Page 44 of Everyone’s a Liar

She missed the pile of clippings, of course. Her crappy luck sent her flying too far. Thankfully, the spongy ground kept her from any permanent damage. Taking a second to regain her balance, Livia limped toward the back of the garage, her heart pounding so loudly she couldn’t hear anything else.

Once she reached the shadows, she inched her way toward the end of the building, hoping she could catch the stalker as they came out of the garage. Reaching the corner, she leaned forward to study the graveled driveway.

There was no one in sight. Livia rounded the building, pausing to peek in the window. The light had been switched off, plunging the garage into shadows. She assumed whoever had been inside had already fled. Why risk stumbling through the dark?

Muttering a curse, Livia picked up her pace, ignoring the twinge in her ankle as she reached the stone pathway that led toward the back terrace. It hadn’t been her imagination that she’d been locked in the abandoned apartment. Someone had to be lurking just out of sight.

She’d reached the pool house before she heard footsteps heading her way. Coming to a halt, she watched as Celeste suddenly appeared. Her cousin was already dressed for dinner in a sleek silver gown and matching ballet flats. She had her hair braided into a complicated knot on top of her head that was held in place with diamond-studded clips, and a layer of perfect makeup disguised any potential flaws.

Livia halted. It seemed doubtful Celeste could be the stalker. Not only was she immaculate from head to toe, but also her shoes were too delicate to survive the muck. You couldn’t sneak around the swamps without getting filthy.

As if to prove her point, Celeste pinched her lips as she ran her gaze over Livia’s grass-stained shorts and the sweat dripping from her face.

“Good Lord, Livia. What happened to you?”

Livia impatiently glanced over her cousin’s shoulder. There was no one in sight.

“Nothing,” she muttered, conceding defeat. Whoever had locked her in had disappeared.

“You look a mess.” Celeste reached out to flick her fingers over Livia’s hair. “You have cobwebs stuck on you.”

Livia stepped back. She wasn’t going to reveal what had happened. Not until she’d talked to Bryce.

“I went to the family crypt to pay my respects.”

Celeste wrinkled her nose. It was doubtful the woman had stepped foot in the mausoleum since their grandfather had passed.

“Respect? You’ve never had any respect for the family.”

Livia shrugged. “Probably because I’ve never been a real member of this family. You and your mother have gone out of your way to make sure of that. Whenever I visit you make me feel like an intruder.”

“You are. The Willows is our home. Never yours.” Celeste smiled with a smug cruelty, as if she thought Livia would be wounded.

“More like a prison.” Livia didn’t have to fake her shiver of revulsion as she glanced toward the house that spread over the land like a cancer. “You’re all stuffed in there like rats in a maze, and you don’t even know you’re trapped.”

Celeste jerked, as if Livia had slapped her. “Don’t pretend that you’re not jealous of me and the fact that I’ll inherit this estate,” she hissed. “Not to mention the fact that I’m about to marry a rich, handsome man with his own inheritance. When we combine the Willows with the Durand property we’ll have one of the largest estates in all of Louisiana.”

“I notice there was no mention of marrying the man you love,” Livia pointed out in dry tones.

“Of course I love Winston.”

“If you say so.”

“He’s a wonderful man who treats me like a princess.” Celeste flushed with irritation as Livia abruptly laughed at her conceited boast. “What’s so funny?”

“Who wants to be a princess?”

“Every woman.”

“Not me.”

Celeste sent her a sour glare. “Shocker.”

Livia allowed her gaze to once again roam over the looming mansion. When she was young, she’d shared a small ranch-style house with her foster parents. It’d been built on a narrow lot and looked like every other house on the block. It was plain and boring and she hadn’t been particularly close with the couple paid to raise her, but she hadn’t been unhappy.

She’d had plenty of friends in the neighborhood and enough freedom to make mistakes and discover what she enjoyed doing. Most importantly, her life hadn’t been mapped out for her. She’d been allowed to dream of any future she wanted. It wouldn’t have mattered if she decided she wanted to become the next president or settle down on a farm in Indiana and raise alpacas.

She’d been free of the Benoit legacy. Thank God.