By the timeI leave Viktor’s room, the house has settled into that strange, tense quiet that only comes after too much has happened in one day.
People are still moving around downstairs, doors are opening and closing, and I can hear staff talking in low voices. But everything feels more controlled now. More careful.
I should go back upstairs and sleep. Instead, I go looking for the woman from this morning.
The woman from the plane. The one who waited outside the cabin after I came out of the bathroom, looked me over once, and told me Viktor was dangerous. The one who pretended not to know me when I ran into her again with flowers in her arms.
I keep replaying both moments, trying to decide whether I’m making too much of it. Maybe she’s nothing. Maybe I’m tying random things together because the poisoned champagne has made me suspicious of everything.
But I know what I saw. I know what I heard. And I can’t shake the feeling that she matters.
At last I find Nadine in a breakfast room with two clipboards open in front of her and a pencil tucked behind one ear. She looks tired, but steady. One of those women who gets calmer the worse things get.
She glances up when I come in. “You should be resting.”
“I know.” I hesitate, then step farther inside. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“There was a woman I saw this morning. Maybe with the floral team. Elegant, blonde, in her early to late forties.”
Nadine thinks for a second. “That doesn’t narrow it down nearly as much as you think it does.”
I almost smile. “She was carrying part of an arrangement. White flowers.”
“That narrows it down even less.”
“Fair.”
She studies my face for a moment. “Do you want me to find her?”
I think about it.
Maybe. But not yet. Not until I know what I’d even ask if I did.
“No,” I say. “I just thought maybe you’d noticed her.”
Nadine shakes her head. “Everything has been so busy today, I barely noticed my own hands. If she’s one of the florist’s extra people, she may already be gone.”
That doesn’t help, but it makes sense.
She taps the clipboard in front of her. “Since you’re here, and since you’re clearly not going to rest, you may as well help me make sure tomorrow still happens.”
I let out a quiet breath and pull out the chair beside her. “That sounds dangerously like an invitation.”
“It is.”
So we go through it together. The ceremony timing. The transport schedule. The flowers. The backup indoor setup in case the weather turns. The family photo order. The revised catering notes after breakfast. It’s practical and familiar, and for a while it helps. The lists make sense, even if nothing else does.
Ceremony timing. Cars. Ushers. The chapel flowers. Candles. Bride’s suite. Groom’s suite. Breakfast trays for the bridal party. The photographer’s schedule. What gets moved where after the vows. What stays in the house. What gets reset on the lawn.
Then I start noticing things.
Not big things. Small ones. The flower choices. The favor tags. The way the champagne is meant to be brought out after the ceremony. The string quartet placement. The breakfast table setup this morning, even. Clean, pretty, a little formal in exactly the way I used to like.
I stop turning the page.
Nadine looks up. “What is it?”