by July Hall
“Why would I be?” Kristen said. “She’s going to get somebody to wash her hair and paint her nails, just to impress a bunch of rich—”
“Good,” Mom said, looking at Sandra with approval. “All those women will have professional treatments from head to foot. Most of it’s a waste of money, but you should do what you can to fit in.” She walked to Sandra and fondly cupped her cheek. “You’re so pretty you won’t need much.”
Kristen made a gagging noise. Mom turned toward her with an arch eyebrow raised. “Don’t turn up your nose, missy. When you’re doing business with people, you have to be presentable.”
“See?” Sandra said to Kristen, as if they were in elementary school again. What was it about being back home that did this to rational adults?
“What are you wearing?” Mom asked.
“I have to get something new,” Sandra admitted. “I have cocktail dresses, but this is white tie. All the women will be in evening gowns.” Couture ones, no doubt. Josephine Banks probably had a whole closet to pick from.
“I’ll help pay for it,” Mom said promptly. “I’ll give you $300. Sound good?”
“Mom!” Sandra gasped in delight, over Kristen’s incoherent sound of indignation. “Thank you!”
“I don’t mind. You should be saving some money.” Mom looked a little hesitant now. “Scotty just told us that he definitely doesn't want to go to school in the city. So we’ll be renting out the apartment again.”
Sandra watched Kristen’s face fall. She was sure she was making the exact same expression.
“That was our agreement,” Mom reminded them both. “And one of you would have to go even if Scott moved in.” She gave Sandra a pointed look and wagged her finger. “We’ve always told you to save your pennies. We’d like to have the apartment available this summer. Are you girls going to be able to swing that?”
Sandra and Kristen exchanged a stricken look. But Mom was right. Sandra tried to spend her money sensibly, even though it was hard when you were surrounded by Upper East Siders who judged even the slightest scuff mark on your shoe. She paid back her student loans every month and put aside the chunk of her paycheck that would otherwise have gone to rent.
But while she had a paycheck from a full-time job, Kristen didn’t. She worked part time at a skate shop. Her student loans would be less than Sandra’s, but they’d still be pretty hefty for an underemployed psychology major.
Still, Kristen lifted her chin. “I’m applying for an internship with Dr. Meizner this spring,” she said. “He likes my capstone. And I might not even stay in the city. I’ve been working on grad school applications.”
“You have?” Sandra asked in surprise. Since when?
Kristen glared at her. “You don’t know what I do every second of the day, do you? I’m not an idiot. What the hell else am I supposed to do with a bachelor’s in psychology?”
“Watch your language,” Mom said sternly, which was pretty rich coming from someone who cursed up a storm in traffic. “You know your father and I would love to have you work at the business. There’s always a place for you girls.”
She looked hopeful, and Sandra felt the swoop of guilt in her stomach. She’d loftily told Charles when they’d met that her parents would never force the family business on her the way he’d forced Magister Enterprises on Bradley. That was true, but she and both her siblings knew that their parents hoped for them to take over someday. They’d worked at the mill during the summers, helping to push paper at the office or going with Dad to inspect floor operations.
Now that she was on the road to professional success, Sandra hardly ever got the guilt trip, but Kristen was obviously still fair game.
“Yeah…uh…maybe,” Kristen said. She quickly handed the casserole dish to Sandra. “Here’s another one when you finish the pan. I’ll start picking down the turkey.”
“I can take a hint,” Mom sighed.
When Sandra returned to her old bedroom about a half hour later, she checked her phone, and saw a new text from Charles. Her heart skipped a beat. It read: Are you free around 9?
He’d sent it about an hour ago. Hopefully he wouldn’t think she’d ignored him. She replied, Yeah! Sorry I missed this earlier. Should I call you or will you call me?
After she sent the text, she sat on her bed and looked around at her childhood room. It hadn’t changed much since she’d moved out—her high school graduation picture was still on the dresser. There was a darker spot on the wallpaper where her poster of a young Marlon Brando had been tacked for years. She kind of missed Marlon. On the opposite wall hung one of her first assignments from design school. It was just a sketch of a figure model who’d posed for her Drawing I class, but her mom had loved it and put it in a frame.
