I don’t know where I’ll go. My life is here. I didn’t want to be so pathetic as to say aloud that this was my home. My home, a place that had rejected me, had tormented me, had barely acknowledged me. I didn’t want that to be me, but it was true.

This was my home.

So when it all inevitably ended—because it would end, the clock was ticking—I would have to leave, and I’d be without a home again.

“If the fates were fair…” she sniffed.

A box lay open with a pretty dress. I figured she needed to get dressed for whatever the hell was happening downstairs, and I looked for anything to avoid this.

“Let’s just get you dressed.” I lifted the dress from the box. “This dress looks pretty.”

She lifted swollen eyes. “You have no idea what today is, do you?”

It was something important, based on the number of paparazzi being ushered through the house, the increased security.

“Labor Day?” I guessed.

Lottie slowly got to her feet, defeat weighing her shoulders as she made her way to her bedroom. Pain strangled her eyes, and she looked at me like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to throw something at me or hug me.

“That dress isn’t for me; it’s for you.”

She slammed the door. I picked up the card discarded from the box. Written in green were the words, For my little nun.

The garment was an elegant, yet simple A-line dress with an off-the-shoulder neckline and lacy bodice that gave way to a pure snow skirt. It was perfect for their extravagant Labor Day celebration and reminded me of something Grace Kelly would wear.

It was gorgeous.

What did it mean?

Was he trying to say sorry?

I went to Lottie’s door, gently knocking. “Lottie?” I said softly.

“You are the last person she wants to see today.”

A cold, melodic voice straightened my spine, and I spun, finding a tall, slender woman who looked a lot like Lottie. She had the same creamy milk chocolate complexion and that inexplicably soft aura.

Class, the first word that came to my mind. Unlike the Crownes’, hers was subdued and somehow more intimidating. She wore supple white leather gloves that disappeared up the elbow, into a belted, sandy wool coat. She eyed me with nothing save coldness.

“I thought the servants at Crowne Hall didn’t meet the eye,” she mused, tilting her chin.

I quickly stared at the floor.

“I’m Mrs. du Lac, Charlotte’s mother, and you’re in my way.”

I quickly stepped to the side, still staring at the floor.

“Lottie, sweet pea?” Mrs. du Lac knocked lightly. “It’s me.”

“Is everything okay?” I wondered aloud.

Charlotte’s mother tensed at my question; then her wide, brown eyes landed on my neck.

“That’s a very beautiful locket.”