Page 57 of Weeping Roses

As I follow the waiter to a table set at the end of the terrace, a smart woman sits alone. She is dressed entirely in white and her make-up is heavy. Her hair is well-styled and yet her eyes are like steel probes regarding my approach.

Her smile is huge, but there is something off about her and I can already tell she is ruthless just from the way she presents herself.

It’s as if she studies every inch of me as I approach and I thank God for the wardrobe because these clothes give me a confidence I would never wear inside my own.

“Pollyanna, darling. How gorgeous you look.”

She stands and approaches, kissing me on both cheeks and then stands back to appraise me with a critical eye.

“I can see you are enjoying your inheritance. Good for you.”

Her words annoy me, but I’m relieved at the same time. I don’t want her to discover the real reason I stand before her in these clothes. She would look at me with a different expression and would probably be right. I’ve whored my body out for material possessions. I’m aware that isn’t really the case, but it’s my sad truth and Valentin must never discover how I really feel about him because then he would wrap this up and be on his way, probably leaving the door wide open for that assassin to dispose of the needy.

“Please, take a seat. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering some champagne.”

She grins. “Possibly not the best choice considering the reason we are here, but I’m of the mind that champagne always makes everything better.”

I nod politely, wondering if I should tell her I hate the taste, but I spy a carafe of water on the table, which will suffice for me.

“So, Polly, may I call you that?”

“Of course.” I smile nervously, and she shakes her head.

“Such an awful thing to happen. Poor Veronica. To be the victim of such a terrible accident is heartbreaking for everyone who knew her.”

“Were you good friends?” I’m mildly interested in her history with my aunt and she nods vigorously.

“Yes. We went to school together.”

“You did?” I’m surprised because it’s obvious Marsha is American, whereas Aunt Veronica was most definitely British.

“Yes, we studied together at the Raymond Institute in Switzerland. Some call it a finishing school. I called it prison.”

She rolls her eyes as the waiter brings the menus, and our conversation halts as we make our selections.

I opt for a simple dish of spaghetti marinara, and Marsha selects various different dishes of pasta with a wink. “The portions here are more like tapas, darling. We can try it all without compromising our waistline. We will share. I’ve always been a staunch believer in sharing.”

“Thank you.” I’m not sure what else to say and as the waiter departs, she raises her glass with a soft, “To Veronica. May her soul rest in peace.”

“To Aunt Veronica.”

Our glasses touch and as we take a sip of our drinks, I shudder at the taste, but do a good job of disguising it. As I set my glass down, she drains hers and reaches for the bottle.

As she fills her glass to the top, she sighs heavily. “Yes, finishing school was hard to endure, but I made long-lasting friendships that have stood the test of time.”

“That must be nice.”

I shift on my seat awkwardly, and she leans forward and smiles. Her eyes piercing mine as she says with a slight shake of her head. “Which is why I asked you here.”

My heart beats a little faster as she whispers, glancing around as if afraid of being overheard.

“Your dear aunt was like a sister to me and would expect me to offer you the hand of friendship in your time of need.”

“That’s kind of you.” I’m awkward around her and I’m not sure why because she is being so kind, but there is something distrustful in her eyes that I can’t figure out.

“May I ask what you are doing for work, Polly?”

“I’m a copywriter. I work from home.” I answer, grasping the water glass and drinking slowly.

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