Reagan tipped her head to one side as she crumbled the wrapper in her hand and jammed it in her pocket for later disposal. “And picking the job was a foregone conclusion?”
Sipping water while she thought over the question, Libby shrugged. “Can’t build an empire on top of a dynasty while taking care of someone else, right?”
Reagan raised her newly sculpted eyebrows. “It can’t really be so all or nothing, can it?”
To combat the dry mouth caused by the confrontation, Libby reached for the water again. “Haven’t you ever had a break-up?” she asked, needing a breather.
Leaning back in her seat, Reagan ripped open a packet of dried cranberries. “Oh, I can do better than a break-up. I’ve been divorced, but I’m pretty sure we’re not supposed to talk about that on our second date.”
“Divorced? Really? You’re not even thirty.” Libby heard the judgment in her tone and backpedaled. “Sorry, that was
—”Reagan interrupted with a throaty chuckle. “It’s fine. We made it almost three years.”
“Do you mind if I ask what happened?” Libby was too curious to act nonchalant.
Reagan’s dark eyes drifted toward the stopped tra c before snapping back to Libby. The way they shone like crystalline syrup sprinkled with amber in the sun made it impossible to hold her gaze. “Does the confidentially agreement go both ways?”
“Of course,” she replied, eyebrows knitted as Reagan deflated a little.
“We’d been friends for a long time before—”
“Before the lines got a little blurry?” she asked with a knowing grin.
Reagan’s plunging neckline exposed flushing skin. “More than a little,” she admitted. “I fell for her pretty hard, but it was complicated. She and her parents moved here from Lagos when she was a baby. Her mom was a big shot chemical engineer recruited on some special visa.”
“Oh no. I think I know where this is going,” Libby said when Reagan looked away as she paused. Miami was an international city, and people sometimes approached her to help them find US citizen spouses. Immigration fraud wasn’t worth the hefty paycheck to her, but plenty of people saw it as a final, desperate measure.
Reagan’s shifting gaze told her everything. “The attorney they hired missed some kind of deadline and the entire family ended up out of status after being here like twenty years. They didn’t find out until it was too late. When it was all said and done, she either had to go back with her parents or get her own status. At that point, her only option was to marry a citizen and apply for a green card. An impossible choice, but she’d never even been to Nigeria. It wasn’t home, you know. Plus, we had already talked about spending our lives together, so we just took the plunge a few years sooner than planned. So in one fell swoop her family was gone, and we were married. Can you guess how many di erent ways we were set up for failure?”
Libby gritted her teeth as Reagan winced. “And the lawyer just got away with it? After ruining their lives?”
“They sued him and won. He got his license suspended and they got some money, but there was no undoing it once they left. Even if there was, I think the trauma was so severe they’d never take the risk again. They’ve never even been back to visit.”
With her attention focused on the way her dimples looked di erent when she frowned, Libby reached out and put her hand on Reagan’s forearm. “I’m sorry.”
Reagan’s eyes drifted from Libby’s hand to her face. Gone was the enviable confidence and easy demeanor. In its place was something akin to regret. Reagan’s hand was warm when it covered Libby’s. The contact was a mild sting that electrified her touch-starved skin.
An ear-piercing honk from the truck behind them made Libby jump. Her head snapped back to yell at him for being an asshole, but before she did, she caught sight of the cars moving along the shoulder to her right.
“Looks like they’re diverting us o the highway to the nearest exit,” Reagan explained as she rolled down the passenger window, asking for a chance to merge into the lane.
Doing her best to regain her balance after the moment left her disoriented, Libby shifted the car into drive and forced her way onto the shoulder. Aggressive driving was a means of survival in her city.
As Reagan directed her through a maze of side streets toward her destination, Libby tried to ignore the lingering tingle on her skin. She couldn’t.
REAGAN HADN’T BEEN TO VIZCAYA SINCE A SCHOOL FIELD TRIP WHEN
she was a kid. The closest thing Miami had to a castle was a Mediterranean style estate on fifty manicured acres butting up against Biscayne Bay. The extravagant manor built for a rich businessman from the Midwest in the early 1900s was nothing but new money fashioned to look historic. Reagan hated how much she loved it.
“Ready for this?” Libby asked as they pulled up to the valet stationed in front of a massive fountain just ahead of the mansion.
I’m not sure, she thought as she watched well-dressed couples emerge from the cars stopped ahead of them and walk toward an area staged for pictures. She couldn’t be more out of her depth. In her mind, Reagan had envisioned the party. Standing around making small talk with people she didn’t know. She hadn’t imagined the grand arrival.
Once a valet appeared on each side of the car and opened the doors, it was showtime. When the kid o ered his hand, she politely declined but patted him on the shoulder when she stepped out of the vehicle unaided.
“Come on before I turn into una calabaza at midnight,”
Reagan joked, her arm extended for Libby to take. In her tall heels, Libby would’ve erased Reagan’s moderate height advantage, but Mary had convinced her a pair of black stilettos would give her the perfect shape for the suit. Not only was she right, but it kept Reagan a few inches taller which she decided she liked.