Maybe— ‘Are you looking for these?’ I probably would have screamed if my throat and mouth hadn’t already been so filled with cotton. ‘Who a...e you?’ I squeaked, my arms snapping quickly closed to cover my breasts, my shoes still in hand, but I knew it was too late. And I knew, in an instant, who he was. Of course. It was Catherine’s husband. If nothing else, I would have recognized him by the vanity wedding photo over the fireplace—the dark, curly hair and smiling eyes were a giveaway, although. We were soon allowed to go in and as soon as we started to walk around the Monet exhibit, it was apparent just how packed it was. The museum kept the lighting low, probably so it wouldn’t damage the artwork, but it made it a little difficult to maneuver until my eyes adjusted. We tried to stay together as we looked at the artwork and listen to the audio tour at the same time, but eventually the group became scattered, and it didn’t take long before I was separated from the group. I continued to. More

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