“Gosh, can we do this? Really? I would love to. Just to see the look on Percy’s face…”
“I promise you this, too. If it ever becomes a problem, I’ll call St. Clair and set the record straight. He’ll accept that the lapse in judgement was on my side.”
I look at the man opposite me. There’s not a hair out of place on his head, and the intensity in his eyes tells the tale of a man who lives and breathes control.
Lapse in judgementandIsaac Winterdon’t belong in the same sentence.
“Okay,” I say and make what might be the second biggest mistake of my life. But I’ve already made the biggest, and that was saying “I do” on this very day four years ago.
There’s something freeing about having had your life fall apart. After that, there’s very little else to worry about losing.
“What do you think?” he asks.
I take a deep breath. “I’d love to go with you to the benefit. If you need to sell the image of us as… dates to your family, I promise to uphold my side.”
“As do I,” he says, and there’s a dark promise in his words. “I know how to make Percy jealous.”
I have to stand to reach him, and he rises too, accepting my outstretched hand. It’s the first time we’ve touched since we shook hands weeks ago, surrounded by our teams.
His hand is strong and warm around mine. “Just business,” he says and shakes my hand.
A shiver races up my spine. “Yes. Just business… and revenge.”
He releases my hand. It’s a slow slide of his palm against mine, and then he steps away, voice curved around the edges with a smile. “Always a pleasure working with you, Sophia.”
8
SOPHIA
I turn, looking at myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the lobby of my apartment building. The dress is good. It’s floor-length and dusty blue, setting off my faint summer tan and fitting for the benefit’s dress code.
I’d had a salon blow-out earlier today, and my hair looks glossy beneath the lights. It’s grown longer this summer, and I haven’t kept up with the trims. Gone is my sleek shoulder-length hairdo, consigned to history, along with the person I was when I sported it.
Makeup, clean and minimal.
I look… appropriate.
I take a deep breath. And then, I take another. All week, I’d been so sure I wouldn’t really be anxious when the time came. It’s been almost a year, and I no longer carry his name or his ring. I don’t bear the weight of his expectations or my own suspicions. They’d been so heavy of a burden that I didn’t realize I’d suffered under it until it disappeared.
But here I am, and anxiety is a pounding beat in my chest, making my stomach turn. It seems there are parts of myself that remain foreign, even to me.
I look at my watch. Isaac will be here soon.
He’d insisted on picking me up. Our emails over the past week have been quick and focused on the practicalities.
The intimacy we’d shared over drinks didn’t carry over into logistical texts between meetings. And now? I need to pretend I’m dating him.
But the real problem is that, somehow, I think that might just be the easiest part of the entire evening.
A black town car pulls up outside my building, and Isaac steps out. He’s wearing a snug dinner jacket that looks tailored to his form. “Sophia,” he says, and then his eyes drop down to my dress, doing a slow sweep of the tight bodice and flowing skirt. “You look… stunning.”
“Thank you,” I say, “but we don’t have an audience yet.”
He pushes the car door open for me. “I’m not pretending.”
I slide into the car and watch as he follows suit. A warm, spicy scent reaches me. His cologne. I tighten my hands around my clutch. “This will be a networking event for you,” I say. “Right?”
He nods to the driver to set off, and the car glides smoothly out into the New York traffic. “Yes. It’s hard for them not to be, honestly.”