by Geneva Lee
“Don’t cry over spilled champagne,” I order myself.
But I’m not crying over it. I’m crying for my mom and the life I thought I would have. The life I will never have. I’m crying because I want to know the answers to those questions, because maybe if I did, I could figure out why I’m stuck—just like that stupid drawer—repeating mistakes, holding onto the past, never learning. Opening the top drawer, I reach to the back, feeling around for a key, but only find dust. It’s the story of my life: there’s always a missing key.
6
Sterling
Her phone goes straight to voicemail when I call, which means it’s dead or she turned the ringer off to avoid me. I’m past being angry at her for jumping to conclusions, and now I’m in full-blown panic mode. If I can find her, if I can explain…
But I don’t know where to start. Scrolling through my contact list, I stumble on Cyrus’s name. He gave me his number weeks ago to set up a lunch date or whatever these rich fucks do to fill their meaningless days. Cyrus, for better or for worse, lives with Poppy. Poppy is Adair’s best friend. It doesn’t take a mathematical genius to put it together.
He answers after a few rings.
“Cyrus, it’s Sterling,” I cut him off mid-hello.
“I was wondering if you’d ever get around to calling me. We still need to get together. Charity galas aren’t exactly—”
“Yeah, let’s do that.” I don’t have time for idle chit-chat. “Listen, is Adair at your place? I’m trying to track her down. I thought she might be with Poppy.”
“She’s not here. I can ask Poppy,” he offers.
“No, don’t worry about it,” I say quickly. The last thing I need is to spook her any more or to get all her friends involved. I doubt Poppy will take my side on this one. “Let’s make sure we get together.”
I hang up before I can waste more time on a dead end. Zeus wanders over and sits at my feet, staring up at me while I stare at my phone.
I call Jack because I can’t think and he’s pretty good at it. “Weird question,” I say when he answers, “Have you seen Adair?”
“Misplace her?” I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Cute,” I say curtly. “Seriously, she took off, and she’s not answering her phone.”
“Did something happen?” Jack’s tone switches to all business. That’s the other upside of calling him for help. Luca would still have three more quips on deck before he started taking things seriously.
“Doesn’t it always?” I mutter. “She saw a text on my phone.”
“So?”
“It was from Sutton. I think she got the wrong idea.”
“I take it she doesn’t know that Sutton is your sister?” He lets out a whistle. “You’re in trouble. Look, I haven’t seen her, but I’ll keep an eye out. You might want to call Luca.”
Calling him is the last thing I want to do. True, a hitman is pretty good at tracking people down, especially ones who are trying to hide, but their targets have a disturbing tendency to stop living. “I’d rather find her alive,” I say dryly. “I’m just trying to figure out where she’d go.”
“Um, home?” Jack suggests.
It’s stupid that didn’t occur to me. Maybe it’s because I’ve never really had a home to run to. Maybe it’s because Adair’s always running from hers. “She had a fight with her brother. It’s doubtful that she’s there now.”
“That place is the size of Versailles. If she wants she can avoid her brother for months. Look, if it was me and some guy screwed me over, I’d wind up at home.” He makes a good point, but he’s getting the wrong idea.
“I didn’t…” I stop. Why bother trying to explain that we’d both screwed up? Right now, I need to be fixing things. “Thanks.”
“So, I take it you’ve crossed her off your list?” Jack asks.
“You could say that.”
“Where does that leave us?” Trust him to be direct. It’s how we operate. There wasn’t time on an operation for being passive aggressive.
I think about Malcolm and how he hurt her, about her father and how he used her. There’s something rotten in Valmont, and it needs to be weeded out as much for me as for her. “Nothing else changes. Not until I talk to Malcolm MacLaine.”
Jack doesn’t try to argue the point. “I’ll let you know if I see her,” he says before we hang up.
Going to Windfall is a long shot by any stretch of the imagination, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe a home is a place you run to no matter how much pain you’ve experienced there. I wouldn’t know.
