13. Clearing the Floor
Chapter thirteen
Clearing the Floor
Julian moved around the large mahogany dining table, setting the porcelain plates in front of us.
The rich aroma of toasted garlic and truffle oil drifted up from the food, temporarily masking the spicy scent of Warren’s cologne.
I kept my hands folded in my lap, smoothing the fabric of my formal maternity dress.
“The wild mushroom risotto is finished with a balsamic drizzle,” Julian announced, stepping back from the table. “And the sea bass is seared perfectly, just as requested.”
I offered the caterer a polite nod, shifting my weight in the dining chair. My lower back throbbed with a persistent ache. I pushed my fingers against my spine, using the pressure to brace myself upright. The house was silent, stripped of the documentary crew and the low hum of the cameras.
“It feels strange without the cameras following us around,” I said.
Warren picked up the chilled bottle of champagne from the center of the table. He peeled back the foil and untwisted the wire cage.
“We deserve a break from the production schedule,” Warren replied. “Especially tonight.”
The cork came free with a crisp, loud pop.
The sound echoed off the high ceiling of the dining room.
Warren tipped the bottle, filling his crystal flute with the pale liquid.
He then reached for a separate, smaller carafe resting in an ice bucket, and poured sparkling cider into Naomi’s glass and mine. The bubbles fizzed against the rims.
I looked across the table at Naomi. She sat tall in her chair, practically glowing in the light of the overhead chandelier. The small transmitter pack of her lavalier remained clipped to the waistband of her skirt.
Marcus had played his part, issuing a strict directive before he packed up his Pelican cases.
He assured Warren and Naomi that the recording hubs upstairs were powered down and disconnected for the night.
The crew just needed them to wear the packs until bedtime to run a deep-cycle battery drain test.
They had swallowed the lie without a single question.
“I still can’t believe it,” I said, leaning forward to pick up my glass. “After all this time, it’s finally happening, Naomi. I couldn’t be happier for you. We have to celebrate this properly.”
The words tasted like bile. We were sitting at a table paid for by my inheritance, toasting the child that made my own baby obsolete.
I wrapped my fingers around the crystal flute.
The cold, dense weight of the flute dug into my palm, giving me something solid to hold on to while I forced myself to smile.
Warren raised his glass, holding it out over the mahogany.
“It’s absolutely incredible news,” Warren said. “A toast to the growing family, and to the brightest future ahead of us.”
I raised my flute, feigning a serene, supportive expression. I brought the crystal forward until it met the bowl of his glass with a sharp clink. Naomi lifted hers next, completing the circle.
“Thank you both so much for making tonight special,” Naomi said. “It really feels like everything is finally falling into its perfect place.”
She smiled, completely unaware that the tiny microphone clipped to her blouse transmitted every word of her lie straight to a secure hard drive.
We lowered our glasses. I set mine back onto the table, letting my fingers trace the base of the stem for a moment before pulling away. The toast was over. Naomi reached for her silver fork, but Julian stepped forward, clasping his hands behind his back.
“I hope you enjoy the sparkling cider, Mrs. Davenport,” Julian said, gesturing to the glasses. “The vintage champagne is from the reserve collection.”
I picked up the folded linen napkin from the table. I draped it across my lap, smoothing the thick fabric over the curve of my stomach.
Julian’s formal presence served as a buffer.
It delayed the trap, forcing Warren and Naomi to sit up straight and play the role of perfect hosts for a few more minutes.
Warren gave a stiff nod of acknowledgment to the caterer, his jaw tight.
He picked up his fork, eager for the hired help to leave so he could drop the act.
“It looks wonderful, Julian,” I said. “Thank you for putting this together on such short notice to help us mark the occasion.”
“My pleasure entirely,” Julian replied.
I took advantage of the distraction. Under the cover of the mahogany table, I shifted my weight and reached down toward my right foot.
I pressed my thumb into the swollen tissue just above my ankle.
