. Had never liked me. I was a painter’s daughter from a middle-class family with no connections, no pedigree, and apparently defective reproductive organs. In Genevieve’s world, I had committed the unforgivable sin of being ordinary.
“Mother.” Hector kissed her cheek with considerably more warmth than I had. “Where’s Dad?”
“Your father is in his study, pretending to read the paper while avoiding conversation. As usual.” She said it like a joke, but there was nothing funny about Richard Lauder’s lifelong commitment to being present without being involved.
The man had perfected the art of physically occupying space while being emotionally absent. He and Hector had that in common.
Margot arrived next, Hector’s younger sister, and threw me a sympathetic look as she accepted a mimosa from one of the silent staff.
She was the only Lauder I actually liked, quick-tongued and secretly kind, trapped in this family in a different way than I was.
She’d escaped the heir pressure by being born second and female, but she paid for it by being largely ignored.
“Brace yourself,” she murmured as she passed me. “Mother’s in rare form today.”
I grabbed a mimosa of my own. I was going to need it.
We assembled around the breakfast table like soldiers awaiting orders. Genevieve presided at the head, with Richard mumbling into his eggs beside her. Hector sat across from me, already checking his phone under the table, and I tried not to let that sting.
“I was just telling your father,” Genevieve began, which was code for I was just dictating to your father while he grunted occasionally, “that Elizabeth has been doing such wonderful work reorganizing Hector’s office. She’s really made herself indispensable.”
I looked up from my untouched food. “Elizabeth?”
“Elizabeth Silva. His executive assistant.” Genevieve’s smile was a weapon. “Haven’t you met her? She’s been running his office for a little while now. Absolutely brilliant. Stanford MBA, if you can believe it.”
“I don’t think I have.” I turned to Hector, keeping my voice light. “You’ve never mentioned her.”
He didn’t look up from his phone. “She handles scheduling, travel, that sort of thing. Nothing exciting.”
“She does much more than that,” Genevieve said. “She’s practically running the New York expansion single-handedly. I told Hector just last week that he should bring her on more projects. Someone with her skills shouldn’t be wasted on…”
“Speaking of scheduling.” Hector finally put his phone down. “Elizabeth should actually be here any minute. I asked her to bring some documents I need to review this afternoon.”
I blinked. “You invited your assistant to family brunch?”
“It’s not a big deal. She’ll just drop them off.”
“I think it’s a lovely idea,” Genevieve said, and the warmth in her voice made my stomach turn. “Family should mix with business. It builds loyalty.”
The doorbell rang, and a cold weight settled in my chest.
Elizabeth Silva was not what I expected.
I’d pictured someone efficient and forgettable, the human equivalent of a filing cabinet.
Instead, the woman who walked into the Lauder dining room looked like she’d stepped out of a magazine spread.
Tall, brunette, cheekbones that could cut glass.
Her dress was professional but perfectly fitted, and her smile was the kind that made you feel like you were the only person in the room.
Except it never reached her eyes.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she said, and her voice was warm honey. “I just wanted to drop these off for Hector.” She handed him a folder, and her fingers brushed his in a way that could have been accidental but wasn’t.
She turned to me then, offering her hand.
“You must be Louella.” Her grip was cool and brief, gone before I could return the pressure, her rings pressing hard against my fingers.
“Elizabeth, you must stay for a mimosa at least.” Genevieve was practically glowing. “We were just talking about all the wonderful work you’ve been doing.”
“Oh, I couldn’t impose on family time…”
“I insist. Louella, move down so Elizabeth can sit beside Hector.”
I stared at my mother-in-law. Then I looked at my husband, waiting for him to say a word. To tell his mother that his assistant didn’t need to sit next to him at family brunch. To notice the way Elizabeth was looking at me like I was an obstacle she was already planning how to remove.
Hector said nothing.
I moved down.
Elizabeth settled into the chair beside my husband like she’d been sitting there for years. She accepted a mimosa with graceful thanks. She complimented Genevieve’s orchids, asked Richard about his golf game, made Margot laugh with a story about a filing mishap.
