Chapter 43 Lily’s Story
"Because you mocked me at the café. You asked me what I planned to do, like I was useless. Like I couldn’t help. I wanted to hurt you back."
He was quiet for a long moment.
"That was childish," he said.
"I know."
"And dangerous. You withheld information from me. Information that could have been critical."
"I know."
He took a step closer. His gray eyes were fixed on her face.
"I had a plan," he said. "A good plan. I had snipers en route. I had negotiators. I had extracted a confession from the kidnappers’ accomplice before we even left the estate."
Veyra swallowed. "I didn’t know that."
"No. You didn’t. Because you didn’t ask. You just acted."
She looked down at her feet. Her toes were still cold.
"You were right," she said quietly. "About everything. I disrupted your plan. I put myself and Lily at risk. I acted without thinking."
He said nothing.
"I’m sorry," she said. "I’m sorry for lying. I’m sorry for interfering. I’m sorry for making things harder."
She looked up at him. His face was still hard. But something in his eyes had shifted.
"I was just so scared," she said. "When I saw Lily in that cage. When I saw the knife at her throat. I couldn’t just stand there and wait. I had to do something."
Dorian was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I understand."
She blinked. "You do?"
"I would have done the same thing."
The words hung in the air between them.
"You were reckless," he said. "And impulsive. And you made my job significantly more difficult."
"I know."
"But you saved her." His voice was softer now. "I can’t argue with the results."
Veyra felt something loosen in her chest.
"Don’t do it again," he said.
"I won’t."
"I mean it. No more stunts. No more swimming across lakes in the dark. No more putting a gun to a kidnapper’s head."
"Okay."
He looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, "You should take a shower. You’re dripping on the carpet."
She looked down. Water was pooling at her feet.
"Sorry."
"Go." He nodded toward the bathroom. "I’ll have the doctor wait in the library. He needs to check you and Lily both."
She turned to go. Then she stopped.
"Dorian?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For not being more angry."
He did not answer. But the corner of his mouth twitched. Just barely.
She went into the bathroom and closed the door.
When Veyra came downstairs, clean and dry and wrapped in a thick robe, the living room was full.
Beatrice had Lily on her lap. The little girl was telling the story again, her voice high and excited. Harold was listening with his arm around his wife. Phillip was nodding along. Even Celeste had a look of something that might have been approval.
"Veyra saved me," Lily said. "She swam across the lake. In the dark. She had a gun. She put it right to his head."
Beatrice’s eyes were wet. "She did?"
"She told him to drop the knife. And he did. Just like that."
The room turned to look at Veyra.
She stood in the doorway, suddenly self-conscious. Her hair was still damp. Her face was pale. She was wearing a robe and slippers.
"I was just—" she started. "It wasn’t—"
Dorian’s voice cut through the room. "She’s being modest. She saved Lily’s life. End of story."
The room was silent.
Beatrice stood up. She crossed the room. She stopped in front of Veyra.
"I slapped you," Beatrice said. "Earlier. I slapped you and accused you of losing my granddaughter."
Veyra touched her cheek. The bruise was still there.
"I was wrong," Beatrice said. "I’m sorry."
"It’s okay—"
"It’s not okay. You saved her. You risked your life for her. I will never forget that."
She pulled Veyra into a hug that was brief and fierce.
Then she stepped back.
Veyra looked around the room. Harold nodded at her. Phillip looked away. Celeste’s frozen face was unreadable.
And Eleanor—
Eleanor was standing by the window. Her arms were crossed. Her face was tight. Her eyes were burning.
She looked like she wanted to kill someone.
Veyra tried to speak. "Really, I just did what anyone would have—"
Dorian cut her off. His voice was firm but not unkind.
"Go take a shower," he said. "You’re still damp. And you’re shivering."
"But I—"
"The doctor is waiting. He needs to examine you. Both you and Lily." He looked at her. "Go."
Veyra realized what he was doing. He was giving her an exit. A way to escape the attention, the praise, the awkwardness. He knew she was uncomfortable. He was helping her save face.
She looked at him. Her eyes met his. She gave him a small, grateful smile.
"Okay," she said. "Thank you."
She turned and headed for the stairs.
Eleanor’s voice stopped her halfway up.
"Well," Eleanor said. Her tone was light. Biting. Passive-aggressive. "She’s the one who lost Little Lily in the first place. Bringing her back is the least she could do."
Veyra froze. She did not turn around.
"I mean," Eleanor continued, "if she hadn’t taken the child to that café, none of this would have happened. She’s not a hero. She’s just cleaning up her own mess."
The room was silent.
Beatrice’s face hardened. "Eleanor—"
"I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking." Eleanor’s voice was sweet. Poisonous. "She lost her. She found her. That’s not bravery. That’s basic responsibility."
Veyra closed her eyes. Her hand tightened on the banister.
She wanted to turn around. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tell everyone what Eleanor had done. The phone calls. The kidnappers. The trap.
But she had no proof. And without proof, she was just a woman pointing fingers.