Claire stumbled, gasping theatrically, then collapsed onto the rug with a cry just as heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.
“Claire!” Matthew’s voice thundered. He rushed into the hall, eyes snapping to her crumpled form—then to me, standing above her.
“What the hell did you do?!” His glare sliced through me, so fierce my knees nearly buckled.
“I didn’t—she—”
“Matthew,” Claire whispered, her voice trembling with perfect fragility. She clung to his sleeve like a drowning woman. “Don’t be angry with her. She didn’t mean it. I shouldn’t have provoked her.”
The portrait of innocence.
“Provoked? She pushed you!” Matthew snarled, rounding on me. “Are you out of your mind?!”
“No!” My voice cracked. “She’s twisting everything, I swear—”
But already guests were gathering, phones raised, whispers cutting into me like blades.
Matthew bent and scooped Claire into his arms as if she were porcelain. Bile surged in my throat. He shielded her, defended her—against me, his wife.
“Let’s just go,” Claire sobbed into his chest. “She’s my best friend. I don’t want her humiliated.”
Matthew’s jaw clenched, his fury barely contained. “Evelyn. With me. Now.”