Chapter 5 - Margaret’s Perfect Brunch
Margaret Bellamy believed bad news should be handled before dessert.
That was why she planned Sunday brunch.
Not a casual family meal.
A Bellamy brunch.
There were white roses on the dining table, sliced fruit arranged by color, silver coffee service, linen napkins, smoked salmon, and enough relatives in attendance to turn any private conflict into a public verdict.
Claire knew what it was the moment she walked into the living room.
An ambush with pastries.
Richard stood near the cream sofa in his light blue shirt, sleeves rolled neatly at the wrists. Margaret hovered near the dining area in burgundy, polished and watchful. Cousins, aunts, and family friends filled the space with the anxious silence of people pretending not to know they had been invited for a spectacle.
Eleanor sat near the arched glass doors in her purple cardigan.
Her hands rested in her lap.
The notebook was nowhere visible.
That frightened Claire more than if her mother had been holding it.
Margaret kissed the air beside Claire’s cheek.
“You look pale, dear.”
“I’m fine.”
“Of course.”
Richard handed Claire coffee she had not asked for.
She did not take it.
His jaw tightened.
Margaret glanced between them, then turned toward the group with a hostess smile.
“Before we eat, Richard has asked for a moment of family honesty.”
Claire looked at him.
Richard’s expression was composed.
Too composed.
He stepped forward.
“I didn’t want to do this publicly,” he said, which meant he very much did. “But the situation has become serious.”
Claire felt Eleanor’s eyes on her.
Richard continued. “Eleanor has been making accusations. Disturbing ones. About me. About our finances. About Claire’s father’s estate.”
A murmur moved through the room.
Margaret lowered her eyes as if wounded.
“She is recovering,” Richard said gently. “And we all love her. But confusion can be dangerous when people encourage it.”
Claire’s hands went cold.
He was not defending himself.
He was erasing her mother.
Eleanor pushed herself upright from the chair.
“Don’t you dare,” she said.
Richard turned toward her with false concern. “Eleanor, please sit.”
“You stole from my daughter.”
Someone gasped.
Margaret whispered, “Oh, Eleanor.”
Richard’s face darkened.
“Enough.”
Eleanor took one step forward. “And Claire’s signature wasn’t the only one you forged.”
The room split open.
Richard moved quickly toward her.
Too quickly.
Claire started forward, but Richard reached Eleanor first. His voice dropped low, sharp enough to cut.
“You should’ve stayed out of this.”
Eleanor recoiled.
Her foot caught against the edge of the rug.
May you like
She fell forward onto the marble.
And the entire room finally saw the man Claire had been living with.
