7. The Bait #2
I scrambled up from the floor. I ran my palms down the front of my cashmere maternity sweater, hastily smoothing the fabric.
I turned my back on the desk and marched out of the office.
My hurried steps were nearly silent against the polished hardwood.
Bastien followed me out, staying right on my heels.
We crossed the threshold into the main living room without speaking a single word.
Stepping back into the open space left me feeling dangerously exposed.
The midday sun poured through the massive front windows, casting long shadows across the Persian rugs.
I grabbed a knitted throw blanket from the back of a nearby armchair before dropping onto the center sofa and sinking into the plush cushions.
Gathering the loose fabric, I dragged it over my knees.
My fingers trembled against the yarn. I fumbled with the frayed edges, failing to arrange the blanket in a neat fold over my lap.
I dug my fingers into my thighs, clutching the rough, scratchy threads until my hands finally steadied.
I caught my reflection in the antique mirror on the far wall.
I barely recognized the pale, washed-out face staring back at me.
Breathe. You’re just a pregnant woman waiting for a craving.
My mother viewed me as a fragile, docile accessory.
She believed I lacked the spine to ever question her narrative.
I hid behind that specific arrogance. I just had to paste on a smile and give her the exact illusion she expected.
I leaned back into the cushions, relaxing my shoulders to play the exhausted victim.
The heavy oak front door swung open. The sudden noise rang out across the marble tiles of the foyer.
The sharp click of her leather heels followed.
Bastien stopped near the arched entryway, angling his broad shoulders to block the direct line of sight into the living room.
He slipped into the role of a deferential employee, burying his dangerous edge beneath a polite veneer.
“Welcome back, Mrs. Vandeveer,” Bastien said, his voice projecting a professional, bored tone. “It’s been quiet around the grounds.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kavanagh,” Lavinia called out from the entryway. “Be a dear and take my keys, will you?”
Lavinia strode through the archway into the living room.
She clutched a pink pastry box in one hand and pressed her cell phone to her ear with the other.
The heavy, unmistakable scent of her signature perfume instantly overpowered the winter air clinging to her tailored coat.
She waved a manicured hand at Bastien as she passed him, already putting on a show.
“The bridge was a parking lot, Margaret,” Lavinia complained, projecting her voice to ensure I caught every word. “I sat behind a delivery truck for forty minutes just trying to reach the bakery.”
Lavinia paused near the coffee table, waiting for the woman on the other end to offer the expected sympathies. She’s turning my worst nightmare into cocktail hour gossip. I didn’t flinch at the realization. I just tightened my grip on the edges of the blanket covering my knees.
“I know, Margaret, the traffic was simply barbaric,” Lavinia trilled into the receiver. “But Cecilia is so fragile since the… incident. I simply have to take care of her. I’ll call you back.”
She tapped the screen with a sharp fingernail, ending the call, and dropped the device into her purse with a loud clatter.
Sighing with theatrical exhaustion, she crossed the room to the sofa and held the pink box out to me.
I reached out and took the square container.
Lavinia collapsed into the plush armchair, crossing her legs and massaging her temples.
I turned my attention to the box. I lifted the cardboard tabs, focusing entirely on the crisp snap of the packaging just to give myself something to do. A sugary scent of butter and baked dough drifted up from the white paper napkin inside.
“Mom, this is perfect,” I said. “Thank you so much. I feel terrible making you drive all the way out there just for me.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Lavinia said. “Seeing you smile makes it worth every single minute.”
She beamed at me, visibly thrilled by her own generosity. She believed she held control over a dependent daughter. I just needed to use her vanity to point her in the right direction. I took a bite of the sweet dough, letting my obedient smile feed her ego while I silently laid the groundwork.
I lowered the half-eaten pastry, using the motion of setting it on the coffee table to buy myself a moment. I brushed a stray crumb from the hem of my sweater. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, making sure I still looked like the fragile, exhausted daughter she envisioned.
“You shouldn’t have had to abandon your afternoon plans for this,” I murmured. “Margaret and the rest of the club must think I’m such a burden on you right now.”
Lavinia dismissed the notion with a casual wave of her hand. She smoothed her expensive coat over her knees.
“Nonsense,” she said. “They know how traumatic this ordeal has been. Margaret was just telling me how sick with worry they all were when you went missing.”
“They really have been wonderful,” I replied.
I shifted my weight on the sofa, leaning forward. I kept my hands folded over my stomach, projecting the fragile persona she expected. I met her gaze, letting my voice catch slightly in my throat.
“You know, Mom… you and your friends have been so supportive,” I said.
Lavinia sat up a fraction straighter in her armchair, drinking in the explicit validation. I let the silence hang for a single beat, watching a smug, satisfied smile pull at her lips.
“I’d love to do something to thank them,” I continued, keeping my tone soft and dependent. “A small afternoon gathering, maybe? At your condo?”
A bright gleam sparked in Lavinia’s gray eyes. I could practically see her mentally drafting the guest list as she feigned a moment of careful deliberation.
“Oh,” Lavinia said, her tone lifting. “Well… the Sovereign is much more secure than restaurants right now, given your situation.”
“And Margaret has been dying to see the new artwork in my study,” she added.
Yes, invite them into the study. The Sovereign offered the exact distraction I required.
Moving the gathering to her territory guaranteed both my husband and my mother would be in a single expansive room.
They would be too distracted playing the perfect hosts, leaving the hallway unguarded.
Bastien would have the window of time he needed to find the hidden safe.
“It would mean the world to me,” I said. “Just a few close friends, this weekend. Tobias can come too.”
Lavinia clapped her hands together, already energized by the idea. She reached back into her purse and pulled out her cell phone.
“Consider it done, darling,” Lavinia said.
Her thumbs flew across the screen. The steady, rhythmic tapping of her acrylic nails was the only sound in the room.
“I’ll call the caterers right now,” she muttered, tuning me out completely.
I leaned back against the sofa cushions, taking another bite of the pastry with a soft, practiced smile, knowing my trap was finally set.