“The bride and Girl #3 are in the FS,” the voice said. “Reception to follow.”
“The bride?” Sam asked. The only person who had been about to be a bride was Kate.
“‘Reception to follow’ means they’ve got something planned for her,” Jennifer said.
“What’s the FS?”
“The Finishing School—it’s a classroom in the second building, where most of the training takes place.”
“If they have Kate there, we have to go back,” Sam said, tugging on Jennifer’s hand.
“That’s crazy, Sam,” Jennifer said. “They are already on high alert, looking for you. ‘Reception’ is a code word for a meeting. They’re moving up their timetable with Caroline. If we go back, they’ll get us too.”
“Is Darla your therapist?” Sam asked.
“Of course. She’s a huge part of it,” Jennifer said.
“Let’s go! I can’t leave Kate to Darla,” Sam said.
“What?” Jennifer asked. “What do you care about Darla?”
“Your psychologist, the one who was trying to groom you. The trainer!” Sam said. “Come on, we’ve got to get there!”
“You have it wrong,” Jennifer said, but she ran with Sam to the ATV and began driving toward the access road, on the way to Maynard-King.
Tuesday, July 6; 6:00 p.m.
Kate sat beside Caroline, still tethered to the younger woman. Darla Vandeveer had gone in and out of the office several times, speaking in a low voice to someone just outside the door, then returning.
“The reception is about to start,” Darla said, smiling at Kate and Caroline. “Are there any food allergies? Or particular dislikes? I’ll take the liberty of ordering for you.”
Kate was struck by the absurdity of the situation: sitting in an elegantly appointed room that felt more like a boudoir than a classroom, handcuffed to a terrified young woman she had just met, with a stranger taking her food order and seeming to be concerned about her food preferences. Kindness and normalcy met the cruel and surreal.
“I don’t want anything,” Kate said. “Except to be let go. Now.”
Darla laughed. “But of course you must eat! We can’t have you losing your strength. Kate, you pose the most challenging dilemma.”
Kate gave her a defiant look. “I’m sure you’ll tell me how.”
“Just, what do we do with you?”
“You will let me go. And Caroline too.”
The classroom door opened, and Suzanne walked in carrying a bottle of champagne and an ice bucket. She placed them on the desk in front of Darla, then went to a cabinet where she removed three champagne flutes. Kate watched as she presented the champagne bottle to Darla for her approval, then expertly opened and poured it.
“Very good, Suzanne,” Darla said. “I remember the first time you opened champagne. The cork flew across the room, and the wine bubbled all over the table.”
Suzanne laughed. “Give me a little credit. I was awfully young.”
Kate watched Suzanne fill the glasses, wondering why Belinda hadn’t protected her daughter more. The champagne was Taittinger Brut Rosé, and it fizzed with tiny pink stars in the late-afternoon light. Suzanne had pale skin, sharp cheekbones, and those blue eyes that had struck Kate when she had first seen them—they had reminded her of Conor.
“You’re staring at me,” Suzanne said, glancing at Kate.
“Yes,” Kate said.
“You want to know if Conor is my father, right?” Suzanne asked.
“I know that Belinda planted that seed in your head,” Kate said. “You were there at the rehearsal dinner when she caused that scene.”