Sandra looked out of her window toward the backyard where she’d played as a child. Now that three kids weren’t carelessly romping around, her father had planted flowers that looked beautiful in spring. But long before that, there had been violets and crocuses growing wild. They were still her favorite flowers. At the end of November, of course, everything was brown and cold and asleep.
In the woods beyond the yard ran a creek lined with rushes and filled with newts, frogs, and water-smoothed stones. In the spring, purple wood sorrel grew in the alluvium. Her first boyfriend had kissed her there. It had been a rainy day in May, wet but warm. She’d been fifteen, at her new school, and it seemed like her life really had gotten a fresh start.
Spring would come back, Sandra reminded herself. The cold couldn’t stay in her bones forever. It would get warmer, and the days would get longer, and in the meantime, she and Charles would go to Tuscany. His arms would keep the cold away. They always did.
As if she’d made it happen by thinking about it, her phone pinged. Charles had replied, I’ll call you.
Her breath caught in anticipation. She thought about replying with a kissy-face emoji, but there were probably limits.
The next six hours seemed to drag. Like every year, Dad pulled his wife and children out for a walk through the woods even though they would all have rather slipped into a tryptophan-induced coma. (“Not a cloud in the sky, and it’s nearly fifty degrees! Let’s go!”) Then he, Scott, and Kristen all flopped in the den to watch a football game while Sandra and her mom plotted strategy for the Black Friday sales.
“Right,” Mom finally said, smacking her hand purposefully against the sale flyer for Macy’s. “It’s settled. We’ll leave at five in the morning.”
“Go team,” Sandra agreed. Maybe nobody in Charles’s circle ever had to worry about buying stuff on sale, but they also didn’t know the thrill of the hunt.
After leftovers, and in the middle of a game of Trivial Pursuit, nine o’clock finally arrived. As the hour grew closer, Sandra grew more restless. She told everyone she was expecting a call from Arnaud. Kristen alone didn’t seem fooled, but that was apparently because she’d developed flawless Arnaud radar. Arnaudar.
At 9:00 p.m. precisely, her phone rang. Sandra didn’t even look at the display. She hopped up from the table and said, “Sorry, guys. Scotty, don’t let me down.”
“But I don’t know any of the art or history stuff,” Scott protested.
“Just try to land on sports,” she said as she hurried from the room. When she was halfway up the stairs, on the fourth ring, she answered and tried not to sound breathless. “Arnaud, hi.”
“Should I call back?” Charles asked dryly.
“No, no, just a second.” Sandra reached her bedroom and shut herself inside. “Okay, I’m alone. Sorry. How are you?”
“I listened to at least five straight hours of wedding preparations,” Charles said. “And the Giants lost to the fucking Lions. Does that answer your question?”
Sandra grinned as she flopped down on her bed. The mattress bounced beneath her. “Uh-oh. You didn’t lose any money, did you?”
“Craig and Stephen get the Saint Barts bungalow for New Year’s.”
Sandra blinked. “But you w
eren’t going to Saint Barts for New Year’s.”
“No, but they didn’t know that. Just as well, it’s easier than me selflessly giving it up for no reason so I can go to Tuscany.”
That made an odd kind of sense. “Are you one of those guys who gets really aggressive while you’re watching sports?” Sandra asked.
“Shouting at the screen is not aggressive,” Charles said stiffly. “It’s an essential part of the process.”
Sandra laughed. “Do you have any weird traditions or superstitions? I dated a guy in college who was a big Packers fan. If they were down at halftime, he’d switch from regular beer to light beer for the rest of the game. So did all his buddies.”
“No wonder you didn’t sleep with him,” Charles said. Sandra put a hand over her mouth to muffle a louder laugh. “No, I don’t do anything like that. How are you?”
Better now, for hearing his voice. Scarily better. She felt like she’d just come out from the cold and into a hot bath. Or a warm rain in spring. “I’m fine,” she said. “Still stuffed from lunch. We had twenty people here today. It was crazy. The house was full to bursting.”
