William swishes his scotch around in his glass, then sniffs it.
I turn my gaze to the water, watching the city lights dance across the calm surface. William and I have been dating for almost three years. We ran out of small talk a long time ago. But it’s never struck me quite the same way as it is right now. Shouldn’t we have something to say to each other?
We don’t. Until the waitress returns with my fries and toast. My mouth waters as I stare down at the plates. The fries are drizzled with aioli and topped with shaved Parmesan. The toast is covered with prosciutto, burrata, pickled rhubarb, and a pomegranate reduction.
“Do you want any?” I ask William as I dig into the fries.
“No, I’m good, thanks.” He takes a sip of his scotch. “We should have ordered champagne.”
“Why?”
“To celebrate Gray and Ellington!”
“Oh. Right.”
William studies my less-than-enthused expression. “Are you worried about telling your dad?” he questions. More than anyone, he knows the pressure I face when it comes to following in my father’s footsteps. Even for what is objectively a better opportunity career-wise. I know that prestige is the only reason William is in full support.
“Sort of. But I’m also just… I don’t know.” It would be a lot easier to let this drop, but I forge ahead anyway. “Should I even take it?”
“What?”
“The job at Gray and Ellington. Should I take it?”
William looks at me with total shock. His handsome features are frozen with it. “What?” he repeats again. “What are you talking about, Eleanor?”
“I don’t know if I want it,” I admit.
“Don’t know if you want it… It’s the best law firm in the city! The job everyone we graduated with would list as their top choice!”
“Yeah, I know. But what would I really be doing there?”
“What?” William says for the third time. “Are you worried about the pressure? Because I’m sure it’s nothing you won’t be able to handle.”
I grab my cocktail and take a long pull. Even before I instigated it, I had a feeling this would be one of those conversations where hard liquor is a necessity. “No, I’m not worried about the work. I just feel like… maybe it’s not the work I want to be doing. I mean, what’s the point of it?”
William unfreezes his face to gape at me. “The point of representing clients? Settling lawsuits? It’s how issues are resolved, Eleanor.”
“Yeah, but what issues would I be resolving at Gray and Ellington, exactly? Helping a corporation pay off a mistake? Making sure an injured party receives as little money as possible?”
“Everyone deserves an attorney,” William replies. “Your job is to represent your client’s interests, not make judgments about their actions.”
“Not everyone receives an attorney with endless resources at their disposal, though,” I argue.
“So, what? You want to work for a non-profit?”
“I’m not sure what I want,” I reply truthfully. I’m not just talking about my job, but William doesn’t seem to sense that.
“I’ll support whatever you want to do,” he tells me. “But I think you’d be crazy to turn it down.”
“Noted.” I turn my gaze to the waitress approaching with our food.
Hating how uncertain I feel.
Chapter Sixteen
The following week is consumed by catching up on work at the firm and final preparations for the gala I’m hosting this weekend. It’s being held at a local museum with a hidden garden cocooned from the city that surrounds it.
I arrive at the venue in the middle of the afternoon on Saturday to oversee everything, only darting home an hour before it’s supposed to start in order to change. It’s unseasonably cool for June, but the event is being held indoors, so I slip into the silk chiffon gown I was planning to wear regardless. It’s one of the simpler gowns hanging in my closet, and it’s an intentional choice. I encourage as many of the women who have benefitted from the charity I started to attend its annual fundraiser as possible. Most of them are still struggling to escape the crushing weight of debt and uncertainty, and I know none of them have the capacity to drop a sizable sum on an expensive dress. I do spend a while on my hair and make-up. Mostly because Kat James changed her RSVP to three, rather than the two it’s been for the last five years I’ve held this event. I’m desperately hoping she’s met a new boyfriend.
He wouldn’t come, right? To an event I’m hosting? Based on our first interaction at the garage, when he threatened me with a restraining order, I’d say no chance at all.
Ryder James has always been excellent at doing things I’m not expecting, though.
When I arrive back at the museum, guests have already begun to arrive. I greet my parents, William, Paige, and some of my other friends, and then get whisked away by a member of the catering staff to approve a last-minute change to the menu. By the time that’s sorted out, the rented space is close to bursting. It’s easy to tell the difference between the beneficiaries and benefactors, but the common characteristic seems to be everyone is genuinely enjoying themselves. I catch up with a few of the women who we’ve helped in the past, and then stroll around the room. I spot my father talking with some of his colleagues by the fountain, and he gives me a rare, genuine smile.
Starting this charity as a continuation of a project I had to complete for a business class I took sophomore year seems to be one of the few ideas I came up with on my own that my parents both whole-heartedly approve of. I know it means they’ve never considered where I came up with the idea to start with.
As though I’ve conjured her with my thoughts, I see Kat James leaning against one of the high tables that’s been artfully scattered throughout the space. She sees me and gives a little wave, and I start to weave my way through the crowd to reach her. As I approach, I see she’s got a glass of what I hope is soda. Her past problems stemmed from substances far more sinister than liquor, but addiction is a slippery slope.
