The next stretch of time was pure chaos. Laine shrieked as pieces of glass and fruit flew against her caftan. Diego skidded on a chunk of honeydew melon and cartwheeled his arms to keep from falling—and dropping the juice glass Laine had given him.
Gracie clapped her hands over her mouth, furious with herself for almost dropping her bombshell like that.
In the midst of the confusion, Mark kept yelling things like “nobody move” and “where’s the broom?”
Diego finally managed to stabilize himself. “Kitchen,” he told Mark, who tiptoed through the minefield of shards in the direction Diego indicated.
Gracie hovered in place, afraid to move, afraid to do what she wanted and finish her damn sentence. I think there’s a chance I might be your daughter. What if Laine didn’t want a daughter? What
