"Everything okay?" Claire asked.

Turning her head, Betsy offered a smile. Her gaze dropped just as her sister ran her hand over her concealed bump. Her lips pressed together. She waited for the familiar gut wrenching wave of pain and jealousy. Only it didn't come.

Betsy blinked. It didn't come.

She released her breath with a relieved smile.

At the questioning glance from her sister, Betsy just shook her head, her lips curving upwards in the corner. "It's nothing."

"If you're sure?"

"I'm sure." Betsy turned her gaze back to the window. "Thank you for coming with me today."

"It's not a problem. Though I have to ask, if you hate these events so much, why are you even putting yourself through this?"

Betsy's fingers tightened around the handle on the car door.She swallowed past the dryness building within her mouth. "I agreed to be the public face of the charity." She replied evenly before forcing her fingers to release their hold. "Though a part of me hadn't expected them to take it to this extreme. I'm going to be spending more time schmoozing the wealthy and uninterested than actually making a difference to the kids that I wanted to help. It's a waste a time."

Claire reached over and laced their fingers together.

"It's not a waste of time. You may not be in the trenches, so to speak, but you are making a difference. By being in the public eye and shaking hands, you're raising awareness and much needed funds. You may not like it but it's the way it works."

Betsy's shoulders slumped before she sighed, "I know. I just wish it didn't have to be this way. It makes me feel like a fraud — like I'm nothing more than a puppet doing what I'm told."

"Betsy -."

She shook her head and squeezed Claire's hand before she could say anything further.

"Don't mind me. I'm just feeling sorry for myself." She said, offering a weak smile. "Nick's away and I'm just feeling off kilter."

"This isn't just about him being away though,is it?"

Betsy shook her head. "I can't even explain it."

"I thought your group was helping you."

"I haven't been going" She admitted, keeping her gaze averted. "After everything that happened before Christmas, I can't expose anyone else to the media attention. I chose this life but they didn't."

Claire huffed loudly, "Did you ask any of them? From what you've told me, you have become a friend and mentor to several people in that group. I'm sure they would prefer to be given the choice on whether they want to remain friends with you. Do I need to remind you that you were angry when other people made decisions on your behalf?"

Betsy flinched at the blow. She was right. Nick had tried to shield her from everything and it had only proved to sew in doubt where there had previously been none. Or at least, not enough to think about.

"Maybe so. But, on this occasion, I think it is my choice that counts. I couldn't live with myself if my actions resulted in someone else getting hurt."

"Betsy-." The car pulled to a stop before Claire could finish her sentence.

Peering through the window, Betsy felt a wistful sigh pass her lips. They were outside the latest in a long line of historic buildings hosting yet another exclusive charity dinner for the rich and famous.

The building was beautiful. Yet, in her gut, Betsy knew what was to come next would be anything but.

The flash of cameras lit up the interior of the town car over and over again. It was like staring into the blinding light of the sun. Turning away, Betsy blinked in an attempt to clear the spots now dancing across her vision.

Then, forcing a smile on to her lips, she asked, "How do I look?"

A frown was etched upon Claire's brow as she stared over at her sister. But, aware of the frenzy waiting just a few feet away, she reached out and tucked one of Betsy's loose curls behind her ear. "Beautiful. You look just like mum."

The small smiles they exchanged were sombre. A tear pooled at the corner of Betsy's eye as she remembered the woman who had passed too soon.

"I miss her."

"Me too."

Silence fell between them. And then, with a tap on the window, the moment passed.

At her signal, the car door was pulled open. A wave of sound poured through the open door in a relentless torrent. Betsy's heart raced within her chest. Even as she longed to pull the door closed once more and retreat back to the safety of the Davenport Estate, she carefully turned on her seat and climbed from the safety of the car.

She stepped to the side, hand lifted in a casual wave as she smiled at the photographers. They shouted questions but she made no attempt to answer. Betsy couldn't even if she tried. She felt like she was running on empty. Present and yet, somehow not.

