Boston Mother Cancels Twenty Two Million Dollar Wedding Gift After Morning Betrayal
“Look,” Lucia said, stepping back.
I turned to the oval mirror on the vanity. A woman with perfectly styled, chin-length silver waves looked back at me. The hair was full, brushed back from my face in the exact style I had worn for fifteen years.
“Nobody will know,” Lucia said.
“I will know,” I said.
I stood up, smoothing the front of my grey wool suit.
At ten o’clock, the black sedan was waiting in the driveway, its exhaust rising in white plumes against the brick wall of the garage. Arthur, my driver for twenty years, stood by the rear door with his cap in his hand.
I walked down the stone steps, my heels clicking on the frozen concrete. The air smelled of salt and wet asphalt.
“Good morning, Mrs. Lawrence,” Arthur said, opening the door.
“Good morning, Arthur,” I said. “St. Andrew’s, please.”
I climbed into the leather seat and waited for him to close the door. The heavy thud of the door shut out the sound of the street.