And she touched Hector. Constantly. A hand on his arm when she made a point. A brush against his shoulder when she leaned in to whisper. Small, casual touches that screamed intimacy to anyone watching.
I was watching.
“I understand you’re an artist, Louella.” Elizabeth turned that bright, empty smile on me. “How wonderful that you have time for hobbies.”
“It’s not a hobby,” I said. “It’s my profession.”
“Oh, of course. I just meant that it must be nice to have such flexibility. I barely have time to sleep with everything Hector and I have going on.” She laughed, and the phrasing was too precise to be accidental. “At the office, I mean. The workload is just brutal.”
“I can imagine.”
Genevieve launched into a detailed analysis of the latest fertility research, because apparently my reproductive system was appropriate brunch conversation, and my smile calcified into a shape that might crack if I moved too fast. Elizabeth made sympathetic noises while her hand rested on Hector’s forearm, and I watched my husband not move away from her touch.
I needed air.
“Excuse me,” I said, pushing back from the table. “I’m going to get some air before dessert.”
No one tried to stop me.
***
The gardens behind the estate were immaculate, because of course they were.
Genevieve would never tolerate imperfection in anything she controlled, including nature.
I walked past the roses and the carefully shaped hedges until I found a bench tucked away behind a trellis of climbing jasmine, and I sat there breathing in the sweet air and trying not to scream.
“Louella.”
I didn’t turn around. “Go back inside, Hector.”
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”
I laughed, the sound scraping against my throat. “What’s wrong. That’s what you want to know. What’s wrong.”
“You’ve barely said a word all brunch. You’re clearly upset…”
“I’m clearly upset.” I finally turned to face him. “You brought her here. To family brunch. You let your mother seat her next to you like she belongs there. You let her touch you, over and over, while your wife sat across the table watching.”
“She’s my assistant. She was dropping off documents…”
“She was staking a claim, Hector. And you let her.”
His jaw tightened. “I think you’re overreacting.”
“Am I? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like your mother has found her replacement for me, and you’re too busy letting Elizabeth adjust your tie to notice.”
“That’s unfair.”
“Is it? When’s the last time you touched me the way she touched you today? When’s the last time you leaned in to whisper in my ear? When’s the last time you looked at me like I was the most interesting person in the room?”
He didn’t answer. That was answer enough.
“I need support at the office,” he finally said. “Elizabeth is good at her job. That’s all this is.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me about her? Months, Hector. She’s been working for you for months and I’ve never heard her name until today.”
“Because she’s an employee. I don’t tell you about every person who works for me.”
“But you bring them to family brunch.”
“My mother asked…”
“Your mother.” I stood up, my hands shaking.
“Your mother has been making my life hell since the day you married me, and you never once told her to stop. She comments on my body, my clothes, my failure to produce an heir, and you sit there like a statue. But Elizabeth makes one suggestion about coming to brunch and suddenly you’re accommodating? ”
“That’s not…”
“I stopped the fertility drugs.” The words came out flat, final. “Two weeks ago. I stopped taking them.”
Hector’s face went blank. That terrible, closed-off expression that told me he’d retreated somewhere I couldn’t reach.
“You decided this alone?” His voice was careful. Too careful.
“Someone had to. You haven’t been home long enough to have a conversation about it. And honestly, I couldn’t face another round of your mother’s commentary about whether I’m ‘trying hard enough.’”
“You should have told me.”
“When, Hector? During one of our three-minute dinners before you disappear back into your study? During the car rides where you’re on the phone the entire time? When exactly was I supposed to tell you?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a voice came from behind him.
“Hector? Your mother is ready to start the toast.”
Elizabeth stood in the garden doorway, perfectly framed by the climbing roses, not even looking at me. Her eyes were fixed on my husband like I wasn’t there at all. Like I was already invisible.
“Coming,” Hector said.
He didn’t look back at me as he walked away.