Twenty years ago
Adelaide
I pulled my gaze away from my friend and looked toward my daughter running and laughing in the plush green grass with her nanny, Jane. Sipping my sangria, I contemplated calling down and reminding them that a refined Southern lady didn't chase little boys, even if she was only three, almost four years old. And then I remembered Russell's insistence upon allowing Alexandria to experience childhood.
Of course she'd experience childhood. Everyone did.
It didn't matter; I couldn't make him happy.
The constant tension, the lies, the masks—it all mocked me, reminding me of my duty, my birthright, and my slow death. Turning back to Suzy, I concentrated on my friend's words and tried not to think about how sweaty or dirty Alexandria would become. It was Jane's doin
