So Grandma had gone to see Jasper that day. She'd known everything.
How angry must she have been when she left? How heartbroken?
Hilda forced a smile at her friend, but in the next instant, a wave of grief so heavy it seemed to drag every feature of her face downward swallowed it whole.
She didn't even bother making an excuse. She stumbled to her feet and left the table, barely holding herself together.
Hilda's phone screen lit up, dimmed, lit up again. She stayed on Jasper's chat window, unable to scroll away.
There was so much she wanted to ask him.
Then, for no particular reason, her gaze drifted up, and she spotted Vivienne across the room.
Something compelled her to follow.
Vivienne wound through corridor after corridor until she emerged onto a terrace, where a man stood waiting with his back turned.
Hilda's breath caught.
"Jasper."
He swirled his wine glass and turned with a smile, meeting Vivienne's lips in a kiss.
Vivienne was all fire, coiling around him like a serpent, her body pressed so close that the heat between them was unmistakable.
The rustle of fabric, a woman's breathy whimpers, heavy breathing—all of it threaded into Hilda's ears.