“Don’t,” Lenora said.
It came out hoarse, but it stopped him.
For five years, she had let him speak for her. Let him explain her sadness, her silence, her absence from dinners, her resignation from the hospital, her shrinking life. Let him tell people she was fragile, difficult, ungrateful, unstable. Let him turn her pain into proof against her.
Not tonight.
Darnell looked down at her, eyes narrowing.
“What did you say?”
Lenora’s fingers closed around the pendant in Mr. Wilson’s palm. The silver was warm from his hand and cold from the floor at the same time.
“I said don’t.”
The ballroom seemed to inhale.
Darnell’s face flushed. He was not used to resistance from her, especially not in public. He took one step forward, but Mr. Wilson stood between them. The elderly guard was not large, but there was something immovable in the way he placed himself in front of Lenora.
