Snowfall at Willow Lake: Lakeshore Chronicles Book 4 by Susan Wiggs Read Free Book Online Page B

diplomats or Georgian nationals she was dating would unexpectedly inflame her passions. So far, it hadn’t happened.
    She regarded Brooks and wondered if he might be the one to make her drop her natural reserve. To make her remember what it felt like to be held in someone’s arms. Not tonight, she thought.
    â€œYou’ll have to excuse me,” she said, and headed for the dais.
    She looked around for a place to set down her champagne flute, and approached a passing waiter. He didn’t seem to see her.
    â€œPardon,” she said.
    The man jumped, and a glass fell from his tray, shattering on the marble floor. In the immediate area, people fell silent and turned to stare. At the periphery of the room, the security agents tensed, prepared to take action.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Sophie murmured. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
    â€œIt’s nothing, madame, ” he murmured, his accent very thick. She was about to ask him where he was from when she caught the look in his eyes. It was a glittering, burning fury all out of proportion with a broken glass.
    Sophie lifted her eyebrows, wordlessly conveying a warning, the way she might to a key witness. He moved slightly, and the light fell on his face, illuminating ebony skin highlighted by twin rows of shiny scars, a pattern of ritual scarring that looked vaguely familiar to her. He was Umojan, she surmised. Employing him was a nice touch by the caterer, and it explained his inexperience.
    The waiter started to move away.
    â€œPardon me,” Sophie said to him.
    He turned back, seeming more agitated than ever.
    You’re a waiter, she thought, get over yourself. She held out the champagne glass. “Can you please take this? They’re about to begin.”
    He all but snatched it from her and stalked away. Touchy fellow, she thought. We just liberated your country. You ought to be happier about that. She dismissed the incident from her mind. Focus, Sophie, she told herself. You’re about to meet a queen.

Four
    T he group on the raised dais at the end of the ballroom consisted of three of the justices from the International Criminal Court, another from the Court of Justice, a liaison from the United Nations and the queen of the Netherlands herself, whose bloodlines went back through seventeen generations of Dutch royalty. Sophie joined the rest of the prosecution team on a lower tier, where the event producer’s assistant had instructed them to wait. This group included Sophie’s best friend and colleague, Tariq Abdul-Hakeem. Like her, he was an assistant deputy to the ICC and they’d worked together on the case. She’d known Tariq from their intern days in London, years ago, and he was one of her favorite people in the world. He was also one of the most attractive, with the kind of looks found in high-fashion spreads—creamy skin and intense eyes, and features that appeared to have been shaped by an idealistic sculptor. He was a gifted linguist and had the most delicious English accent. While working together, they’d become more than colleagues. He was one of the few people in the world she’d opened up to, telling him about the situation with Greg and her children.
    â€œAre you all right, Petal?” Tariq whispered to her.
    â€œOf course, I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?”
    â€œQuite possibly, you’re somewhat bouleversée by the fact that your ex-husband is getting married today.”
    She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, even though she knew Tariq would not be fooled. “So he’s getting married. We knew it was coming. He’s a guy. It’s what they do. They remarry.” She gave a small, soft laugh. “Somebody’s got to finish raising them.” Despite her sarcasm, she remembered Max’s text message with a twinge, along with the perennial unanswerable question—was this career worth the price she’d paid?
    â€œSuch a