don’t know. All I do know is that when I learned about the accident, I couldn’t shake this feeling in my gut. The car erupted in flames, but Nora just so happened to be able to get out? I saw photos of the aftermath. The car was practically incinerated. Not to mention it hit a tree off the embankment with a force no one would be able to walk away from. Not without help. Yet the police were never able to corroborate Nora’s statement that a Good Samaritan had pulled her to safety. It’s just…suspicious.”
“So is it your contention that Nora…killed her former fiancé, then somehow terminated her pregnancy when she was six months along, all to collect a substantial life insurance policy?”
“I’m simply saying it’s suspicious. That’s all,” she responds, evasive as always.
“My producer discussed with you the potential ramifications for defamation, correct?”
“Yes. And like I reminded him, since Nora can now be considered a public figure, to succeed in any suit, she’d have to not only prove this is all a fabrication, which it’s not, but that I also acted with malice. That’s not my intention here. It’s simply to share the truth about the woman who’s manipulated her way into being days away from marrying one of the most powerful men in all of Europe.
“I’m more than aware that, after a thorough investigation, the police ruled out foul play. And perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps it did unfold as Nora claimed. But, unfortunately, I’ve never been able to believe much of what she’s said. If I didn’t come forward and something horrible were to happen to her current fiancé, well… I’d never forgive myself. I want to warn him personally, but I have no doubt Nora’s tricked him into believing the worst of me. Which is why I felt it important to come on this show. To warn him and the entire royal family about the woman he’s about to marry.”
Bridge hits the spacebar, pausing the video, then closes the laptop. “I think you get the gist of it,” he says solemnly.
I blink, processing everything my mother just said on national TV, my stomach churning.
She inferred I killed Hunter.
And our baby.
How could she do such a thing? Why?
Because that’s who she is. Everything she claims about me could be said about her. She’s the manipulative one.
I’m the one who couldn’t bring boyfriends home because she’d hit on them.
I’m the one who had to move from town to town every time my mother’s latest husband realized just how warped and twisted of a person she was.
I’m the one who suffered her wrath whenever she noticed one of her boyfriends looking at me in a way she didn’t like.
Yet I’m manipulative?
“Nora, love.” Anderson’s voice cuts through. “Talk to me.”
I can’t look at him. I’m numb. Sick. So fucking tired of getting close to having it all, only for that woman to take it away from me in a perverted game.
Not saying a word, I stand, practicing a few calming breathing techniques as I walk across the living room. The heat of everyone’s stares prickles my skin, but I don’t glance back or offer an explanation. I couldn’t give them one right now anyway. Not without screaming.
Keeping my head held high and spine straight, as I was instructed in my etiquette classes, I make my way into the bathroom, neither walking too fast nor too slow. I shut the door behind me and turn the lock, the click echoing in the vast space. Then I stride toward the double vanity and lean my hands on the counter, hanging my head.
I inhale a deep breath and close my eyes, trying to quiet the rage bubbling to the surface after years of keeping it buried deep within me. I learned early on that my emotions were another thing for my mother to exploit. That it was best to lock it all inside.
But what’s the point when she’ll find another way to get her revenge. To keep me trapped.
Muscles tightening and jaw hardening, I bring my gaze up to the mirror and study my appearance with the same scrutiny my mother always seemed to.
Eyes that are a few sizes too big for my face.
A nose that’s a bit too pointed and could benefit from reconstructive surgery.
Cheeks that, despite the passing of years, are still cherub-like.
Heart-shaped lips that should be a tiny bit plumper.
For years, I listened to her call me too fat. Too skinny. Too plain. Too boring. Too uptight. Too carefree. All I