Claire elegantly climbed from the car behind her. She hooked her arm through Betsy's - a lifeline in the sea of chaos. They both breathed in deep and then, together, they followed the carpet towards the entrance.

A fresh wave of sound exploded behind them as the next guests took up the limelight. And still, the questions shouted at her back continued as they ascended up the last steps and into the party waiting for them inside.

It was like stepping back in time. The building was period, with intricate murals painted on the ceiling. Beautiful. Did any of the guests ever look up at the ceiling? Or was she just showing her humble origins with her appreciation of the art and history of these venues.

At the tugging on her arm, Betsy allowed her gaze to drop. It was truly incredible, the careless opulence that surrounded those with wealth. And yet, from her time with Nick, Betsy had come to realise that most of them spent so much time climbing the proverbial ladder that they never stopped to enjoy the world they were in. How could some of the people who have everything, have nothing?

"Wow. I've been here before but I will never get used to seeing that." Claire murmured from her side, her own head tilted back to look at the ceiling.

Betsy smiled at her sister and allowed herself one last glance. Then, placing one reluctant foot in front of the other, they moved further into the ballroom.

Despite being hosted in honour of a children's charity, there were no children in sight. It was a glaring oversight in Betsy's opinion. Surely the beneficiaries of the charitable work should be there to enjoy the party too?

A waiter passed by with a tray laden with drinks. He paused and offered them both a glass. Betsy picked up two glasses of orange juice and offered one to her sister. She knew she was adding fuel to the fire by choosing not to drink and the rumours would be all over the papers by the morning. Betsy couldn't find it within her to care. She needed to keep a clear head.

Taking a sip of the cool juice, she turned to survey the room around her. She recognised many of the faces. Celebrities and aristocrats filled the room from wall to wall. It only made her feel apart from them all. If not for her connection to Nick, she would never have wrangled an invitation to an event like this. Though, she supposed it was the same for some of the others. They were thrown into the spotlight via happy accident and circumstance.

"They have a sweet bar. I have died and gone to sugar rush heaven." Claire muttered from her side.

"I thought you preferred savory." Betsy reminded her, giving a playful nudge with her arm.

"Cravings. You don't even want to know some of the things I have drowned in chocolate sauce this week." Claire shuddered. "I know it's disgusting but when the pang strikes I am powerless to resist."

Betsy smiled, "I remember that stage. I drove Nathan mad ordering him out to buy Ben and Jerry's so I could dip chicken nuggets into it. It was both disgusting and oddly satisfying."

The nostalgic smile slipped off of her face a moment later as the familiar dull ache reemerged in her chest. Claire took her hand once more and give it a reassuring squeeze. Betsy responded with her own squeeze.

Sometimes, the memories of her loss were dull - bearable. At others, they were fresh and sharp as if the tragedy of her one and only pregnancy had happened just a day before. She had only minutes with her little boy before he was taken from her. Even now, the loss was too difficult to describe. It had taken months for her to begin to feel normal again - at least, a new version of normal. Her marriage had been the collateral damage.

But Nick, the kids, and her family had dragged her from the dark pit she had been in. While she would not say she was fully recovered, she had managed to find - contentment.

"Let's grab a seat before it gets too busy. I don't want to get stuck next to a politician," Claire muttered, dragging her over to a table at the side of the room. "I am not in the mood for politics today."

The feeling was mutual.

They seated themselves closest to the sweet bar - a six foot tall pick and mix station which called out to Claire's cravings. It didn't even take a full minute before she was taking full advantage of the unmanned station. Betsy chuckled and shook her head as she leaned back in the chair. Betsy couldn't even face the thought of sweets, her stomach was churning uncomfortably.

Taking a deep breath, her gaze roamed over the guests. There were many familiar faces; from TV stars, musicians, comedians, aristocracy, and the dreaded politicians. There were many faces she knew and recognised but not the one she wanted.

Taking a deep breath, she forced her hands to uncurl from their death grip around her clutch.

