Chapter 2: Blood On White Fabric Under Frozen Ballroom Lights
I kept one arm around Sophie’s back and turned my body so Preston had to look at me before he could look at her. Her weight pressed against my navy dress, small and rigid, her fingers twisted in the fabric near my waist. The ballroom had gone so quiet that I could hear the faint scrape of a chair leg somewhere behind us. No one moved toward the entrance. No one moved toward Preston. The silence held everyone in place more firmly than a command.
I lowered my eyes to Sophie’s face. Blood had gathered at the edge of her hairline and run in a narrow path across her cheek. A smaller smear marked the white ribbon around her neck. When I pressed the napkin to it, she flinched and tightened her grip. Her flower-girl dress had a faint red mark near the shoulder, no wider than my thumb. The white fabric made it impossible to pretend the injury was smaller than it was.
I checked her eyes, her mouth, the way she held her head. She stayed conscious, staring past my shoulder toward Preston. I shifted her higher against me and covered the side of her face with my hand, not to hide the blood but to keep her from having to watch him.
Across the marble, the oak menu board lay where it had fallen. Its heavy base had struck the floor first, leaving it tilted against one of the polished legs of a nearby table. Gold calligraphy curved across its dark surface in sweeping lines. From where I knelt, the lettering caught the ballroom lights in clean, bright flashes. The board was too large to mistake for something light or harmless. Its edge faced the path between Preston and us.
I looked from the board to the camera above the archway. The camera was small, almost lost among the carved trim, but its red light blinked at a steady interval. It had a clear view of the entrance, the marble floor, the board, and the place where I held Sophie. The board recorded one version of what had happened by the blood and the angle of its fall. The camera might hold another.
Preston noticed me looking upward. His expression changed before he moved. The anger remained in his jaw, but his eyes traveled to the camera and stayed there. Then he glanced at the board. His shoulders rose once beneath the black tuxedo, as if he had taken a breath he did not want anyone to see.
Behind me, the guests began to shift. A woman near the nearest table brought both hands to her mouth. Someone else stepped sideways, opening a narrow line of sight toward the entrance. Their attention passed from Sophie’s blood to Preston’s clenched fists, then up to the blinking red light. The room had not found its voice, but it had begun to understand where the facts were located.
Preston took half a step forward.
I pulled Sophie against my chest and rose just enough to place my knees beneath me. The movement made the marble press through the thin fabric at my legs. Every instinct told me to get to the board, to keep him from touching it, to force him to remain where the camera could see him. But Sophie’s fingers were still locked in my dress, and her breathing had become quick against my collarbone.
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I did not pursue him. I did not reach for the evidence and leave her exposed. I kept my shoulder between them and watched the entrance instead, waiting for someone to cross the distance that the silent room had left open.
The camera continued blinking. The board stayed on the floor. Preston stayed within sight, his face turned toward the doorway as though he expected the next person through it to decide what happened here.
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