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."

tutted, eyeing Sylvia's submissive posture. "At least you know

Mrs. Hanson slipped into a stall and passed her damp skirt


the skirt, but her gaze flicked to the slowly closing

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

to find a stash

ointments for bruises and swelling, plus a whole assortment of

photos. At the bottom of the bag,

Yves's. Not surprising, really. Mrs. Hanson always seemed to watch Yves for cues before doing

had no sense of

password? That was easy. Anyone who'd seen the way

was squeaky clean-clearly scrubbed of anything

history with

scrolled up, her

Hanson was just as deferential to Kay as

shen. In


their conversation's never pushed

the Hanson family wasn't in the same

but

this submissive to Kay.

raced as she read, startled by

calmed herself and quickly snapped photos

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