The silence in the ballroom following the slap and Aria's comment was absolute. It was the kind of silence that usually preceded a natural disaster or a public execution.
Lydia Laurent recovered with the speed of a seasoned actress. Her hand flew to her reddening cheek, her eyes filling with instant, shimmering tears. Her lip trembled just enough to be tragic, but not enough to ruin her lipstick.
"Aria," Lydia whispered, her voice hitching. "I... I forgive you."
She looked at the crowd, her expression morphing into one of pitiful endurance.
"She's always been like this," Lydia addressed the room, loud enough for the elite in attendance to hear but soft enough to sound reluctant. "Since she was a child. Volatile. Unstable. She resented me for marrying her father, even though we waited until... after... poor Eleanor passed. I tried to be a mother to her, but..."
She let out a shaky breath, looking at Grandfather Sinclair.
