Page 63 of Her Dark Lies
“Someone painted the wordWHOREon it in what looked like blood. It’s ruined. Ana was going to reach out to you, Harper, to see if you could find a replacement on the mainland. I take it she didn’t get you?”
“She may have, but my phone hasn’t been working well. I must have missed her call. Oh, Claire. I am so sorry.”
Katie puts an arm around my shoulder. “Are you okay? You’re in love with that dress.”
“I’m a little numb, to be honest. I mean...” My voice quavers, and I clear my throat. I am not going to cry. I refuse to break again. That’s what this has been designed to do, a long-term, steady campaign to get me to break. Fuck whoever is screwing with me.
“Where is your dress now?” Harper asks.
“The seamstress took it away yesterday.”
“Oh, I wish Ana had gotten through, our hotel was right by an adorable shop that I could have gone into before we left.”
Twist that knife, sister. Yes, it would have been nice if you’d bothered answering your phone. I don’t for a second believe that it wasn’t working well, how else were you uploading all your photos online this week?
I must have sighed, because she catches my hand. “Claire. Do you want me to see if it can be fixed?”
“Henna was going to try to cut a panel out of it, but it’s trashed. Past recovery, I’m afraid.”
“You let me make that call. I bet I can find a length of satin and we can replace it.”
“We’re on an island in the middle of nowhere, Harper. Where are you going to find fabric that matches?”
She smiles, the radiant sunbeam that knocks people down in its glory. My sister is a pretty, pretty girl. “We’re in Italy, Claire. This is the fashion capital of the world. Let me try, at least. The dress is so beautiful, I’d hate for you not to be able to wear it.”
Breathe, Claire. Let her help.
“Okay. Thank you, Harper. I would appreciate that.”
Harper gives me a swift hug, disappears into my rooms like a shot. I hear her rustling around, she must be grabbing her bags on the way out.
Katie looks impressed, which is saying something. “Maybe little sister will save the day. Though if I get my hands on whoever messed with your dress, I’ll kill them,” she says, still watching me. “There’s more. What is it, Claire? What’s going on?”
I blow out a breath. “You can’t tell anyone about this, okay?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“An intruder broke into the house Monday night. Malcolm, Jack’s security guard, shot him.”
“Dead? Shot him dead?”
“Yes.”
“Who the hell was it?”
I stumble on my answer. I am not quite ready to pull back the curtain on the mess that is going to ensue when I admit to my fiancé that I do know the intruder. I know him very well. I’d prefer to have this part of things private, at least until Jack and I can have a talk.
But this is my best friend. She knows my secrets. My lies. Maybe she can help me find the path.
The uneasy sense of newfound knowledge—how could I have missed it before?—assails me. How had my mind tricked me? How had it thrown up the barrier to let me look right at him and still not see it?
“Who was it, Claire?” she asks again.
“It was Shane. Shane McGowan. He—”
My words are cut off by Jack, calling from inside the room.
“Where’s my bride-to-be? It’s time for our brunch!”
