"Honey, I'm just asking you to choose a dress," Andrew says. "Why do there have to be conditioned?"

"Because it makes me happy," she answers. "It's the only way I'll choose."

Andrew narrows his eyes, but a smile plays around the corner of his mouth. He turns to face her and nods.

"You're quite the negotiator," he says. "Okay, tell me—what are your conditions?"

"I want to go out today," she says. "Can I ask one of the drivers to take me around? I need to run some errands."

"That's not a problem," Andrew says, his smile getting larger. "I really feel like we've turned a new page in our relationship—you're not sneaking around behind my back anymore."

Avery shrugs. Even if she didn't tell Andrew her plans, he'd find them out anyway. She's sure that the drivers and servants are under strict orders to report all her plans to him.

She looks at the sea of white dresses and sighs. She waves her hand, and the servants present the dresses one by one. The first is slinky, tight silk with a thigh-high slit. She shakes her head—it's too sexy. The next is a creamy, frothy mix of tulle and pearls—it looks like something a ballerina might wear. She frowns, and the next servant presents a dress with a huge skirt and a tight bodice covered in swan feathers. She rolls her eyes.

Each dress is ridiculous than the last. By the time she gets to the tenth dress, she's beginning to lose hope. Does Andrew know me at all? She thinks. I'd never wear any of this. And then she sees it—the perfect dress.

It's made of cream-colored silk, and it seems to glow in the light. It has a sweetheart neckline, and the multi-layered skirt looks like an upside-down flower. Each layer of silk hangs as softly and as gracefully as a flower petal. The maid twirls the dress, and the silk layers catch the breeze and float. Avery smiles.

"Do you like this one?" Andrew asks. "It's so simple."

No, it's perfect, she thinks.

She nods, trying to pretend she doesn't really care, but she's scared her smile gives her away. Andrew flicks his wrist, and the other servants leave the room one by one. The petite girl with the perfect dress stays behind, smiling as if she's received some great honor. Avery pretends to be busy with her sketching supplies.

"Will you try it on for me?" Andrew whispers into her ear.

"It's bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the wedding," she says. "Besides, I'm busy. Let's have breakfast instead."

Andrew shrugs and helps her up. As they walk to the dining room, he keeps his arm around her waist. He pulls her chair out for her and pours her a cup of orange juice. She eats quickly, typing emails on her phone between bites. Sophie has asked her to bring the designs to the do. Headquarters, so that'll be her first stop.

The town car passes through fields filled with small yellow cinquefoil flowers. Avery rests her head on the window and closes her eyes, letting the smooth motion of the car lull her to sleep. Her phone rings and she checks the caller I.D. She doesn't recognize the number and rejects the call. It rings again, and she sighs and answers.

"Hello, is this Mrs. Howel?" a polite male voice asks.

"Well, not exactly," Avery says. "I go by Miss Peters now."

"Well, I'm Dr. Pan, and I'm calling from Memorial Hospital," the man says. "You were here a while ago, visiting a patient named Irene Flynn."

"Yes, of course," Avery says. "She's my nanny."

"Well, according to my notes, we told you we'd found an unidentified drug in her blood," Dr. Pan says. "We've managed to identify the drug's chemical components now, and we have a full report. Shall I have it sent by courier to the Howel home?"

"Oh, um, no," Avery stammers. "I mean, I'll come to the hospital personally to get it. Would you mind telling me what the drug is?"

"It's a chemical reagent and toxin containing phosphate," Dr. Pan says. "It can induce a coma, and it's very difficult to reverse the effects. Now that we know this, we can design a treatment to try to reverse the effects of the drug."

"Tell me, is it difficult to make the drug?" Avery asks. "Could it be produced in your hospital's labs, for example?"

"No, I don't think it could," Dr. Pan says. "Besides, if you're worried someone has been drugging her, I assure you, she's safe here. Based on the cell damage, she would have taken the drug two or three years ago."

"Two or three years?" Avery asks, feeling her skin prickle.

Three years ago, Charles was Nanny's doctor. Could he have given her poisoned medicine? Avery shakes her head. No, that's impossible, she thinks. Charles always treated Nanny so well. It must have come from somewhere else.

"This doesn't make any sense," Avery says. "Is the drug similar to some other medicine? Maybe someone made a mistake with her prescription and accidentally made this instead of her normal medicine."

"I'm afraid that's impossible," Dr. Pan says. "The active ingredient in this drug is basically the same as the one used in many common insecticides. No one would put this in medicine."

"So someone did this to her on purpose?" Avery asks. "There's no chance it was an accident?"

"I'm afraid not," Dr. Pan says. "We're going to take some medicines to try to reverse the effect, but there's no guarantee they'll work. We'll observe the effects closely, but I think it'd be better if she could continue to receive mental stimulation. For example, if her family members could visit and talk to her, that might help stimulate her brain."

"I understand, thank you," Avery says.

She sighs and hangs up the phone. Last time she visited Nanny, the old woman only responded to Evan's voice. Now that she and Evan are officially separated, there's no way she'll get Evan to go with her to the hospital. The recording of his voice may have worked, but Andrew threw the pen into the ocean.

The car arrives at D.O., and Avery tries to focus on the meeting ahead. The receptionist greets her with a warm smile and buzzes her through the lobby. As she waits for an elevator, she hears two pairs of high-heels click across the marble floors. The women stand behind Avery and whisper to each other.

"Did you see Sophie's new customer?" one asks. "She's the most distinguished woman I've ever seen."

"She really is," the other replies. "And she was so polite and friendly too—not at all arrogant."

"Everyone says she's rich," the first says. "And her clothes and handbag were obviously designers, but her car was so plain. Not at all what you'd expect from such a wealthy woman."

"Maybe she just likes to keep a low profile," the second woman says. "She's classy, you know."

Avery wonders who the customer is. Only the truly wealthy can afford to have a custom-made D.O. design, and Avery wonders if she's met the woman before. The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. Avery gets on, and the women nudge each other when they see her face.

"There are so many stunning women here today," they whisper.

Avery smiles, pretending she can't hear them. The women get off on the sixth floor, and Avery heads to Sophie's penthouse office by herself. Sophie's personal assistant is waiting to greet her outside the elevator doors.

"Welcome, Miss Peters," she says. "Ms. Johnson is waiting for you in her office." Sophie's office is the same as Avery remembers it, but there are several new vases filled with Juliet roses. The delicate peach petals are still covered in fresh dew, and their scent perfumes the air. An elegant woman is sitting on the sofa, deep in conversation with Sophie.

Avery knocks on the open door as she enters, and the two women stand up. Sophie rushes over and wraps her in a warm hug, and the woman smiles politely. She walks across the room, with light dancer-like steps and takes Avery's hand.

"It's so nice to meet you, Miss Peters," she says.