A sweeping staircase curved toward the second floor.
Fresh flowers stood on a carved wooden table beneath a painting that probably cost more than everything I owned before meeting Russell.
He reached for my hand.
“Welcome home.”
His voice was so gentle that my throat tightened.
Then I looked upward.
Marlene stood on the landing.
Watching us.
Her face showed nothing.
Later that night, after most of the wedding guests had left, I went looking for water.
Marlene intercepted me beside the staircase.
One hand rested lightly on the banister.
Her smile was almost pleasant.
Almost.
“You really think you won, don’t you?”
I frowned.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The house.”
She glanced around.
“The money. The company. The estate.”
“Marlene—”
“You think because my father put a ring on your finger, you’re going to walk away with everything.”
“I’ve never said that.”
“You don’t have to.”
