My Lost Luna is the Secret Heiress

Chapter 4

(Selena's POV)

The words land like a slap I actually feel this time.

Around us, the party has gone quiet enough that I can hear people shifting closer, drawn by the smell of a scene. Victoria makes a small, disgusted sound and tosses the brooch — my brooch — onto the marble table like it's trash. It skids and nearly falls to the floor.

Something inside me goes very still and very clear.

I step forward, unhurried, and pick it up off the table myself, cradling it in my palm like it's something worth protecting, because it is. My hands aren't shaking. I make sure of that.

"This," I say, loud enough now for the whole circle of watching faces to hear, "is real. And I intend to prove it."

My clutch is already open before Victoria finishes glaring at me. I pull out the folded receipt, smooth it flat against my palm, and hold it up where everyone can see it.

"Cartier, Fifth Avenue location, three days ago." My voice doesn't shake. I make sure of that. "There's the date. There's the price. There's my signature."

Victoria takes it between two fingers like it might dirty her hand. She reads it, frowning, and for one second I think this might actually be over. Then Gisele leans in close, glancing at the paper with barely a flicker of interest before she waves a hand, dismissive.

"Receipts can be faked, you know." She says it lightly, like she's commenting on the weather. "Anyone with a printer and a little effort could make something like this."

A ripple of agreement moves through the small circle of guests. Someone actually nods. I feel my jaw tighten.

Victoria's mouth curls, and she hands the receipt back to me like it's worth nothing at all. "She's right. This proves nothing."

Of course. Of course a piece of paper with my name on it means nothing, while Gisele's tears earlier bought her an entire audience's sympathy. I should be used to this by now. Somehow I'm not.

I glance around the room, and that's when I see her — Lorence, standing near the dessert table with a glass of champagne, the same jewelry appraiser who does authentication work for half the families in this city. Victoria invited her specifically to show off, I remember now, some new pearl set she wanted appraised in front of her friends.

Well. Two can play that game.

"There's an easy way to settle this," I say, loud enough to cut through the murmurs. "Lorence is right here. Let her look at both pieces."

The room goes quiet in that particular way rooms go quiet right before something delicious happens. Lorence sets down her glass, mildly surprised but clearly not opposed to being useful. "I'd be happy to," she says. "I have my loupe in my bag."

I watch Gisele's face change. It's small — a flicker, gone almost as fast as it appears — but I've spent three years reading rooms for a man who never once looked at me long enough to notice what I actually saw. I know panic when it crosses someone's face, even dressed up in a pretty smile.

"That's really not necessary," Gisele says quickly, stepping half in front of Victoria like she can physically block the idea. "I mean — why would Selena give you a fake, Victoria? That would be so strange. Maybe there really are two of these brooches somewhere. Limited doesn't always mean one, does it?" She laughs, a little too high. "Let's not make this into some whole production."

It's almost impressive, how fast she can build an excuse out of nothing.

"It's not a production," I say evenly. "It's one minute with a jeweler's loupe."

"I really don't think—"

"Are you afraid of something?" I ask, and I let the question sit there, sharp and simple, because sometimes the cruelest thing you can do is just say the obvious thing out loud where everyone can hear it.

Her eyes cut to mine, and for one bright second there's something under all that sweetness — something hard and ugly and scared. Then it's gone, replaced by a careless little shrug, like this whole thing bores her.

"Fine," she says. "Whatever makes Selena feel better."