The joints throbbed, but I needed an excuse to leave.
I winced, making sure the reaction was visible above the edge of the table.
“The swelling is worse tonight,” I muttered, looking at Warren as I massaged the joint.
Warren offered a brief, practiced smile of concern, but his eyes flicked back to the champagne bottle. He was already dismissing me. He just wanted me out of the way so he could celebrate his new life with Naomi.
“Enjoy your evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Julian said, offering a polite bow. “Once again, congratulations, Ms. Mercer! I’ll let myself out through the kitchen so I don’t disturb your dinner.”
Naomi offered the caterer a brilliant, camera-ready smile. Julian turned and walked away from the table. The heavy wooden service door clicked shut behind him. The metal latch engaged, leaving a ringing quiet in the large space.
Warren wasted no time. He reached for the green champagne bottle.
He tipped it, refilling his own crystal flute to the brim. The fresh bubbles popped against the rim.
I picked up my silver fork, cutting a small piece of the seared fish. I took a bite, forcing myself to chew. It tasted like sawdust, but I swallowed it down. I needed to keep the performance going for just a little longer.
Naomi picked up her fork, taking a small bite of the sea bass.
“Julian really outdid himself,” Naomi said. “The balsamic drizzle is perfect.”
“He knows how to earn his retainer,” Warren replied, setting the champagne bottle back onto the table.
They were both trying to act casual, but their underlying greed kept bleeding through.
Naomi’s gaze drifted toward the chandelier, taking in the expensive decor of the room like she was already sizing up the space for a remodel.
They just wanted to be rid of me. I dabbed the linen napkin against my mouth, returning it to my lap.
“This is such a blessing,” I said, looking across the table. “Just like we dreamed when we were little. We get to share this amazing experience too, Naomi.”
Naomi lowered her fork, that same practiced, empty smile flashing under the lights.
“Yeah. We’re so lucky, Junie.”
I gripped the handle of my fork a fraction tighter, pressing my thumb into the intricate silver pattern. My baby and I were just obstacles standing between Naomi and the life she felt she was owed. I let the bitter realization sharpen my performance.
“I’ve been thinking,” I said, keeping my voice bright and supportive. “The firm’s annual investor gala is this Friday. Why don’t we announce your news there? We can turn the whole evening into a shared pregnancy celebration.”
Naomi’s eyes widened slightly, catching the light. She sat up straighter, the black square of the lavalier mic shifting against her silk blouse.
“That sounds amazing, Junie,” Naomi said. “And it makes perfect sense. I want our babies to grow up as close as we were.”
I stared at her. You want my baby. You just don’t want me.
I absorbed the sheer audacity of her lie.
I had given them exactly what they wanted—the promise of more public attention, more social clout, and another stage to perform on.
Now, I needed to clear the floor. I let my weight sag against the back of the dining chair, leaning into the genuine ache radiating from my lower back.
I simply allowed the fork to slip from my hand.
The fork hit the porcelain plate with a loud clatter.
Warren flinched at the sudden noise, his hand hovering over his champagne glass.
“I am so sorry, you two,” I said.
I pressed both hands flat against the base of my spine, letting out a sharp breath. I pushed my chair back from the table. The wooden legs scraped against the floorboards. I stood up, bracing one hand against the edge to catch my balance.
“I don’t think I can actually sit up for the rest of this dinner,” I continued, forcing my voice to tremble. “The swelling in my ankles is just throbbing tonight.”
Warren stood up immediately, tossing his napkin onto his plate. He rounded the corner of the table, already arranging a worried, supportive expression into place.
“Are you all right, Junie?” Warren asked. “Do you want me to help you up the stairs, or maybe carry your plate up to the room?”
I looked at him, sickened by how easily he manufactured the false concern. I stepped out of his reach, putting an extra inch of distance between his tailored suit and my pregnant stomach.
