Snowfall at Willow Lake: Lakeshore Chronicles Book 4 Read Online Free PDF Page A

accent. “J’attends.”
    Of course he would be waiting, she thought. He always did. And thank God for that. She was going to be high as a kite by the end of the evening, on champagne and a soaring sense of accomplishment, with no one to babble her news to. André was a good listener. During the short drive tonight from Sophie’s residence to the palace, she had confessed to him how much she missed her children.
    She would have loved to have Max and her daughter Daisy by her side tonight, to bear witness to the honors that would be bestowed upon her. But they were an ocean away, with their father who on this very day was getting married. Married. Perhaps at this very moment, her ex-husband was getting remarried.
    The knowledge sat like a stone in her shoe. The dull truth of it stole some of the glitter from the evening.
    Stop it, she admonished herself. This is your night.
    She emerged from the car. Her foot slipped on the wet cobblestones and, for a nightmarish second, she nearly went down. A strong arm caught her around the waist, propping her up. “André,” she said a little breathlessly, “you just averted a disaster.”
    â€œRien du tout, madame,” he replied, hovering close. The light glimmered over his solemn, kindly face.
    It occurred to her that this was the closest she’d come to being held in a man’s arms in…far too long. She shut down the entirely inappropriate thought, steadied her footing and stepped away from him. The cold drilled into her. Her long cashmere coat wasn’t enough, not tonight. There were predictions of snow. It would be a rare occurrence for The Hague, but already, the rain was hardening to sleet. Under the broad umbrella, she hurried past the guardhouse to the first checkpoint. A walkway circled the eternal peace flame monument, shielded from the weather by a hammered metal hood. It was another twenty meters to the portico, which had been fitted with an awning and red carpet for the occasion. Once she was safely under the shelter of the arched awning, her attendant murmured, “Bonsoir, madame. Et bienvenue.” Most of the personnel spoke in French which, along with English, was the common language of the international courts.
    â€œMerci.”
    The attendant with the umbrella ducked back out into the rain to collect the next guest.
    The line to the main entrance moved slowly, as there was a cloakroom to pass through, and another security checkpoint. Sophie didn’t know any of the people in line, but she recognized many of them—black-clad dignitaries and their families, Africans in ceremonial garb, diplomats from all over the globe. They had come to pay homage to a new day for Umoja, the nation the court had just liberated from a warlord financed by a corrupt diamond syndicate operating outside the law.
    There was an American family ahead of her. The uniformed husband had the effortless good posture of a career military man. The wife and teenage daughters surrounded him like satellite nations. Sophie vaguely recognized the husband, an attaché from Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe in Belgium. She didn’t greet them, not wanting to interrupt what appeared to be a delightful family outing.
    The attaché’s wife pressed close to him as though shielding herself from the cold. She was plump and easy in her confidence; like Sophie, she wore plain gold earrings un-adorned by gemstones. To wear stones, especially diamonds, to an event like this would be the height of insensitivity.
    The American family looked safe and secure in their little world of four. In that moment, Sophie missed her own children so much it felt like a stab wound.
    A searingly cold wind swept across the plaza, stinging her eyes. She blinked fast, not wanting her mascara to run. She lifted the collar of her coat and turned her back to the wind. At a side entrance to the palace was a caterer’s van. Haagsche Voedsel Dienst, S.A. Good,