The car moves slowly through the New York traffic. To the left is the darkness of Central Park, and to the right, we pass building after building. I know which one is coming. Isaac is silent beside me, the car soft with the absence of sound. It’s not a heavy silence.
Ah. Here it is. Gray stone, silver sign, and the familiar green carpet. I turn my head as we pass to watch the building recede behind us. My old home.
And on the thirteenth floor is the apartment I’d moved into, so terribly in love, years ago. Our place. Except, of course, that it had been owned by Percy’s parents. It was never ours, and certainly not mine.
Never was.
I take a deep breath. Isaac has assured me that Percy and Scarlett won’t be at his parents’ tonight, and I’m not worried. But it will be a similar environment, and with some of the same people, as the parties Percy and I had once attended together.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Isaac says. His voice is steady. It’s an observation and a question, not an admonishment. He’s wearing a navy suit tonight, and beneath his dark hair, his eyes meet mine. I focus on them instead of the city passing us by outside.
“I’m just thinking.”
“About anything in particular?”
“Well, I told Jenna and Toby today.”
He raises an eyebrow. “About us?”
“Yes,” I say. Us. The word makes me want to smile. “I thought it might have been too early, but with the work we’ll be doing, I’d hate for them to accidentally find out.”
“Of course,” he says. “Better to control the narrative. What did you tell them?”
“That we’re attracted to one another and have decided to date, but that the business deal is still our main priority.”
His lips tip up in a half smile. “Good.”
“Honestly, they were much less surprised than I expected,” I say. They’d been stoked. They know about my divorce, and that the circumstances around it hadn’t been… ideal. Get back out there, Jenna had said. “Apparently Toby’s fiancé Quentin was once his superior at Exciteur. I had no idea!”
“Workplace romances,” Isaac says, “are much more common than you’d think.”
“This is my first one.”
His eyes warm. “Yeah, I’ve never been in one, either.”
“Really?”
“No,” he says, “unless you count one summer when I worked in the hotel reception after graduating high school.”
My eyes widen. “Did you have a torrid affair with your boss?”
“I did not,” he says, “but I did have a summer flirt with a receptionist a few years older than me.”
“Oh, you’re into older women.”
He shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “Sophia.”
“Too bad I’m not much of a cougar.”
“Maybe not,” he says, “but you have the attitude of one.”
“I do?”
“Definitely. It’s what attracted me from the get-go.”
I chuckle. “Right, when I was running and crying. My fiercest moment, for sure.”
“You were beautiful,” he says, “even if it didn’t feel right to think that at the time, given your emotions.”
I roll my eyes. “Now you’re just flattering me.”
“I did think it.” He reaches over and takes my hand, resting it in my lap. My dress is patterned chiffon in burgundy hues, perfect for fall. “It’s not every day stunning women run into me headfirst.”
“With tears streaming down their face,” I say.
“No, that happens even less.” His hand tightens around mine. “Once is enough.”
The car finally pulls to a stop outside a townhouse on a tree-lined street on the Upper East Side. The house in question is larger than most on the street. It must have been two originally, now converted and integrated, and from the half-open door, I can hear music.
The Winters’ annual fall party, apparently, is not so much an intimate gathering as an exclusive catered event.
“They do this every fall?”
“Every last week of September, like clockwork,” he murmurs. “It’s the end of summer and back to the city party. The fireplaces will probably be lit.”
“That sounds cozy.”
“It is,” he agrees and rests a hand on my lower back. He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Thank you for coming with me.”
“Anytime,” I murmur and find that I mean it.
An attendant, equipped with an earpiece and a clipboard, opens the door to us with a smile. No names needed.
The inside is a study in old money luxury. The foyer is beautifully decorated and minimalist, from the wooden double staircases to the antique brass chandelier, and infused with understated elegance. It wouldn’t surprise me if the stone tiles were sourced from France, the chandelier from Italy, the staircase railings from a crumbling castle in Spain.
“This house,” I say, “is stunning.”
“It’s my mother’s pride and joy,” Isaac says. “Come, let me introduce you to some people.”
“I thought your networking philosophy was to let people come to you?”
