His children attended the engagement gathering. His daughter, Marlene, did not shake my hand. She looked at me as though I had dragged dirt across an antique rug.
“So you’re the new project,” she said.
I tried to smile.
“It’s nice to meet you too.”
All evening, she watched and judged me from across the room.
After the wedding, Russell held my hand and led me through his front door. Marble floors. Tall ceilings. A staircase curved like something from a film.
“Welcome home,” he said softly.
From the landing above, Marlene watched us with a face so motionless it looked carved.
Later, after the reception inside the house had thinned out, I went to find water.
She stopped me near the staircase, one manicured hand resting on the banister. Her smile never reached her eyes.
“You think you’re getting the house?” she whispered. “You’ll get nothing.”
