“No one will record my son.” And for the first time all evening, the entire ballroom obeyed — not out of fear of her wealth or her standing, but out of respect for her dignity.
Chapter 15 — You Have His Face
Portia was led out, her long white train dragging behind her like a fallen flag.
The imported flowers stayed pristine.
The tiered cake sat untouched.
Every expensive detail remained perfectly in place, and the whole event was a ruin.
Emerson sat alone at the head table, staring at his empty hands.
Rosalind crossed to him, and this time, when he reached for her hand, she did not pull away.
“I look so much like Dad, don’t I?” he asked, in a hollow, childlike voice.
She studied his face.