"I didn't kill him!"
"I didn't kill him!" I screamed until my throat burned and the bridal suite blurred with faces. People crowded the doorway. Cameras flashed. Someone shouted my name like it was a verdict.
"Alessandra, stop," a woman in a black dress said. Her voice was thin, pleased. "You're making a scene."
"Who called the police?" I demanded. My hands were slick. I clutched the lampshade I had knocked over. The base lay in shards on the marble. The carpet under my feet was dark.
"He's gone," a maid whispered. She couldn't keep the tremor out. "Sir Conrad…"
Conrad stepped forward then, slow and careful, all clean lines and rehearsed hurt. He looked like a photograph someone had staged.
"You killed him," someone hissed from the back. The room laughed softly, tasting blood.
Conrad's eyes found mine. He didn't look like a man who had been saved. He looked like the man who had just finished settling something ugly.
"Get her away from him," Viktoria said. She was hanging back, champagne glass balanced on long fingers. Her smile was a blade that reflected everything in the room. "She always was dramatic."
"I found him downstairs," I said. "He was on the landing. He was alive. I—"
"You found him?" Conrad said, stepping closer until I could feel his breath. "You tried to fix it. You tried to hide it. Typical."
"Conrad, stop," Bernie said quietly from the side. He had always
