Adrian looked sharply toward her.
The room went silent again.
Simon said, “Your sample?”
Vanessa nodded.
My mother leaned forward.
“The sample is irrelevant.
You already confirmed the relationship.”
Simon answered.
“I confirmed that the woman who supplied this sample is biologically related to Richard Bell.”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to put Claire’s name on the report.”
“Yes.”
Simon paused.
“Why?”
My mother’s voice hardened.
“Because Adrian cannot marry his sister.”
Vanessa gave a small laugh.
“And once he sees the report, the wedding disappears.”
The recording stopped.
No one moved.
I could hear the candles crackling.
Adrian stared at Vanessa.
Then at Simon.
His voice was barely audible.
“What does that mean?”
Simon walked forward.
“It means the DNA sample your mother wanted me to falsely identify as Claire’s belonged to Vanessa.”
Vanessa covered her mouth.
Adrian looked confused.
“So?”
Simon held his gaze.
“The relationship was genuine.”
My mother closed her eyes.
Simon said the next words carefully.
“Vanessa Vance is Richard Bell’s biological daughter.”
The ballroom erupted.
Adrian stumbled backward.
Vanessa began sobbing.
And suddenly the impossible truth became painfully clear.
Vanessa wasn’t simply my sister.
She was Adrian’s half-sister.
My mother had been sleeping with Adrian’s father twenty-seven years earlier.
And she had known.
Adrian looked at my mother.
“My father?”
Diane said nothing.
“My father slept with you?”
“Adrian—”
“When?”
My mother’s voice cracked.
“It was complicated.”
Vanessa screamed.
“Don’t call it complicated!”
Everyone turned.
She was trembling.
“You told me he loved you.”
My mother snapped, “Vanessa.”
“You told me he was going to leave his wife.”
“Stop.”
“You told me I was the daughter he secretly wanted!”
Adrian looked physically sick.
Vanessa turned toward him.
“I found out six months ago.”
His face hardened.
“And your response was to frame Claire as my sister?”
Tears streaked Vanessa’s makeup.
“You don’t understand.”
“No.
I really don’t.”
My mother suddenly stepped forward.
“This changes nothing.”
I stared at her.
“You tried to convince the man I love that I was his sister.”
“You were going to leave me.”
“What?”
“After the wedding.”
She pointed at me.
“You think I didn’t know?”
The ballroom quieted.
“You and Eleanor always had plans.
Private conversations.
Lawyers.
Accounts.
Decisions that excluded me.”
“Grandmother is dead.”
“That never stopped her from controlling everything.”
There it was.
Not guilt.
Not shame.
Resentment.
My mother looked toward the train of my gown.
“She always chose you.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does my dress have to do with Grandmother choosing me?”
Simon answered instead.
“More than you know.”
My mother spun toward him.
“Do not.”
He reached into his jacket.
