Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN IN WHITE
Delaney had expected an explanation.
Instead, Mrs. Bianchi began shaking so violently that Damon immediately caught her shoulders.
"Mother?"
The older woman's eyes darted toward the woman in white.
"Don't let her touch me."
The woman's beautiful face tightened for half a second.
Then she laughed softly.
"Poor Evelyn. She's confused again."
Damon turned toward her.
"Victoria, give us a moment."
Victoria Hale.
Thirty-two.
Daughter of a powerful Chicago real estate developer.
And, as Delaney quickly discovered, Damon's fiancée.
Victoria approached with practiced concern.
"Evelyn, sweetheart, you've frightened us terribly."
Mrs. Bianchi recoiled.
Delaney instinctively stepped between them.
Victoria stopped.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Excuse me?"
"She doesn't want to be touched."
Victoria's smile disappeared.
"You've been in this house for five minutes, and you're already telling me how to treat my future mother-in-law?"
Delaney felt heat rise in her cheeks.
"I'm telling you what she just said."
Damon glanced between them.
"Enough."
He signaled to a housekeeper.
"Take my mother upstairs. Call Dr. Mercer."
Mrs. Bianchi refused to release Delaney's hand.
"No. She stays."
"Mother."
"Please, Damon."
Something in her voice changed him.
He looked at Delaney.
"Would you accompany her?"
Delaney hesitated.
She desperately wanted to return to her apartment, take off her shoes, and sleep for twelve hours.
But Evelyn looked frightened.
"Just until she's settled," Delaney agreed.
Victoria watched them climb the staircase.
Her expression was no longer pleasant.
Evelyn's bedroom occupied an entire corner of the second floor.
Cream-colored curtains framed enormous windows overlooking the frozen grounds.
A fireplace warmed the room.
And dozens of photographs covered the mantel.
Most showed Damon as a child.
A solemn little boy holding his mother's hand.
A teenager standing beside an older man.
A young man at a funeral.
Delaney noticed something strange.
In every picture, Damon appeared protective of Evelyn.
But in the more recent photographs, Evelyn's smile looked increasingly forced.
The housekeeper helped her into a chair.
Then left.
For a moment, Evelyn seemed completely lucid.
"You're a brave girl," she told Delaney.
"Not really."
"You stood up to Victoria."
"She was frightening you."
Evelyn reached toward the bedside table.
Her hand knocked over a silver picture frame.
Delaney picked it up.
The photograph inside showed Evelyn beside a younger woman with familiar hazel eyes.
Delaney's breath caught.
The woman looked like her mother.
Not merely similar.
Exactly like her mother.
Same smile.
Same auburn hair.
Same tiny beauty mark near her chin.
Delaney turned the frame over.
A handwritten inscription appeared on the back.
Margaret Whitfield and Evelyn Bianchi.
Summer, 1998.
Her mother's name.
Delaney's fingers went numb.
"Where did you get this?"
Evelyn stared at the photograph.
Then at Delaney.
The older woman's eyes filled with tears.
"Oh, my God."
"What?"
Evelyn reached for her face.
"You're Margaret's little girl."
Delaney couldn't breathe.
Before she could ask another question, the bedroom door opened.
Damon stood in the doorway.
May you like
And when he saw the photograph in Delaney's hand, every trace of color left his face.
"Where did you find that?"