“Well, buddy, wish me luck. I’m going to track her down and make her listen to what I need to say.” I lean down and stroke Zeus’s head. He whimpers like he’s hoping I have a better plan than that. Even a dog recognizes what sets Adair MacLaine apart. She has champagne taste and a whiskey temper—and I’m on the wrong side of both.
* * *
The sultry summer day begins to fade as I drive out of the city. The sun is beginning to set, purple seeping across the horizon, when I reach Valmont. Stopping at the gates of Windfall, I wait for the security guard to put down his sandwich. He steps out of the gatehouse, clipboard in hand, and motions for me to roll down the window.
“Name?” he says in a bored tone.
“Sterling Ford.” I tap the Aston’s steering wheel as his finger trails down his list. I wait for him to ask me why I’m here or call up for permission. Not that he or anyone else is going to stop me from getting to Adair if she’s in there. It would be nice to do this the easy way, though.
Instead, he nods. “Thank you, Mr. Ford. One moment.”
I made the guest permission list. That must mean that I’m still on Malcolm’s good side. He’s not the MacLaine I want keeping me around. I tear down the drive, swerving around to the back. Since I’m not here to see Malcolm, there’s no need to walk through the front door.
No matter how much time passes, I remember every detail of this house. It’s a bit like the ninth circle of hell—not a place that you forget if you make it out alive. I wasn’t welcome here five years ago. I certainly never made a guest list. But I’ve been here plenty of times—each instance more memorable than the last. If Jack is right and Adair came home, she didn’t bother with the front door. That’s the first trick to surviving Windfall, keep a low profile. She would have gone around back, straight to the kitchen. I’ll bet she’s crying to Felix over a batch of cookies. The back entrance also has the benefit of being close to the servant’s staircase. I can use it to get to Adair’s wing of the house with little chance of running into anyone that I don’t want to see.
I rap softly on the back door before letting myself in. The Windfall kitchen is huge, meant to accommodate multiple cooks and servers for parties and holidays. I’ve always been a little jealous of the pristine Viking appliances and marble counters. That was before, when I’d never had more than a closet-sized kitchen in Queens to use. Now, I wonder what the point of it is other than for show. Then again, that’s the primary function of an estate like this. It’s only here to show off the MacLaine wealth. I can see it for what it really is today: a family ego.
Felix looks up from the pot on the stove. His hand, holding a wooden spoon, freezes in mid-air. He manages to cover his surprise well, but although his face remains blank, dislike narrows his eyes. I wonder how long he can keep up the charade of pretending I’m a stranger. He’s done an excellent job so far.
“May I help you?” he asks. The sham continues, it seems.
“Don’t act like you don’t remember me, Felix,” I say dryly. He played along before. We both know exactly who I am, and I’m guessing he knows why I came back. Adair always confided in him.
“You’re Daddy’s friend,” a small voice pipes up and I turn to see Malcolm’s daughter sitting at the kitchen island. Large, blue eyes loom in her round face and she studies me critically. She obviously takes after her aunt.
“I am, but I came to see your aunt,” I say to her. Felix migh
t take Adair’s side, but kids, in my experience, don’t know how to go along with deception. They might hide a cookie behind their back, but guilt is usually written all over their face. That makes her my new best friend. If Adair is here, she won’t be able to hide it. I’m not certain Felix will feel inclined to tell me if he’s seen her.
The girl purses her lips and shakes her head. “Auntie Dair isn’t here. She’s been gone all night. Do you know where she’s been?”
Now that’s a loaded question.
“I don’t. That’s why I’m here,” I say softly. I take a stool next to hers and turn my focus back to Felix. I suppose I have to sweet talk him now.
“Don’t look at me,” he says before I can press him for answers. “I haven’t seen her since this afternoon. She spoke with Malcolm and left in… a hurry.” Felix inclines his head, his eyes darting to the upper floors of the house. So he heard the fight. That’s not a surprise. Felix knows everything that goes on in this house.
