Kathleen smiled, though it faded quickly. "Mom can be a bit... blunt. Dad will like you because I do."
"I can handle her."
"They think you’re an escort."
"I was," Marise said calmly.
"Do you want to keep using Veronica?" Kathleen asked.
That caught her off guard. Marise looked over, studying the lines of Kathleen’s face. "Do you want me to?"
Kathleen pulled into the curb and let the engine idle. "I want you to choose for yourself. I also know you said you wanted to let go of your old life."
Marise considered that. Her real name was a ghost. A tool she used when she needed to vanish or apply for licenses or reach contacts from her past. Veronica Hale had been an alias, a performance, but it had become something more.
"Veronica's fine," she said quietly. "For now, that’s who I want to be. We can put Marise as my second name."
Kathleen reached across and squeezed her hand. "Then Veronica Marise Hale it is."
Five minutes on, she turned into a driveway leading to a private and quietly expensive house. It was built with a steep gabled roof and a mix of brick and timber framing the façade. Ivy grew along one wall, and the front door was a heavy arched wood set into a small stone entryway. Leaded glass windows lined the front, and a narrow path led through a neatly kept garden to a detached garage in the back.
They got out of the car and walked the short path to the Knowles' front door.
Rhonda Knowles was dressed in beige linen slacks and a sleeveless blouse. Her hair was in a stylish bob, her eyes sharp behind designer frames.
"Kathleen," she said, giving her a hug before turning to Marise. "How are you Veronica."
Marise smiled and extended her hand. "Thank you for having me, Mrs. Knowles."
Rhonda peered at her for a moment before saying a little frostily. "Come on in."
John Knowles looked relaxed when he met them in the hallway. "Hello, Kath. Nice to see you, Veronica," he said, offering a sincere smile. "Come into the lounge and we’ll have a drink before lunch."
Marise followed Kathleen through to the lounge, sniffing appreciatively as she passed the kitchen. The house smelled of herbs and roast chicken; she couldn’t remember when she last had a home cooked Sunday dinner. Or if she ever had.
She settled in a chair, enjoying the light classical music playing low from unseen speakers.
Conversation skated across neutral topics: weather, work, and the article Kathleen had published.
They were on their second drink when Rhonda set down her glass with a click. "So, Veronica. May I ask how you and my daughter met?"
Kathleen tensed. Marise took a sip before she said, "We were introduced by a mutual acquaintance."
"Oh?"
"It wasn’t traditional," Marise said, her tone measured. "But I imagine a lot of things about me won’t be."
Rhonda’s smile was tight. "Darlene said you are an escort."
John cleared his throat.
Kathleen sat up straighter. "Mother?—"
"It’s all right," Marise said softly. She looked Rhonda in the eye. "I worked as a discreet companion for high-end clients. It’s a service provided for people who don’t want to go down the path of traditional dating, who want someone to accompanythem for the night. Some of them are lonely, some want a companion for a function, others simply desire to have dinner and talk. All of them look for connection."
“You are paid to be that companion?" Rhonda said.
"I was. I’ve resigned from the agency."