A loud chair scraped beside her. She jumped in her seat, her eyes whipping up to the person beside her. She had been so lost in her thoughts, she hadn't even seen the older man approach. Nick's brother slid into the seat beside her. A blonde haired woman slid into the seat next to him, her eyes shooting anxious glances between them.

Betsy couldn't offer any reassurances. Her attention drifted to the man beside her. He shuffled for a few moments, rearranging his dinner jacket and brushing imaginary lint off of the sleeves. Finally, when he could delay no longer, he lifted his eyes to meet hers.

"Hello, Ms Jones. You probably don't remember me –"

Betsy cut him off. "I remember you. Though I would appreciate if you could tell me what was so urgent you had to approach me behind Nick's back."

"Straight to the point, I see." Nick's step brother replied, fidgeting in her seat. "Did Nicholas read the letter?"

Betsy pressed her lips together, her eyes briefly moving away. After a moment, she admitted, "He told me to burn it."

Terry's shoulders slumped in response, his gaze dropping to the table top. Defeat. It was the only way to describe it. The woman beside him rested a hand upon his arm, her manicured nails glinting in the overhead lights.

"I didn't." Betsy added,the churning in her stomach only worsening when the man lifted his weary gaze. "I didn't burn the letter. I couldn't. But, I also haven't given it to him yet. It's not the right time."

The man opened his mouth to comment but the fingers on his arms tightened just so. Instead, he sighed softly. Then, he slipped his hand into his jacket and withdrew an envelope. He stared at it for several long seconds before sliding it across the table.

Betsy stared at it without making an attempt to accept it.

"What is it?" She asked, noting Nick's name written over the front.

"It's a letter from me this time. I don't know how much he has told you but, after his father took ill, he asked my brother and I to take over the company."

"And not Nick," Betsy added, with a nod of her head.

"Nick fell out with his father. It's understandable. If I was in his shoes, I would have felt the same." Terry explained, before taking a deep breath. He ran his hand tiredly over his face. "We never asked for what his father gave us. Though he had only been our brother for a short amount of time, we loved Nick like he was our family. We hated to see him hurt but Dad told us he had a plan for Nick. The letter you already have will explain that.

But this is about making amends. I want my children to grow up knowing their family. We're all we've got." He tapped his finger on the envelope. "Please help me try and make that happen?"

Betsy bit her lip. She tried not to feel the panic welling up within her. Could she be the one to do this? It was such a big responsibility. It was another burden she would have to carry. Nick was so busy with work, she couldn't put something else on his shoulders.

"We want him back in our lives. I know Nick may never be ready for that." Terry continued, his eyes imploring her to complete his request. "But I have to try - I want my brother back."

Nodding her head, Betsy reached out with a shaky hand and pulled the letter towards her. Even as she did, she fought to keep her body under control.

Not now. Please not now.

Two steps forward and one step back. Things had been going so well. Perhaps too well.

Betsy gasped a shuddering breath, her fingers tightening around the envelope so that it scrunched up within her fist.

It had been weeks without an incident. Weeks since she had felt the familiar fear wrapping its painful grip around her lungs, restricting her ability to breathe. And so she had let her guard fall. She had let herself relax.

Black spots danced across her vision. Her free hand clutched at the neckline of her dress. It was too hot. It was too tight. 

Betsy swallowed past the dryness in her mouth. 

How had she not seen the signs? She had ignored the warnings her body had been giving her. The jittery energy which had followed her all day - growing and growing until it overwhelmed all of her senses. She should have gone to the classes. She should have said 'no' to this event.

"Is everything okay?" Terry asked, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

Betsy flinched away. He withdrew his hands sharply, holding them before him in a placating gesture.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Betsy tried to offer a comforting smile. Her muscles couldn't even manage it. The familiar tension she had come to dread started to move through her body. Sucking in a desperate breath, Betsy fought to keep her pulse steady and her breathing even but panic was swiftly taking control.