“I suspect you’ve seen her since I have,” he says as he resumes stirring the pot. I don’t miss the irony.
I start to tell him to have her call me, but he’s unlikely to pass along that message. I can’t blame Felix for not liking me. He’s only ever heard Adair’s side of the story, and I’m sure she painted me as the villain. I’m going to need a different ally. Someone she’ll actually listen to. That’s the trouble. Most of our mutual friends are loyal to her. There’s no one in her family she’ll listen to. She’s too stubborn.
“Would you like hot chocolate? Felix is making me some,” the girl says.
The answer is sitting right next to me. How didn’t I see it? Adair loves the girl. I saw that the night I came to dinner. She might avoid her brother. Felix might not pass along a message. But a kid? She can make sure that Adair knows I came around. “What’s your name again?”
“I’m not supposed to tell that to strangers,” she says.
I see she has the hot and cold attitude of a MacLaine. Hot chocolate one minute, snubbing you the next. “I’m no stranger, remember? I know your dad and your aunt.” I don’t mind working for her trust. It will be good practice getting a MacLaine female to see past my flaws. I stick out a hand to her. “I’m Sterling. It’s nice to see you again.”
She takes my outstretched hand with a giggle. “Elodie MacLaine.”
“That’s a beautiful name,” I say. I’m not above flattering this kid if it means getting closer to Adair.
“Everyone calls me Ellie,” she says seriously, “but I think you should call me Elodie.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why is that?”
“You’re in business with my dad,” she says to me. “You talked about it at dinner.”
“I see.” I nod in understanding. “We have a formal relationship.”
“Yes. Are you in business with my aunt?”
“Does she always ask so many questions?” I say to Felix.
“You have no idea,” he says with a laugh. He pretends to focus on the pot of hot chocolate, making a show of acting like I’m not there, but I catch him stealing quick glances in my direction. He knows something. He probably knows where Adair has gone, but he’s not going to tell me. He pours two mugs of hot chocolate, drops marshmallows into one, and places them in front of us.
“Is this your favorite?” I ask, picking mine up.
“You ask a lot of questions for an adult,” she says pointedly.
“You’re not exactly shy,” I say to her.
“Scorpios usually aren’t,” Felix says. He holds up a finger when she reaches for her own mug. “Remember last time. We let it cool.”
“Your aunt is a Scorpio,” I tell her.
“I know.” She’s busy poking marshmallows like she can cool her drink faster if she plays with it. “We have a secret club.”
“Can I join?”
She appraises me for a second, and I can already tell that I’m coming up short. “Are you a Scorpio?”
“I am not.” There’s no point in lying to her. That won’t score me any points with her or her aunt.
She shrugs her tiny shoulders. “Sorry. Scorpios only.”
“I understand.” Elodie might be the friendliest member of the MacLaine family, but even she has the elitist streak necessary to call Valmont home.
“Can you tell your aunt that I was here?” I ask her.
She bobs her head. “I can do that, Mr. Ford.”
We’re back to formality. Honestly, it’s one of the best business transactions I’ve had in a while.
“Thanks for the hot chocolate, Felix.”
“I’d say any time…” He trails off.
“Understandable. I’m just going to pop up to her room.”
“If you want, but she’s not here,” he says with a shake of his head. “I’m not lying to you.”
“Would you admit if you were?” I ask.
He tips his head, conceding my point’s valid. I don’t bother to argue with him on this. Felix and I aren’t likely to ever be best friends, and it’s not like I need him to show me the way. I wind my way up the narrow staircase that leads into the family quarters.