“Hello, Kat,” I greet. “You look nice.” She’s wearing a calf-length white dress I’m pretty sure she wore last year, but she’s let her brown hair fall to her shoulders, which I’ve learned is something she only does on occasions she deems to have some sort of significance.
Ryder’s mother grunts in response to my compliment. “Like this place better than the country club last year,” she states in her signature gruff tone.
I hide a smile. Any outside observer would probably insist Kat has never warmed to me, but I’ve caught glimpses where I’m certain the older woman thinks more of me than she did when I first knocked on her trailer door. Not that that encounter set a high bar.
“Me, too,” I reply.
She takes a sip of the amber-colored liquid that appears to be ginger ale, then shuffles around the corner of the table to give me a quick hug. “Nice to see you.”
“Nice to see you,” I echo, giving her a warm smile as she pulls back. “How have you been?”
“Pretty good lately,” she replies. Her face betrays more than the three words. In my limited observation of her, I’ve ascertained Kat doesn’t lack any maternal instincts toward her sons, just struggles to convey them, even in the absence of the harmful influences I know have affected her life.
“Yeah, I’d imagine so.”
Kat holds my gaze as we dance around the topic of Ryder. Not one of the conversations I’ve had with her or Christopher over the past seven years have included a mention of the reason we were first introduced. I’ve helped them out how I could, and they’ve let me, without any acknowledgment of the common thread between us. I know Ryder arrived at our weekend on the Cape with no idea I’d kept in touch with his family. He left with some clue, but I have no idea how much he knows now.
“Where’s Christopher?” I ask.
“Right here.”
I turn, and there he is, flashing me his usual devil-may-care smile. He’s not alone. Behind him is Ryder. And be
hind him… a smiling blonde I instantly recognize as Lily Sampson, thanks to my amateur stalking skills.
“Hey!” I shift my full attention back to Christopher, giving myself a moment to process this new development. I was partially prepared to see Ryder here. Not at all expecting to encounter him here with a date. It’s fine, you don’t care, I assure myself. Lie to myself, rather.
“This might be the best one yet,” Christopher informs me as he steps forward and gives me a hug. It’s become the expected greeting between the two of us. I view Christopher as the little brother I never had, but the weight of his arms around me feels different with the heaviness of his biological brother’s gaze on us. If Ryder didn’t know I’ve kept in touch with his brother, he definitely does now.
“That’s what I was just saying,” Kat adds.
“And I noticed no seafood this year,” Christopher continues. “Gave up on that, huh?”
Should I be concerned my own fiancé is unaware of my seafood aversion, yet Ryder’s brother knows about it?
“Sure did,” I confirm, then take a deep breath. The longer I put it off, the more awkward it will be. “Hi, Ryder.” I finally look at him.
“Elle,” he acknowledges.
“And who’s this?” I slide my gaze to Lily, hoping I sound casual and uncaring. The infallible cut of my diamond engagement ring digs into my palm.
“This is Lily.”
Lily’s still smiling, but it’s hesitant now. She knows exactly who I am. Oddly, her uncertainty provides me with some ease.
“Hi, Lily. Nice to meet you,” I say casually.
“You too, Eleanor,” she rushes to say. It’s hard to tell for certain under the dimmed lights, but I’m fairly sure she’s blushing. She acknowledged who I was before I introduced myself. Christopher raises an eyebrow, confirming he caught it, too.
There’s a pause as none of us say anything.
“This is such a fantastic cause,” Lily jumps in with. “And what a turn-out!”
“Thanks, Lily,” I say flatly. She seems kind and genuine and well-meaning, and I kind of hate her for it. “I hope we have enough food. I only had your party down as three.” I aim for a teasing tone, but based on the snort from Christopher, I fall short.
Ryder glowers at me. “Don’t be a bitch, Elle.”
Clearly, we’re dropping the pleasantries.
“It’s Eleanor,” I emphasize. “And I don’t take behavioral advice from immature assholes.”
“Oh, I’m immature? Do you even—”
“Want to dance, Elle?” Christopher interrupts Ryder, earning him his own glare.
“Yeah, sure.” I set down the flute of champagne I’ve been holding and then follow him out onto the dance floor. Christopher rests his hands on my waist, and I drape mine over his shoulders. He grins at me, and I sigh. “Was that as bad as I think it was?”
“It was pretty awkward,” Christopher replies. “But awfully entertaining.”
I scoff. “Surprised you interrupted, then.”
“Well, it’s been a while since I had a chance to piss my brother off. Guards get a little touchy about pranks.”
I ignore his casual reference to Ryder’s time in prison, unable to joke about it myself. “By keeping him from insulting me?” I say instead, nodding. “Yeah, he probably had some good ones cued up.”
Christopher rolls his eyes. “No. By dancing with you.”
“Ryder won’t care,” I inform him. “You did him a favor just now. When it comes to me, he’s totally indifferent.”
“Yeah, right.” Christopher laughs. Then he sobers. “I didn’t tell him about the scholarship, just so you know.”
“What scholarship?” I play dumb.
“Elle. Full rides to Ivy League schools don’t just fall in people’s laps. I didn’t even apply. Or write an essay about my addict mother and incarcerated brother.”
I sigh. “I just submitted a suggestion to the committee.”
