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Ivy pressed the doorbell and listened as the chime rang out.

“Coming!” a sultry voice called out.

Ivy had to remind herself to breathe, but it was a useless instruction as the door swung open. The sight of the woman before her had bile rising in her stomach.

“Hello…” Jasmine Journee’s greeting died on her lips. Her jaw hung slack.

The woman who answered the door, bore an uncanny resemblance to Ivy. Jasmine Journee could attend a Burton family reunion, and no one would question why she was in attendance. She looked like a younger version of Ivy. The most noticeable distinguishing factor was the other woman was slightly shorter, and her curves were fuller, more pronounced. They even had similar coloured eyes. Jasmine Journee’s eyes were comically rounded in shock.

Ivy mentally shook herself. She couldn’t let the woman’s appearance derail her from her mission. “Hello, I’m Ivy Scott, and I would like to come in for a visit.”

The other woman opened and closed her mouth. She swung the door open and then said, “alright, please come in.”

Once she had stepped inside the foyer, Ivy took in the space. From what she could see of the open floor plan, the house was cozy and very organized. The warmth in the pastel colours created a welcoming atmosphere.

“May I take your coat?” Ivy wanted to hold on to it, but she was in the other woman’s home.

“Yes, please.” She gave up her coat and then slipped out of her winter ankle boots.

“We can go through to my kitchen.”

The ladies were quiet as they walked through the small living room and family den. Rather than paintings, the walls were decorated with pictures. There were pictures of Jasmine Journee and what she assumed was her family. An older couple, and another woman. Then there was the picture that caused Ivy’s step to falter for a moment: Jasmine Journee with a little boy. The sweet little cherub-cheeked boy was a replica of Oliver at a similar age. Then they finally reached the spacious eat-in kitchen.

“Please have a seat,” she instructed, pointing to a chair closest to the door. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Well, wasn’t she hospitable? Ivy’s plan for handling this conversation hadn’t been thought through adequately.

“No, thank you,” she said, taking the seat. Ivy was ready to get to the bottom of things. This talk was long overdue. The woman pulled out her chair and took her own seat. She visibly gulped.

“I know it is an intrusion for me to visit your home like this, but from your reaction, I gather you know who I am.”

“Yes. You’re Emmanuel Scott’s wife. I am sure you came all this way because you have questions, but can I say something first?”

Ivy nodded. After all, this was her house.

“I want you to know how sorry I am about all of this. I had no idea he was married. If I did, I would have never gotten involved with him. I know you don’t know me, but I am not that type of woman.”

What could Ivy say to this? The woman across from her was apologising for having an affair with her husband. Especially since Ivy believed he did not cheat on her. So, all she could do was nod. There was no way she could bring herself to thank the woman. In order to get through this, she needed to stay objective and calm. It was the only way she was going to get the information she needed to sort this out.

“Where did you meet him?”

“I was attending a conference on Vancouver Island…sorry that wasn’t what you asked.”

“No. It is fine. Go ahead.”

“We met in the bar at Lancaster Vancouver Island Boutique. He was there drinking alone. He said hello, and we started talking.”

“Sorry… drinking. Like drinking alcohol?”

“Yes. He was drinking Grappa. He and the bartender had a long conversation about the region of Italy it came from.”

Region of Italy?What the hell was going on?She could fit on a dime what Emmanuel knew about liquor. Especially one from Italy.

“Excuse me. Are you sure it was Italy?”

“Positive. They were speaking Italian. I actually thought he was Italian. I’ve visited Italy and his accent was flawless. Better than the bartender and he said he was from the region of Val d'Aosta.”

What in the hell was going on?The only other language which Emmanuel spoke was French, and it wasn’t the greatest. Languages were not his thing.

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