Every Lie Told in Silk
Language: en
The air inside the dining hall was thick with the clinking of heavy crystal, polite laughter, and the kind of shallow flattery that always gave me a headache. It was the Hastings family’s annual autumn gathering. Unable to stomach another minute of pretending to care about distant relatives' stock portfolios, I slipped away unnoticed and headed up to the second-floor terrace. Out here, the night air was crisp. Two potted sweet osmanthus trees framed the stone balustrade, their tiny golden blossoms perfuming the dark with a faint, honeyed warmth. I kicked off my Louboutins, sank into one of…