“Yeah, right. I’m sure you did more than that.” I don’t deny it. “Thank you. I should have said it sooner.”
“You deserve it, Christopher.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he replies. “But we don’t always get what we deserve.” Christopher pauses again, like he’s considering something. “I won’t tell him about the scholarship. But I think you should. Let him know you care.”
I let out a dry laugh. “That’s not a good idea,” I reply.
“Because you don’t care?” Christopher suddenly sounds a lot older than nineteen.
“Because all ‘caring’ got me was a threatened restraining order.”
Christopher snorts. “He didn’t.”
“He did,” I confirm.
Christopher shakes his head. We sway in silence for a bit. “Guess congratulations are in order? You’re engaged.”
“Thanks. The ring is obnoxiously big, I know.”
He twists my left hand to inspect it. “Huh. Yeah, I guess it is.”
I narrow my eyes. “How did you know I’m engaged if you didn’t notice my ring?”
The song ends as Christopher flashes me a grin so much like his older brother’s it stings. “Mr. Indifferent told me.”
I give Ryder and his family a wide berth for the rest of the evening. It’s not hard to do; I’m probably the only person here who knows every person in attendance. I’m as involved in the charity as my busy schedule will allow, and those writing generous checks tonight are almost all friends of my parents whose children I grew up with.
“Eleanor!” I turn away from Paige’s mother, who I’ve been talking to for the last ten minutes, to see my mother beckoning me over. Dread drops in my stomach like a brick when I see who she’s talking to.
Mr. and Mrs. Hathaway.
“I guess duty calls,” I tell Paige’s mom as I force the smile that was just genuine.
She laughs and pats my arm. “Our children are never too old to be bossed around.”
“I’m sure my mother would agree with you,” I tell her. Kristen Clarke’s middle name might as well be overbearing.
“Congratulations on another successful fundraiser, Eleanor,” Paige’s mother compliments before moving on to socialize with another group. Leaving me with no other option but to heed my mother. No socially acceptable one, at least.
“Hi, Mrs. Hathaway. Mr. Hathaway,” I greet, clutching my champagne flute a little tighter as I approach Liam’s parents.
“Eleanor! So lovely to see you!” Mrs. Hathaway exclaims. Expensive bracelets jangle as she waves her arms around. “And look at this place! I was just telling your mother this is the event I’ve come to look forward to most each year.”
“High praise, considering how many we attend,” Mr. Hathaway chimes in, giving me his usual conspiratorial grin. At least he’s stopped trying to insist I call him by his first name.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hathaway,” I respond. “That’s nice to hear.”
I see my mother frown out of the corner of my eye in response to the bland tone I deliver the words in.
“It’s amazing how it’s grown every year, as well,” Mrs. Hathaway continues. “Wherever did you come up with such a fabulous idea to start with?”
“It was a project for one of her business classes at Yale,” my mother brags.
“Actually, Ryder James gave me the idea.”
Silence greets that admission. Both of the Hathaways look uncomfortable, but neither of them looks guilty. Unless they’ve recently become award-winning actors, it appears as though neither has any inkling of what Kennedy told me: that their son was actually the one who assaulted her.
“Well,” Mrs. Hathaway recovers first. “It was a good one.”
“What is Liam up to these days?” I ask, with no preamble.
“He’s still in London,” Mr. Hathaway replies. “One of my friends from business school has a start-up over there, and he asked Liam to help things get off the ground.” There’s a brief flash of emotion on his face, and I rethink my previous assessment as my intu
ition flickers. He set his only son up to leave the country?
“Does he get home much?” I press.
“We hardly see him,” Mrs. Hathaway bemoans. “We flew over for New Year’s, but I can’t recall the last time he was back home. Last summer, I think?”
“What a shame,” my mother replies. “Michael and I are lucky Eleanor stayed so close to home.” She gives me a smile than turns into a why-are-you-bringing-this-up look. She’s well aware I don’t harbor many positive feelings toward Liam Hathaway. Or any, now.
The conversation shifts to the garden club my mother and Mrs. Hathaway are both in, and I let it, excusing myself as soon as I can.
I chat with a few more people, and then make my way over to the bar. I’ve just ordered another glass of champagne when my father appears beside me.
“Looks like the evening was a success,” he tells me, appraising the crowd still remaining.
“Yup.”
“How have things been at the firm?”
“Fine.”
“I hope you’re more ebullient with the other associates,” my father remarks dryly.
I take my glass of champagne from the bartender, giving him a smile of thanks. “I got the job at Gray and Ellington.”
“Congratulations.”
I look over at him. “That’s it?”
“It’s the typical response to good news, correct?”
“I didn’t think you would consider it good news,” I reply.
Rather than confirm my statement, my father says, “Your mother told me you were rude to the Hathaways earlier.”
“I was perfectly polite.”
“Why were you asking about Liam?”
“Because Ryder James is innocent.”
My father doesn’t say anything.
“And if he’s innocent… that means someone else—” I pause, then force the ugly word out. “—raped Kennedy Jacobs.”
“I’m aware a crime must be committed by someone, Eleanor,” he replies.
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