Page 52 of Picture Perfect

Chapter twenty-five

Saint

Itry to focus on the conversation unfolding between Mason and William Winthrop, knowing how critical these connections are. But my attention keeps drifting to the real reason I’m here, the Ice Princess sitting demurely across the table from me.

As dinner is served, I note Wesley and Cheryl's strange behavior. Adelaide's muttered "thank you" when receiving her plate sounds more resigned than grateful. I glance down to see only a meager salad before her while we feast on lavish fare.

My stomach tightens inexplicably as I watch her shoulders slump ever so slightly. I recall her getting sick at the diner after just one bite of the burger. Gen's chiding words echo in my mind. Is there more to this story than I've realized? Am I missing something? Or am I seeing things that aren’t there?

Watching Adelaide push wilted greens around her plate, I feel an uncomfortable pang of guilt. She won't meet my gaze or anyone's, keeping her eyes downcast as lively chatter eddies around her. Her slim shoulders are slumped in defeat. Or is it resignation?

I think back on all our interactions, seeing them now through a shifted lens. Her aloofness at school, the controlled way she speaks and moves, flinching from human contact—could it all stem from fear rather than entitlement?

What else have I misunderstood about this girl?

Seeing the truth between the lies is my specialty. Chess could unearth anyone's secrets, but he'd failed with the Ice Princess. Had I failed too?

As the evening progresses, my curiosity about Adelaide grows into a fierce determination to uncover the truth. I find myself studying her every move, searching for any hint of what lies beneath her icy exterior.

The room buzzes with forced laughter and guarded conversation, but my focus remains fixed on Adelaide.

I watch as Adelaide's fingers grip the stem of her glass, her knuckles turning white. The crystal chimes softly as her grip tightens. She takes a sip of the wine, her throat muscles contracting with each swallow.

Her eyes flick to mine. For a brief moment, our gazes lock, and I see a glimmer of vulnerability behind her icy facade. There's a flicker of fear in her eyes before she quickly looks away, hiding her emotions once again.

She's like a puzzle that I want to solve, but the pieces don't seem to fit together.

Dre hasn't made any attempts to hide where his attention lies. Do I need to be concerned about that? I can see Gen frowning slightly on Adelaide's other side. It's clear that she's noticed Adelaide's odd behavior too.

She quirks an eyebrow at my attention but I give a subtle shake of my head and try to focus on my food. And the rest of the Winthrops.

The conversation shifts to mergers and investments, talk of power and prosperity.

Turning my attention to Mason and William's conversation across the table, I can't help but feel a sense of unease. My gaze drifts towards Wesley and Cheryl, who are sitting at the far end of the table whispering furtively. There's something off about them too.

Cheryl keeps glancing over at Adelaide with a critical eye, her hawk-like stare seeming to disapprove of something. Wesley also keeps shooting his sister strange looks when he thinks no one is paying attention. I make a mental note to keep an eye on them both.

"The prospectus for the resort looks promising," William says between bites of steak. "But I hope the environmental impact studies check out. We can't afford any bad press."

Mason nods sagely, dabbing at his mouth with a monogrammed napkin. "Let’s hope the surveys show minimal disruption. This development will put the region on the map without harming what makes it special."

At this, Wesley's head snaps up, a protest on his lips—but Cheryl silences him with a subtle yet forceful grip on his arm. Interesting.

The conversation delves into numbers and projections, expertly skirting around the real reason for the invitation. But my focus keeps returning to Adelaide.

Adelaide's gaze remains in her lap, a melancholy statue. Everything about her posture screams of a caged bird longing for open skies.

I meet Mason's subtle glance and nod. Whatever is happening in this gilded manor, the time has come to unravel it. For reasons I cannot name, I'm determined to help Adelaide fly free.

Chapter twenty-six

Addy

The clink of fine china and the rustle of silk napkins fold into a symphony as dessert is paraded in. Gleaming chocolate tortes, raspberry coulis tracing intricate designs on porcelain plates, and towers of cream-topped pastries are set down with studied elegance before everyone—everyone but me.

In front of me, a glass bowl holds a scanty arrangement of berries and melon cubes. I prod at a grape, feeling its resistance under the silver fork.

Mason clears his throat—a calculated, commanding sound—and the table falls silent. Everyone turns to him, including me, my gaze lifting from the meager fruit salad to his authoritative presence near the head of the table.

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