“Eleanor, Arthur,” I said, stepping back to let them inside. “Welcome.”

Eleanor stepped into the warmth of the foyer, her expensive fur coat smelling of cold air and expensive perfume.

“Monica, dear,” she began, but her eyes stopped instantly on my right arm.

Her gaze traveled from the heavy white cast up to the slight yellow bruise on my collarbone.

“Oh, my goodness,” she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “What on earth happened to you?”

Behind her, Derek stepped forward, his hand resting gently on the small of my back, his fingers digging in just enough to warn me.

“Monica had a little slip on the ice yesterday,” Derek said, his voice dripping with sympathy.

“A terrible fall,” I added, looking directly into Eleanor’s eyes with a brave, tight smile.

“She insisted we go ahead with the dinner anyway,” Derek said, squeezing my waist. “You know how she is about her hosting duties.”

“But your arm,” Eleanor whispered, her brow furrowing as she looked at the heavy fiberglass. “It looks dreadful.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” I said, keeping my arm held high, right where everyone could see it.