Samantha paced nervously back and forth in the bedroom, her bare feet sinking into the plush white carpet with every step. Her hands fidgeted uncontrollably, and she found herself biting on her thumbnail, a habit she refused to break.
The woman's audacious remark at the tea party echoed in her mind yet again and she felt her jaw clenching.
"You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear."
The venom in that simple phrase had been enough to send Samantha spiraling, and now, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't push the memory away.
Anger simmered just below the surface, bubbling up every time she recalled the smug look on the woman's face, half-hidden by the teacup.
How dare she? How dare any of them look down on her? She was Mrs. Richard Clark, for God's sake. She had fought hard for this life, clawed her way to the top, and yet here she was, being ridiculed by women who saw her as nothing more than an impostor.
