I walked carefully across the room and looked up at him.
“What? “Why?” he blinked once more.
I remained steady and continued, “Because I’m asking nicely,”
After a moment of hesitation, he cautiously removed the jacket. I took a step forward and looked at his clean white shirt’s shoulder seam.
And there it was.
As Natalie had mentioned, a lipstick print. It was a flawless kiss mark, not merely a smudge. It was bold, rich red, and exactly on the fabric as if it had been purposefully sealed there.
The borders were somewhat blurred, as if someone had attempted to rub it off but the stain had resisted.
“Where did this come from?” I gestured right toward it.
He stopped.
I said, “Richard?”
He said, “It’s nothing,” too hastily. “It was probably my mom, she kissed me earlier when I walked in.”
The obvious falsehood tore me apart as I looked at him.
“Your mother’s lipstick is a light shade of pink. Richard, she always has,” I answered plainly. “This is wine red, not soft pink.” “Drama red.”
He remained silent.
I gave him a single nod, moved on, and went back into the ballroom. I refrained from crying. I refrained from screaming. I kept what had just happened to myself.
Rather, I located Melody, my sister, and leaned closer.
Whispering, “I need you to help me with something, Mel,” “Now.”
Her expression intensified after a brief period of confusion.
With a gentle smile, she asked, “What kind of something, Grace?”
“Just trust me,” I exclaimed. “We’re going to play a little game.”
I hurriedly informed her about the lipstick smear, Richard, and Natalie.
“I need to know… help me,” “I allowed myself to sigh.”
