It lit up Julian's face. His expression was unreadable—dark and impenetrable.
Grace snapped back to the present and turned to me.
"Miss Harding, it looks like there's going to be a terrible downpour. Why don't you stay and have dinner with us?"
I choked down the nausea rising with the grief, and forced a smile.
"No, thank you. I have another job nearby, and I'm running behind."
I fled the villa. Fat raindrops crashed down the second I stepped outside.
I pried open my rusted umbrella and stood alone at the curb, hands shaking as I lit up my phone screen. The wallpaper stared back at me, and I let out a bitter laugh.
It was a photo of Julian and me against a red backdrop, taken on our third anniversary. We'd planned to use it for our wedding portrait.
Tears burned at the edges of my eyes. A gust of wind ripped through, and the umbrella was torn from my grip.
Without its shelter, the rain hit me full force. My foot slipped. I went down hard, sprawling on the ground.
Ice-cold mud soaked through every layer. Humiliation and despair crashed over me at once, and I collapsed forward, sobbing so hard no sound came out at first—then all of it came pouring out.