The first floor of Windfall is all for show. A foyer that could house a tennis court. A sitting room meant to host cocktail parties. An atrium that’s basically a ballroom. Upstairs is where the MacLaines live their lives, but that doesn’t make it much homier. I pause at the top of the staircase, remembering the last time I was here. It seems like a lifetime ago. I guess that’s because it was. Glancing to the corridor on the left, I see that they’ve taken down her mother’s art. I can only imagine how Adair felt about that. I suppose that wing of the house is occupied by Malcolm and his wife now. I don’t go that way. Instead, I take a right and find my way to the far side of the house. Adair’s room overlooks the gardens below. It’s not really a room. At least, not in the traditional sense. It’s practically a condo. A living area, two bathrooms, a bedroom, a reading room. I wander through each, but she’s not here, like Felix said. Still, she’s everywhere. A lot of things might have changed since I left, but there are pieces of the girl she was littered everywhere. The clues paint a picture of her life while I was gone. Books are piled unceremoniously on the floor next to her bed, on the desk overlooking the gardens, shoved into shelves built into the walls. There’s no rhyme or reason to any of them. She’s never bothered with alphabetizing. These books are read. These books are loved. Somehow, seeing that—knowing that part of her survived—reminds me that, as much as she tries to act like there’s nothing left between us, there’s too much to be ignored. We’ll always have this. This shared love. This shared language.
For one moment, I stand there, hands shoved in my pockets, and stare at all these pieces of her.
A different life flashes before my eyes. A little house with a covered porch and a wicker swing, somewhere far from here. Adair is tucked under a blanket on it, reading, I’m next to her with a book in my hands, and everything is right with the world. Some people want to believe in fairy tales. Those aren’t real. I believe in real. I want us to be real.
I shake off the sentimental bullshit. It’s not doing me any good to sit around and fantasize. That’s not what got me this far, and it won’t get me where I’m going. She’s not here. I shouldn’t be surprised. It was a long shot, no matter what Jack said. Adair has never felt at home here. It’s not the first place she would run. I used to know exactly where she would go. The trouble is that I don’t know where that place is anymore. Or do I?
She ran to me. She came to me. And for a few hours, I’d gotten everything I wanted.
Adair MacLaine’s trust. Her desire. Her love? Maybe.
It gives me hope that we can get past this misunderstanding, but can I ever admit that’s not what I came here for? All of this was part of my plan. I wanted her to trust me, to love me, to want me. I didn’t plan on wanting her back.
Some things don’t change. That’s why she’s not here. I knew she wouldn’t be. She always wanted t
o leave this life behind. Was leaving me behind the first step in finally doing that?
What life does she want?
The publishing house. She wants to be an editor. It’s the only concrete thing I know she wants. I whip out my phone, trying to remember the name. Bluebell or something like that. A quick search reminds me. Bluebird Press. That’s the publishing house her father left her. The one she got a job at without mentioning her last name. It might have seemed conniving a month ago. Now I see it as a means of survival. Maybe her brother blew that, but if I know Adair, she’s not going to give up on her dream that easily. She might not be there now, but I can sit out front and wait for her to show up tomorrow, or the day after, or however long it takes if she keeps avoiding my calls.
I’m halfway down the hall and on my way back to Nashville when Malcolm finds me. He’s abandoned his suit in favor of a pair of khakis and a button-down with its sleeves rolled to his elbows. That’s as casual as he gets. He holds out a hand. “Security informed me you were here. I thought you might have come to see me, but…”
I don’t bother fumbling for an excuse as to why I’m down the hall from his sister’s room. Malcolm has plenty of people stroking his fragile ego, I don’t have to bother. There are more important things for me to focus on at the moment. “I’m looking for Adair.” I slide my phone into my pocket. “Have you heard from her?”
“Not since this afternoon,” he says coolly. He studies me for a moment, but seems to come up short in his analysis. It’s the dance we’ve done since the beginning, turning circles around one another and waiting for the right moment to strike. I’m done with the sidestepping. It’s time to upend his perfect, if false, reality.
“That’s right,” I say, taking a step closer. “She told me about that.”
“She did?” He’s surprised. I guess he doesn’t have much experience with people confiding in him.
I smile widely and begin to walk away. “Adair tells me most things.”