His expression had changed only slightly.
He looked irritated that I had made a scene.
That was the moment something inside me became completely still.
I did not think about the guests.
I did not think about Cynthia’s dress or the broken glasses or what Ivan might say when we were alone.
I thought about how certain he had been that I would protect him again.
With my uninjured hand, I grabbed the metal spatula from the side shelf.
Ivan took one step toward me.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
I struck the grill’s control panel.
The first blow bent one of the knobs.
The second knocked it loose.
The third killed the flames.
Gasps rose around the patio, but no one moved close enough to stop me.
I dropped the spatula, braced my shoulder against the grill cart, and shoved.
The wheels caught against the uneven stones for half a second.
