Part 17 (2/2)

she would be able to tolerate the public dissections, the lack of

freedom, the smirking headlines.

And she would. Somehow. But when he was away like this, thousands of

miles away, she wondered how she could bear a lifetime of being

photographed and hounded, of running away from microphones, of wearing

wigs and sungla.s.ses to do something as ordinary as buy shoes. She

wondered if Brian would ever understand how humiliating it was for her

to see something as intimate as her pregnancy splashed in headlines for

strangers to read over their morning tea.

She couldn't laugh at the stories when he wasn't with her, and she

couldn't ignore them. So she rarely left the house when he was gone. In

less than two weeks, the home she had envisioned for them with its cozy

rooms and sunny windows had become a prison. One she shared with

Brian's child.

But she was enough her parents' daughter to know her duty, and to

execute it unwaveringly.

”Emma.” Bev fixed a bright smile on her face as Emma turned. ”I thought

you might be ready for your tea.”

There was nothing Emma recognized quicker or distrusted more than a

false smile. ”I'm not hungry,” she said and gripped Charlie tighter.

”I guess I'm not, either.” If they were stuck there together, Bev

decided, at least they could talk to each other. ”It's hard to have a

nice tea with all the hammering going on.” Taking the step, she sat on

the window seat beside Emma. ”This is a nice spot. I think I should

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