Chapter Eighty-Four
Camilla's POV
I heard every word.
I was standing in the narrow corridor between the dining room and the kitchen, the one that ran behind the serving pantry, where the wall was thick enough to muffle footsteps but thin enough to carry voices clearly if the room on the other side was quiet.
My mother-in-law had walked me through the house on the pretence of showing me a photograph she'd found of Wyatt, something she'd come across while going through old boxes, she'd said. She'd been so warm about it, so gentle, that I hadn't thought twice about following her. Then she'd asked me to wait in the sitting room just off the corridor while she fetched it, and instead the front door had opened and I'd heard Vincent's voice in the dining room and understood exactly what Sabri
