She snatched her purse off the couch and strode toward the restroom.

Sylvia offered an apologetic smile, taking the fresh towel from the waitress. She glanced earnestly at Yves. "Mr. Hanson, I'll go check on Mrs. Hanson. You two keep talking."

Yves gave her a chilly nod, barely feigning interest in his own wife.

Sylvia headed for the restroom.

Restroom.

As soon as Mrs. Hanson saw Sylvia, she dropped the edge of her skirt she'd just been lifting.

"What are you doing here? Useless girl. Wait till you marry into this family-you'll see how things really are."

Sylvia clutched the towel, voice soft. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hanson. Maybe you should step into a stall and dry off a bit?"

The spill had landed in an awkward spot. If she didn't dry it, her underwear would be soaked through—uncomfortable, to say the least.

Mrs. Hanson clearly didn't want anyone seeing her, so the privacy of a stall was the best option.

But she hesitated.

Sylvia hurried on, "You can just hand me your skirt through the door. I'll dry it with the hand dryer. It won't take long."

posture. "At least you know your

Hanson slipped into a stall


skirt, but her gaze flicked to the slowly closing stall

it clicked shut, she grabbed the hand dryer with one hand and, with the

find a stash of medication right on

swelling, plus a whole assortment of sleep

a few quick photos. At the bottom of

think twice about the password-it was the same as Yves's. Not surprising, really. Mrs. Hanson always seemed to watch Yves for cues before

like that had

easy. Anyone who'd seen the way he stared

photo album was squeaky clean-clearly scrubbed of anything she

chat history with Kay was

scrolled up,

just as deferential to Kay as

shen. In


their conversation's never pushed back, not

the Hanson family wasn't in the same league

Garcias, but Mrs.

submissive

mind raced as she read,

quickly snapped photos of

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