He chuckles. “Yes, but I won’t be networking so much here as socializing. There’s a difference.”
“You’re on home turf tonight?”
“Exactly. I have the advantage here.” He leads us through a large sitting room, past people who nod and watch us politely. Soft music plays throughout the beautiful rooms, and there’s a delicious scent of good food mingled with crackling wood and scented candles hanging in the air.
Isaac and I end up in the ivy-covered backyard. Greenery and high walls keep out any curious eyes. Two infrared heaters keep the beautifully landscaped area warm enough for guests, but they don’t have to work too hard with the amount of people out here warming it up.
“This is incredible,” I say, awe in my voice. “I can’t believe places like this exist in the city.”
“Say that to my mom later and she’ll love you forever.”
I chuckle. “Did you grow up in this house?”
“Yes, mostly. We stayed at the hotel sometimes, but it was rare. Summers were—oh.”
A couple approaches us. My smile freezes in place, switches from genuine to professional.
“St. Clair,” Isaac says with a nod. “And Cecilia, it’s always a pleasure to see you.”
“But not me?” Victor says. He does it straight-faced, but there’s a hint of humor in his eyes. I’ve never been this close to him before. His leadership at Exciteur is stern but hands-off, and he prefers his orders to come filtered through his COO.
And from what I’ve heard, that’s probably for the best.
He’s also the man who assigned Isaac’s case to my team with the instructions special friend of the CEO.
Around my glass of champagne, my hand turns clammy.
“You remember Sophia?” Isaac says. “You met briefly at Anthony’s house out in Montauk in August.”
Cecilia’s eyes are warm on mine. “Yes, that’s right. It’s lovely to meet you again.”
Victor extends a hand. There’s no spark of recognition in his eyes. They’re guarded, intelligent. Unreadable. “A pleasure to meet you again,” he says. The words are similar to his wife’s, but spoken with a lot less feeling.
My stomach sinks. He doesn’t recognize me. Not from the brief hello at the party, and not from Exciteur.
“Thank you,” I say. “It’s Sophia Bishop.”
Maybe he knows the name.
But he just nods. Takes a sip of his drink and glances out at the rest of the guests. Cecilia makes a comment about the decorations, and Isaac responds, all while I realize that my boss’s boss doesn’t know who I am. All he knows is that I’m Isaac Winter’s date.
Maybe all he’d done was told the COO to give the Winter project to the best team they had, and she’d chosen mine. Still flattering.
But it’s humbling, all the same.
Cecilia takes a step closer to me. “So, I’d love to hear how you and Isaac met,” she says.
I chuckle. “Well, that’s a funny story. It was about a year ago, but we didn’t start dating until recently. I… well, I used to be married.”
I tell her the gory parts and leave out the Exciteur ones. The night spins onwards in a tangle of polite conversation and genuine connection. It doesn’t take long until we’re joined by others, names and faces I recognize from Montauk. Anthony’s business partners and their wives are there, too. They talk in comfortable tones about the upcoming holidays, about trips, and companies, and kids.
They’re as welcoming as they had been at the last party.
Anthony and Summer sit down beside us in the backyard. “We finally got away from Aunt Kelly,” Anthony says and runs a hand along his jaw. It’s a move so similar to Isaac that it makes me smile. “She wanted a beat by beat update about Theo’s growth.”
“We should invite her and John over for dinner one of these days,” Summer says. “Maybe along with your parents. She can inspect him thoroughly herself.”
Anthony nods, but he doesn’t look thrilled at the prospect. Isaac’s lips twitch. From what he’s told me, his brother’s not exactly the extroverted kind.
“Oh yes, spend time with extended family,” Tristan says dryly. “The worst thing in the world.”
Anthony shakes his head. “Yeah, it is, when they won’t stop asking if and when we’ll have another kid.”
“They’re not that bad,” Summer says with a smile. Her blonde hair has a beautiful sheen beneath the string lights threaded over the backyard. “They’re just so in love with Theo.”
“Well, he’s easy to love,” Isaac says. Does he want kids of his own? It’s not something we’ve spoken about.
