CHAPTER 2: Fairytale Dress, Borrowed Light

Vivian had spent an hour fastening the buttons on Maisie's dress that afternoon.
The dress was not expensive by Harrington standards, but Maisie had loved the tiny sleeves, the satin bow, the way the hem floated when she spun in front of the bedroom mirror.
'Do I look like I belong?' Maisie had asked.
Vivian had kissed the top of her head and answered without hesitation. 'You belong anywhere you are loved.'
Now, under the chandeliers, Vivian saw the lie every grand room taught children: love was negotiable when status was watching.
Guests stood close enough to help and far enough to remain innocent. A banker glanced at his wife. A museum trustee studied the floor. Two young women near the champagne tower looked away as if a crying child might damage their makeup.
Sebastian bent toward Maisie, not to comfort her, but to gather control back into his voice.
'Stand up,' he said. 'Do not make a scene.'
Maisie's lower lip trembled. Her eyes searched past him until they found Vivian.
That was when Vivian started running. Not elegantly. Not like the hostess Sebastian had trained the room to expect. She ran like a mother whose patience had just died.