The woman Ivor was talking about was Nellie Harding.
Rumors had always swirled that Nellie was Ivor's first love. After her family's ruin, she'd ended up in the red-light district before finding her way to the eldest Sanchez son.
Jocelyn lowered her gaze to the soup she was holding. A thin film of grease had congealed across the surface, cloudy and still. The joy that had filled her chest curdled into a nausea so violent she could barely breathe.
Hatred surged through her. She raised her hand to push the door open and demand answers. But the moment her fingers touched the handle, the study door swung inward.
Ivor saw her and blinked in surprise. His gaze drifted to the cold soup in her hands, and he smiled, a helpless, indulgent curve of his lips.
"Did Mom have the kitchen make you another one of those broths? If you don't want it, just pour it out. No one's going to force you."
His fingertips brushed her hand, and his brow furrowed instantly. "You're freezing. Are you feeling alright?"
Jocelyn looked at him, testing the waters.
"I don't want to take the medication anymore. It makes me nauseous every time."