“And so are you?”
“Oh, yeah.” She’d put on her yoga pants the minute the door had closed behind the last visitor. “What was it like, having Thanksgiving at the house again?”
There was a pause. Then he said thoughtfully, “A little odd. It was the first time we’d done it since Father’s death.”
Wow. Yeah, that would have been weird. “How many people were there?”
“Just the family. Myself, Stephen and Craig, Rosalie and Bradley.” Charles gave a wry chuckle. “Rosalie insisted Bradley carve the turkey.”
“So he’s a big boy now?” Sandra asked, a little surprised at the venom in her voice. She couldn’t really help it, though. Whenever she thought about being with Bradley, letting him touch her after everything he was doing on the side, her skin crawled.
If Charles noticed the edge in her voice, he didn’t mention it. “He’s still on his best behavior. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but he might actually be taking life seriously. I wonder if—” He stopped and cleared his throat.
“Wonder what?” Sandra prompted.
After another moment, Charles said, “I wonder if it’s because of losing you.”
Sandra’s face got hot. She squirmed on the mattress. “I doubt it. He didn’t love me.”
“No,” Charles sighed. He really never did sugarcoat anything. “I sometimes wonder if he’s capable of that. I suppose I meant…well, never mind. The study looks wonderful, by the way,” he added. “Even Rosalie had to admit it.”
Sandra beamed like the sun, and managed to contain an actual squeal of joy. This was the first time he’d seen it in person since she’d finished the work. Photos weren’t quite the same thing. “Really?” she asked.
“Really,” he said. “Well, except for that little porcelain cup that clashes with everything.”
Instead of rising to the bait, Sandra raised her eyebrows. “So you did move it from the parlor.”
“I did.”
“Well, that’s…” Something in his voice caught her attention. “You did? As in, personally?”
“As in, I unlocked the cabinet, put the cup in a padded box, carried it into the study, and put it in another cabinet,” he said. “Just yesterday, as a matter of fact.”
“Awww,” Sandra said before she could stop herself. But she wasn’t teasing him. She genuinely felt a warm tingle in her belly. “Seriously, did that feel weird too?”
“Maybe a little surreal,” he admitted. “I told no one else about it. I doubt Stephen and Rosalie even thought to ask.”
“Huh.” Sandra shook her head and settled back against the pillows. She put on her very best Masterpiece Theater voice when she asked, “And thus concludes the curious affair of the Ru ware cup?”
“Yes, of course,” Charles said mildly. “When are you getting back?”
“Sunday evening.” She bit her lip. “Are you free?” By then it would have been a whole week since they’d seen each other.
To her dismay, he said, “Rosalie’s hosting a get-together for Stephen and Craig. I have to be there. It’s likely to run late. God.” A disgusted growl found its way into his voice. “I’d forgotten how much of a production weddings are. Now I see the appeal of courthouses.”
“Oh, no,” Sandra protested. “Weddings are amazing, especially if you have the right venue. I—” She bit down on her next words, which would have been: I’ve been planning my wedding since I was ten years old.
“I love weddings,” she said instead. Thank God she’d caught that in time. “Your house will be perfect for it. Do you know how many people are coming?”
“Rosalie was sure we’d have a large crowd, even though it was last-minute. I had my doubts.” After a pause, he sighed, “Rosalie was right.”
“Uh-oh,” Sandra said, but she was relieved. Arnaud was hoping there would be a lot of guests to meet and mingle with.
“They’re replying by phone to some service she’s engaged. She finished the guest list Friday morning, ran it by Stephen, and paid a fortune to have two hundred and thirty-four invitations printed by Monday afternoon. Of course, word of mouth was already making the rounds, but I cannot fathom how she’s already gotten over a hundred replies before a holiday weekend.”
“Because it’s you,” Sandra reminded him. “Who wouldn’t come to a Magister wedding?”
“Are you making fun of me?” he asked suspiciously.
