Boston Mother Cancels Twenty Two Million Dollar Wedding Gift After Morning Betrayal
“What did you say?” I asked.
“Just that it looks different,” Julian said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Very neat. Almost like it was done by a professional in a rush.”
My mind raced, the cold harbor wind from earlier returning to my chest. Neither Michael nor Lucia had told anyone about what happened in my bedroom at six this morning. Yet here was Julian, making a joke about the texture of my hair on a day when I was supposed to be hiding in my townhouse with a shaved scalp. My hand moved to my collarbone, my fingers tracing the edge of my coat collar. I had lived in Boston my entire life, and I knew how rumors traveled, but this was not a rumor. This was a direct confession wrapped in a sneer.
“Where were you last night, Julian?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
“Around,” he said, taking a slow sip. “Boston is a small town if you know where to go.”
“Did you visit Beacon Hill?” I asked.
He laughed, a dry, grating sound, and set his glass down on the white tablecloth.