Chapter 8 8

Easton dragged Georgina away, his mind reeling. He needed a drink. He needed to make sense of the world that had suddenly tilted on its axis.

"She's faking it," he muttered as they left the gala early. "It's all an act."

"Of course it is," Georgina soothed him. "Let's go get some late-night food. We picked up Holt from the sitter, remember? He's in the car."

They went to a high-end 24-hour diner, the kind with velvet booths. Holt was awake, hyper from sugar.

"I want ice cream!" Holt demanded.

"Whatever you want, buddy," Easton said distractedly.

Outside, a sleek black Porsche pulled up to the curb.

Althea and Bret were inside. They had come for coffee after the gala.

"Don't look," Bret warned, seeing the Harrington family in the window.

But Althea looked. She couldn't help it.

She saw them through the glass. The perfect tableau. Easton, handsome and brooding. Georgina, doting and attentive. And Holt.

Holt was laughing. He was shoving a spoonful of sundae into his mouth. He said something, gesturing wildly.

Althea rolled down her window just an inch. The diner door opened as a waiter stepped out for a smoke, carrying the sound from inside.

"...wish Georgina was my real mommy!" Holt's voice carried clear as a bell. "She lets me eat sugar! The Nanny was mean!"

Easton laughed. He ruffled Holt's hair. "Yeah, buddy. Georgina is great."

Althea felt the blood drain from her face. Her hand went to her chest, clutching the silk of her dress. It felt like a physical hole had been punched through her sternum.

"Drive," she choked out.

Bret slammed his hand on the steering wheel. "I'm going to go in there and-"

"No!" Althea grabbed his arm. Her nails dug into his jacket. "Drive, Bret. Please."

Bret looked at her, saw the devastation in her eyes, and nodded. He gunned the engine. The Porsche roared away, leaving the happy family behind in the window.

"I'm done," Althea whispered to the passing streetlights. "I really am done."

She deleted the photo of Holt she kept as her lock screen.