"Claire?" Betsy croaked out, her eyes darting around in search of her sister. Black spots danced at the edge of her vision and her hearing became dull and muffled. It was as if she was trapped alone in a bubble. A bubble where only she and her panic existed.

"Betsy? Oh shit," Claire cursed, dumping her bowl on to the table with a thud. Then, placing a sticky chocolate sauce covered hand on her little sister's cheek, she turned her head. "Hey, look at me. It's okay. I've got you."

Betsy curled her fingers around her sister's. Other voices drifted to her through a fog but she was too far gone to understand what they were saying. Their words were intelligible in her panic. All she could do was focus on her sister's familiar voice, a beacon in the growing darkness.

It didn't matter how much she tried to push it all away, the panic won.

Betsy could no longer hold her body upright and she started to slip sideways towards the ground. But, before she could hit the polished marble floor, she found herself swept up into a man's arms. She knew without looking that it wasn't Nick. It couldn't be him. He was in Greece with Markos this weekend. And, while brilliant, Nick had not learned to be in two places at once.

Betsy wasn't sure how long the panic had her within its grip. When she finally re-emerged from the terror, her entire body was taught and achy as if she had completed the most vigorous exercise class. She blinked to clear her dry eyes.

Claire's hands rubbed up and down her arms, bringing warmth back into her skin. Betsy sucked in a sharp breath, grateful for the oxygen as it hit her lungs. She was grateful that she had at least managed to stay mostly conscious this time. Too many times she had found herself sprawled out on to the floor before she had even registered what was happening.

"Hey, are you back with us?" Claire asked, her hand coming up to brush the hair from Betsy's face.

A tear escape from the corner of Betsy's eye and rolled down her cheek as she gave a stiff nod. "I'm sorry. I've made such a scene."

Glancing around, she noted a few pairs of eyes focused on her. Fortunately most of the table guests had formed a barrier keeping her blocked from the view of the rest of the party. She felt pressure on her wrist and noted a tuxedo clad man taking her pulse. Betsy fought back the urge to snatch her arm back. Instead, she stretched out a shaky hand and took a sip of the glass of water someone held out to her. The liquid was cool against her tongue. It removed the cottony texture lingering in her mouth.

"There's no need to worry about that, lass." A deep Scottish brogue replied from beside her before she felt him pat the back of her hand. "How long have you been having panic attacks?"

"A few months." Betsy replied, licking her lips in an attempt to remove the dryness. "They've been better recently."

The man nodded his head and pushed to his feet. "Your pulse is returning to normal levels. Just relax and take it easy for a while before you decide to move."

"No one called an ambulance, right?" Betsy asked, her pulse jumping at the thought.

"I told them not to. We've been through this together before. The doctor here trusted my judgment." Claire interjected before she could get herself into another panic.

"Thank you." Betsy sighed, before addressing the rest of the guests who were now taking their seats. "I'm sorry you all had to see that. Thank you for not drawing attention to it."

Terry who had remained silent up until then, replied, "I'm the one who is sorry. If I had thought-."

Betsy raised a hand to cut him off. "It's not your fault. I can't predict these things and neither can you." Betsy said, noting the appearance of servers in the room. "Now, if it is okay with all of you, I'd much rather enjoy the food that's on its way."

A few exchanged uncertain glances but, after some brief cajoling, the table guests finally resumed their places. She breathed out a sigh. Then, as conversation started up around them, Betsy took a few moments before allowing the doctor to guide her back into her seat.

"I really would recommend that you go home." He stated, eying her pale face with concern.

Betsy's lips pulled into a grim smile. "I can't do that. If I went home to hide every time, I would spend half my life locked up and hiding from my demons. I need to do this."

He surveyed her for a long moment, his salt and pepper mustache twitching. After a brief deliberation, he finally nodded before he took the spot beside her with Claire buffering her from the strangers on the other side.

"Thank you," Betsy murmured, to the kind eyed man before she reached out and took her sister's hand beneath the table.

And yet, it felt as if she had gotten off too easy.

She had made it through.

Now she only had to hope that none of it made the papers.