THE MORNING AFTER OUR WEDDING, MY HUSBAND SLAPPED ME IN FRONT OF HIS ENTIRE FAMILY BECAUSE HIS MOTHER DIDN’T LIKE MY BREAKFAST. I TOOK OFF MY RING, LOOKED HIM IN THE EYE, AND SAID, “BY TONIGHT, YOU’LL UNDERSTAND WHO YOU REALLY MARRIED.”
PART 1 — BREAKFAST AT RAVENSWOOD ESTATE
The first morning after I married Adrian Blackwell, he struck me across the face in front of his entire family.
All because his mother said my omelet was too salty.
It happened at the long walnut table inside Ravenswood Estate, the Blackwell family home outside Bellmere.
Morning sunlight poured through two-story windows.
Silver gleamed beside imported china.
Fresh flowers filled crystal vases.
And Eleanor Blackwell sat at the head of the table looking as though even the sunrise required her approval.
I had slept perhaps three hours.
Our wedding reception had lasted well past midnight.
Still, I came downstairs in a cream dress, smiled politely, and even helped the housekeeper pour coffee after Eleanor remarked:
“A new Blackwell bride should understand how a proper household functions.”
I understood exactly what she meant.
She wanted to see whether I would obey.
So I carried the coffee pot to the table.
Then Eleanor tasted the omelet I had prepared.
Her fork stopped.
She frowned.
“Too salty.”
Adrian gave an uncomfortable laugh.
His sister, Sophie Blackwell, looked me up and down.
“Maybe Claire is better at reading contracts than cooking breakfast.”
Soft laughter moved around the table.
Thomas Blackwell lowered his newspaper.
“A Blackwell wife should know how to accept criticism gracefully.”
I set down the coffee.
“And a Blackwell wife shouldn’t be treated like hired staff.”
