For a long moment, she said nothing at all while processing my words. Then she let out a low, bitter laugh that sounded entirely devoid of humor.
“Of course he told you that,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “Charles lied to everyone, as he was always remarkably good at doing that.”
I stared at her as faded memories began returning to my mind all at once. I recognized the sharp cheekbones and the specific way she tilted her head when speaking. It was the face of a woman I had not seen since I was a young bride living in Lexington, Kentucky.yes
“You are Christopher’s older sister,” I said, finally making the connection in my mind. “You are Beatrice.”
She nodded quietly in response. “Yes, I am Beatrice, his sister.”
She was the sister of my husband’s former business partner and best friend. Finding out who she was should have answered my pressing questions, but instead, it gave me an even more disturbing one. I could not fathom why my husband had needed me to believe this woman had passed away decades ago.
“So you do remember who I am after all these years,” Beatrice observed, examining my tense posture.
