Chapter 33 A Familiar Face
Sloane
The knock was sharp. It wasn't the heavy, impatient thud of a delivery driver or the frantic pounding of someone in trouble.
It was a rhythmic, polite, yet demanding sound.
I sat up on the sofa, the blanket sliding off my legs. The room was dim, lit only by the flickering blue light of the television.
I must have been out for hours. My mouth felt dry, and my head felt heavy from the kind of sleep you get when you’re trying to hide from the world.
I stood up and smoothed out my sweater. I checked the small glass pane next to the front door. I blinked, making sure I was seeing correctly. It was Aunt Claire. She was standing there in a perfectly tailored coat, looking as composed as a statue despite the evening chill.
I took a breath and opened the door.
"Aunt Claire?" I said, my voice a bit raspy from sleep. "What are you doing here?"
She offered a thin, graceful smile. "I was at your office earlier, Sloane. I didn’t see you there, and your assistant mentioned you’d be working from home today. I thought I’d check on you after the engagement party. It was quite an evening, wasn't it?"
I leaned against the doorframe, surprised by the visit.
Usually, nobody in the family did drop-ins. Everything with the Hartfords was scheduled weeks in advance.
But after the day I’d had, a familiar face felt almost like a relief.
"That's very kind of you, Aunt Claire. Please, come in," I said, stepping back to let her pass.
She stepped into the foyer, the scent of her expensive perfume immediately cutting through the stale air of the townhouse. She looked around, her eyes taking in the high ceilings and the minimalist furniture.
"I noticed something strange when I stopped by your office," Claire said, turning back to me. "There were several craftsmen in the hallway. Are you doing renovations, dear? It looked like they were working on your door frame."
I felt a sudden jolt in my chest. I looked at her closely, wondering if she was asking sincerely or if she already knew. Had Richard told her about the break-in? Or was she testing me to see how much I was keeping from the family? Her face was unreadable, a perfect mask of polite curiosity.
"There was a break-in last night," I said. I decided to keep it simple. If she knew, she knew. "Nothing was actually stolen, thankfully. But they did some damage to the door. The police are handling the investigation."
Claire’s hand flew to her chest, her eyes widening. "A break-in? In that building? Oh, Sloane, how awful. Are you alright? You should have called us immediately. Richard will be horrified."
"I’m fine, really," I admitted. "It was just a shock. That’s why I stayed home today. I just needed some quiet."
"I can imagine," she sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly.
I looked at her and felt a strange tug of hospitality. I had been so lonely and bored all day, trapped in my own head with my fears. Having Aunt Claire here felt like a tether to a normal life, even if that life was a complicated one.
"Why don't you sit down?" I suggested, gesturing toward the living room. "I was just about to make something light to eat. I haven't had much of an appetite today, but I should probably have something."
Claire checked her small gold watch. "I don't mean to stay long, dear. I just wanted to see your face." She followed me into the living area but didn't sit right away. "Has Cade gone to work? I don't see his car."
"Yes, he had some business to attend to," I said, heading into the kitchen.
I started pulling things out of the refrigerator—some cheese, some fruit, some bread. I could hear Claire moving around the living room. She wasn't just sitting; she was exploring. I heard the soft click of her heels as she walked from one side of the room to the other.
"It’s a lovely space," Claire called out. "But it’s a bit... empty, isn't it? Aside from Mr. Whitmore’s belongings, there isn't much of you in here yet."
She was right. The walls were mostly bare.
Cade’s books and a few of his gadgets were the only things that made the place look lived-in. My things were still mostly packed in boxes upstairs.
I hadn't felt like this was home yet. I wasn't sure it ever would be.
"Do you ever intend on getting settled in your future husband's house, Sloane?" she asked. There was a hint of an edge in her voice. "Because it doesn't look like it. It looks like a place someone is just,,, passing through."
I focused on slicing the bread, my heart rate picking up.
"It’s a work in progress, Aunt Claire. To be honest, the wedding planning is where all our efforts are right now. We haven't had time to worry about interior decor."
"I suppose that makes sense," she replied.
I heard her continue her slow pace. She moved toward the hallway where a few framed photos had been hung. Cade had put them up shortly after we moved in. I hadn't really looked at them closely.
"You have some pictures up," Claire noted. "But I don't see any shared personal moments of the two of you. Nothing like vacation photos? Or even dinner dates?"
"We’ve both been very busy," I lied, my voice steady while washing vegetables. "We plan on starting the collection with the wedding pictures. We want to do things properly."
"That’s a very traditional way of thinking," Claire said. Her voice was muffled as she walked further down the hall.
"I suppose that shouldn’t be a problem. Well dear, If you ever need a good photographer for the event, I know a man in Paris who does wonderful work. He did the portraits for the..."
Suddenly, she stopped talking.
I didn’t hear her voice or her feet pacing.
The sentence just cut off.