“No, I just need to lie flat and close my eyes,” I said. “I’m wiped out.”
Keeping my hands braced against the edge of the mahogany table, I let the solid wood hold my weight.
Warren stood just a few feet away, his brow furrowed as he played the part of the doting husband.
Behind him, the open green champagne bottle sat next to the crystal flutes.
I looked at the alcohol, knowing exactly what would happen the second I left the room.
“Please, don’t let me ruin the celebration,” I said, forcing a weak smile. “Stay down here and enjoy the champagne. You deserve a quiet night to yourselves.”
Warren reached out. His hand settled on the fabric of my sleeve. He patted my arm with dry, hollow affection. I forced my muscles to stay limp, refusing to flinch under his touch.
“If you’re sure,” Warren said, lowering his voice.
Naomi leaned forward in her seat. The overhead chandelier caught the eager gleam in her eyes even as she tilted her head in mock sympathy.
“Are you sure, sweetie?” Naomi asked. “We can wrap everything up right now if you need us to help you.”
It was an empty offer. She didn’t want to carry my plate upstairs or help me into bed. She just wanted the floor to herself.
They both thought I was just a weak, hormonal obstacle clearing herself from their path. I needed them to keep believing it. I stepped back, breaking contact with Warren’s hand.
I brushed my palms down the front of my dress.
“I’m positive,” I said. “Just lock the front door before you come upstairs.”
Warren nodded, stepping aside to let me pass.
“We’ll take care of everything down here, Junie. Don’t worry about a thing.”
“I’ll see you both in the morning.”
I turned my back on the mahogany table. Every muscle in my legs ached from the tension of the evening, but I faked a slight limp to play up the swollen ankles.
The soles of my leather boots dragged against the floorboards.
The dining room behind me went completely silent as they waited for me to leave.
They did not try to call me back or offer another false platitude.
I kept my shoulders slumped as I crossed the threshold into the front hall. “Just a few more steps,” I whispered to the empty foyer. I couldn’t drop the act until I was safely out of view. I rested my palm over the curve of my stomach.
I reached the bottom of the staircase and placed my right hand on the banister.
The cold varnish of the wood bit into my palm.
I pulled myself up the first step. I put genuine weight on my arm, leaning into the ache to sell the performance.
My boots landed with a muffled thud against the carpeted steps.
Each motion required deliberate effort, putting more physical distance between my baby and the two predators sitting at my table.
I kept quiet, listening to the subtle rustle of movement below me.
Halfway up the flight, the angle of the stairs offered a clear view through the wooden balusters.
I stopped my ascent. I squeezed the banister to steady my stance, letting the hard edge press into my skin.
Below me, the dining room remained illuminated by the glaring chandelier. Warren did not even wait for me to reach the second floor. His hand darted across the mahogany. He grabbed the green glass neck and angled the lip against Naomi’s crystal flute. A bright clink rang through the dining room.
The effervescent liquid spilled into her glass, sending a rush of tiny bubbles over the edge.
Naomi leaned in, a wide, unbothered smile stretching across her face.
The small clip of the lavalier microphone remained pinned tight.
The wire trailing down to the hidden pack silently captured the damning audio.
Naomi used to wait for Agnes to go to sleep before she raided the kitchen pantry. I stared at her glowing face through the spindles. She always waits until the adults leave the room. And now she thinks I’m asleep, too. Let’s see what she steals this time.
They were so eager to claim their stolen victory, raising their glasses to toast a murder.
They believed the empty house belonged to them now, confident that no one was watching.
I released my tight grip on the railing and turned my face away from the light.
I resumed my slow climb toward the shadowed second floor.
The faint clinking of crystal faded behind me, replaced by the thrum of the central heating vents.
I left them alone with their expensive alcohol and their unchecked greed. My boots cleared the final riser. I reached the top landing and walked down the hallway, fully prepared to shut myself in the dark and watch the trap spring.