Nathan disappeared again around three in the morning. I stood in the foyer and watched him go after the last guest walked out the door, but I had no idea where he went. It was now November 1, the day after Halloween, the one-year anniversary of Savannah's death. I was sure he was somewhere mourning the loss of his one true love.

Maybe he went to stand over her empty grave and brought her roses to leave at the headstone. Maybe he went to the garden house, the scene of their torrid sexual encounters to cry alone in the dark, much as I had done in the barn. Maybe he drove over to the lake, to stand on the shores and look out over the dark waters, as he had done in the photo I saw months ago. Who knew?

I was hurt. I had spent so much time smiling during the party, and pretending everything was okay that I didn’t have time to dwell. I had pushed down my feelings and pain, but now my feelings were confronting me all over again.

I walked back into the ballroom and surveyed the mess the guests had left behind. A few staff members had begun the job of cleaning up, but the room was quiet. I sat down at one of the tables, and slipped my shoes off. I wish I could turn my thoughts off as easily as I removed my shoes.

It was clear to me now that he would never love me the way he had loved Savannah. I was a pale substitute for that lost love, and he was no longer satisfied with a mere replacement. For that matter, I was no longer content with being that substitute. I deserved to step out of the shadows and into a life where the focus was on me, not on a dead first wife.

I went upstairs and got ready for bed. I was exhausted, yet sleep eluded me. I tried to read for a while, to distract myself from my missing husband but wound up pacing for two hours instead. I kept wondering what my next steps should be.

Should I be packing, and preparing to leave Peacock Alley? The very thought of giving up on my marriage brought the tears back. Should I be looking for my wayward husband? The thought of searching for him made the anger and hurt rise up.

I was also worried about Nathan, even though I didn’t want to be. I loved him very much, despite the anger and the hurt I was feeling now. Was he okay, or was he overcome by his own grief? He probably didn’t want to see me anyway. He probably wanted to be alone with his memories.

I frowned and looked out of the window and tried to decide what to do next. The sky lightened as the sun began to rise.

Finally, I climbed back into bed. I fell into a fitful sleep, and my dreams were unpleasant, and I tossed and turned uneasily in my sleep.

In my dreams, I was riding Bella at full gallop in a thick, ominous fog. Something or someone was chasing me, but I couldn't tell who was doing the chasing. I kept looking over my shoulder in fear, but I couldn't see anything. Guests from the party, in full costume, were lined up on either side of me as I rode by. They were laughing and pointing. I realized I was only wearing the horse blanket, and it kept slipping down, revealing my nudity. I saw Mother, and strangely enough, she wasn't laughing. Maxwell was at her side, as were the Nolans. They all stared at me with solemn, sad faces. I rode Bella into the cemetery, right up to a freshly dug grave. I read the headstone: Darby Randolph. His second wife. May she rest in peace.

I sat up in bed, gasping.

I immediately turned towards Nathan’s side of the bed. It was undisturbed and untouched and the sheets were cold. Where was he? Tears welled up again as I stroked my hand over his pillow and realized my hand was throbbing like a bitch. Hitting your husband in the face had lasting consequences. Good to know.

I got up and dressed, being careful of my sore hand. I examined it in the morning light. It was blue, purple, and swollen, but I could open and close it without too much effort. I doubted it was broken.

I went down to breakfast because I was finished hiding from Mother.

I found Mother and Maxwell sitting at the table. Still no sign of Nathan. Maybe he spent the night in the garden house.

"Good morning, Maxwell, Mother."

I sat down at the table, and put my napkin in my lap with a flourish. Suddenly, I was starving.

Maxwell looked inexplicably pleased with me and returned my greeting. He got up and came to my seat to pour me a cup of coffee.

"Where's Nathan, Miss Turner?" The icy tone was back in Mother's voice.

I looked at her over the rim of my mug, considering my words with care.

"No idea, Mother." My tone was breezy and confident.

"So I guess it's finally over?" She looked triumphant again, as she smirked at me, and that was it.

I put my coffee cup down on the table with a satisfying thud.

"Fuck you, you heartless bitch."

I was so calm, it took Maxwell and Mother a moment to realize what I had actually said.

No one spoke, just looked at me with big eyes and raised eyebrows.

I sat up straight and stared Mother down.

"Fuck you and your ridiculous, immature attempts at sabotage. The state of my marriage is between Nathan and myself. You don't figure into it at all. If there is something I think you should know, I will share that information with you."

Mother stared at me. I could see Maxwell dabbing his mouth with his napkin, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile.

Mother drew her shoulders back and attacked.

"Miss Turner, I think it's way past time for you to realize how inadequate you are for the task of running Peacock Alley, and for being the wife of a powerful man like Nathan. I have waited long enough for you to realize what is obvious to everyone else."

I stared coldly at her. For a second, I had a fantasy of popping her in the nose as I did Nathan last night or maybe in the jaw. I could almost see the blood spray spattering the front of her designer blouse. I liked the idea, but she wasn't finished.

“Your behavior since you arrived here has been ridiculous. Hiding in your room one minute, playing the dutiful wife the next.”

“What I do is none of your business.” My nostrils flared as I held back my fantasy punch in the face.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Maxwell open his mouth to speak. Perhaps he was going to play the peacemaker. He didn’t get the chance, however.

"I saw you behaving like a slut with my son on the bluffs that day." Mother narrowed her eyes at me.

Maxwell shut his mouth, and I flushed in embarrassment.

Now it was my turn to be speechless. Mother was spying on us? That was outrageous and disgusting. That was the day we had purely animalistic sex, and it was a private moment between a husband and wife. How dare she?

I leaned forward, my eyes locked on hers. “Are you creeping through the woods now? Spying on your own son? You sick freak.”

However, she still was not finished with me. She had one last blow to deliver.

"Savannah knew how to act. Savannah knew what to do and say. She would never have behaved that way on the bluffs."

She drew a breath and went in for the kill.

"It's you who should have drowned, Miss Turner, not Savannah."