“No, actually. Anyway, Arnaud said he replied for both of us, so we should be on the list.” She swallowed and reached up to touch her bare earlobe. “I’m going shopping on Monday for something to wear.” Thanks to her mother’s generosity, she already knew where she wanted to go—a boutique in SoHo whose collections she loved but that she usually couldn’t afford. She could add what she’d been planning to spend to her mom’s contribution. So much for saving money.
“I don’t suppose you’d let me buy it for you,” he said.
“Mom wants to pay for it,” Sandra replied quickly, hoping the half truth would take the sting out. “That’s sweet of you, though. Um, how conservative should I go?”
“Wimples are optional.”
“Oh, come on,” she laughed. “I’m not going to get anything slit up to my thigh. I just don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Like a…” He cleared his throat. “You won’t. You have excellent taste. Whatever you choose will be fine, I’m sure.”
Okay, that was the opposite of helpful. Sandra said, “Maybe I’ll come in a tux. Be all Marlene Dietrich. Or Le Smoking.”
She’d expected him to huff and bluster. Instead, after a pause, he said hoarsely, “That sounds unbearably sexy. Please don’t.”
Her eyes widened in astonishment. “Really?”
Charles cleared his throat. “The mental image I just got certainly is, so wear a dress. I need to be able to focus.”
Sandra was already putting it together in her head. A tailored jacket, skinny pants, fierce stilettos. Hair down. Leave the first two shirt buttons open and the bow tie hanging loose. Sold.
But not at the wedding. Just for him, maybe on New Year’s Eve. “You’d be pretty distracting in a tux, too,” Sandra murmured, her voice husky.
“No. White tie,” Charles reminded her. “No tuxedos. Please make sure your Mr. Diallo knows the difference.”
Sandra rolled her eyes. “I guarantee you Arnaud knows the difference. I was trying to sweet-talk you.”
“Don’t start with me,” Charles warned. “My family is waiting down the hall to play billiards.”
“Oh.” Sandra felt oddly crushed. “And…yeah, mine’s playing Trivial Pursuit downstairs.”
“Not the best circumstances for…sweet talk.”
“Damn.” She’d loved having sex with him over the phone. She would never have believed she’d be able to say stuff like that when he wasn’t actually in
the room, but his voice had been enough. It would have been again tonight, even if her parents and siblings were downstairs trying to remember what the biggest lake in Oklahoma was or the title of the first silent film. “Well—how soon can we get to the real thing? Sometime this week?”
Silence fell, and so did her heart. He was about to say no, she was sure of it. And why not? They’d both be so busy this week, him with the wedding, and her with Alexios and…
“I’ll make it happen,” he said firmly. “I’ll find a way. I don’t know when, yet, but we’ll goddamn well find the time.”
Sandra sagged back against the bed, and only then did she realize how tense she’d gotten. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yeah, just let me know.”
“And pack a bag after the wedding. Spend Sunday with me in the city.” His voice dropped into the growl that thrilled her all the way to her toes. “Let me screw you from dawn till dusk. I’ll make it worth your while.”
Unfair, unfair. He was the one who’d just said no dirty talk. Well, she’d teach him. “Huh,” Sandra said. “You know what I just realized?”
“What?”
She didn’t have to fake her surprise. “I haven’t gone down on you since we were together at the North Shore house. How did that happen?”
“I,” Charles said, and then, “well…ah…”
“All day Sunday, you said?” Sandra asked, her heart racing.
“Sandra, no. Don’t you dare.”
“What? I’m just saying you’re overdue,” she said. He really was. He paid so much attention to her body. It was her turn to feel his fingers sliding through her hair while she rubbed the slick, smooth tip of his cock over her lips and listened to his pleasure. She turned her voice into the warm, gentle tease that always made his face get red. “And after a week like this…”
“Stop. Don’t do this to me.”
“…all you’ll have to do is lie back and enjoy it until I swallow you down.”
“Goddamn it, you little—”
“Sorry,” Sandra murmured. “Good night, baby.”
She hung up and put a hand over her mouth to muffle a laugh. She was sort of shocked at herself.