The Girl Covered in Frosting
Chapter 04 - The Girl Covered in Frosting
Grace wanted the floor to open beneath her. She had been embarrassed before. She had been spoken down to, ignored, blamed for things she did not do. But nothing compared to standing in the middle of a millionaire’s wedding while guests stared at her as if she were a stain that had learned to breathe.
“I’m sorry,” she said, though apology felt wrong when she had not caused the fall. “I tried to stop it.”
Sienna stepped closer, her gown untouched, her expression twisted with public grief. “You tried to stop it after you shoved the table.”
“I didn’t shove anything.”
“Do not lie to me in my own family’s ballroom.”
“It’s a hotel ballroom,” Grace whispered before she could stop herself.
A few guests heard. A few looked away. Sienna’s face went white with rage.
The manager seized Grace gently but firmly by the arm. “Miss Miller, come with me.”
Grace pulled back. “Please, check the cameras. There has to be footage.”
Sienna laughed, and this time the sound carried. “Of course. The guilty girl wants to delay things.”
Adrian frowned. “Sienna, let her explain.”
“She has explained enough,” Sienna snapped. Then, remembering the room, she softened her voice. “Adrian, she humiliated me.”
Grace wiped frosting from her cheek with the back of her hand. Tears blurred the chandeliers. She hated that she was crying. She hated that Sienna saw it and seemed pleased.
From the far wall came the soft tap of a cane.
Eleanor Whitmore walked slowly toward the cake table. Her black velvet dress made her look severe, but her eyes were not cold. They were searching. Beatrice followed beside her, still holding the ivory envelope.
“Eleanor,” Sienna said, suddenly nervous. “You should sit. The staff will handle this.”
“The staff?” Eleanor repeated.
“Yes. She needs to be removed.”
Grace looked down. The word removed made her feel less like a person and more like broken glass.
Eleanor stopped in front of Grace. The room quieted, because when Eleanor Whitmore stood, people listened. She lifted one wrinkled hand, not toward the cake, not toward Sienna, but toward the small white flower tangled in Grace’s hair.
“May I?” she asked.
Grace was too stunned to answer. Eleanor gently pulled the clip free and held it in her palm. Her breath caught.
Beatrice leaned in. “It is the same one.”
Sienna’s mouth tightened. “The same what?”
Eleanor looked at Grace. “What is your full name, child?”
“Grace Miller.”
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“Were you born with that name?”
Grace’s tears stopped. “I don’t know.”