“So, how do you two feel now?” one of the men asks Summer and Anthony. He’s auburn-haired, a teasing grin on his face. “Your son might get some competition in inheriting the family business if Isaac’s game holds up.”
Chuckles erupt around us, some heartier than others. I smile, too. It’s expected of me. After all, they’re implying that Isaac and I might have kids. If his game holds up.
“If it does,” Anthony says, “Theo will just have to battle it out the old way with a potential cousin.”
“A duel to the death?” Victor says.
“A high-stakes staring contest?” Freddie suggests.
That makes me chuckle. I can see them, Isaac and Anthony, having an argument that involves very few words but a lot of angry looks.
“I think,” Audrey says, “it would be better for the two of you to have it out with one another, rather than the kids.”
“Oh, Anthony and I never argue,” Isaac says.
His brother nods sagely. “We never have.”
“Not a single time.”
“Never.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” I say, smiling. “But isn’t the traditional way to pitch the current head of the company? Like Isaac did?”
Anthony’s eyebrows rise. “Yes, that’s true. Our aunt started the tradition.”
“Which means you’ll have to decide one day,” I say to Isaac.
He nods, eyes warm on mine. You remembered, they say. The conversation sends a shiver down my spine. The others think we’re likely to have kids together?
Audrey sits down beside me, a friendly smile on her face. “It’s so nice to see you again,” she says, and the conversation draws me away from my thoughts and into topics of print media and working with your partner. It’s something she’s done, too, apparently. Maybe Isaac had been right, and office romances are much more common than I think.
It doesn’t take long for the group to disperse. There are others to talk to, and homes to return to, and kids to look after.
Isaac and I walk back into the house. “He really doesn’t recognize me,” I say.
“St. Clair?”
I nod.
“No,” Isaac says softly. “Do you want him to?”
“Well, I’ll admit that it’s somewhat of a blow to my ego. You know, I thought he assigned your project to me and my team specifically.”
“Oh.”
“But it’s good that he doesn’t, in a way. Postpones the whole ‘you’re dating your client’ conversation…”
Isaac laughs. “Sophia, Victor married his personal assistant.”
I pause, right there in the hallway, surrounded by beautifully framed black and white portraits. “He did what?”
“Cecilia was his assistant at Exciteur. She was a damn good one, too, from what I’ve heard. Now she runs her own virtual assistant firm.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s…”
“Yes,” Isaac says, voice quiet. “I know. I think things were rocky in the beginning, but they’re a solid couple now. If two people are genuinely meant to be, those logistical problems fall to the wayside.”
Yes, I think. But there might be a lot of carnage along the way.
We stop to talk to his parents, Amelia and John Winter. Isaac’s mother looks dignified, with a dark red lip and her hair swept up in a French twist.
Her eyes crease with a wide smile. “Hello, you two. I’m sorry I haven’t said hello to you yet.”
“That’s all right, Mother,” Isaac says and leans in to kiss her on the cheek. “You’ve been busy.”
“Well, that’s certainly true. Hosting is never quite as fun as going to a party, is it? Sophia, it’s so lovely to see you again. You’re always welcome in this house.”
I squeeze the hand holding mine. “Thank you,” I tell her honestly. “That’s very kind of you.”
“That’s what family does,” she says, and her eyes burn a little brighter.
I swallow. “Thank you.”
Amelia and her husband are higher on the ladder than the Brownes. They also seem considerably nicer, from the brief interactions I’ve had with them, but outward politeness is common in these circles. It’s a currency, a commodity, and it often masks very different feelings.
I’m not ready for new and demanding in-laws.
“Sophia has put together a brilliant prototype for a coffee table book about the Winter Hotel,” Isaac says and puts a hand on my lower back. “It was her idea, too. We could fill it with iconic pictures and stories about guests or parties.”
Amelia puts her hands together. “That is a wonderful idea! Oh, I’d love to lend a hand, dear. I don’t know if my son has told you, but I’ve written a little something about the family, and there are a ton of stories about how the hotel was founded.”
“He has,” I say.
She reaches out and puts a hand on my forearm. “Would you like to come over one day? We can have a drink and talk things over. I can give you material for it.”
My smile turns strained. “Thank you for the generous offer, but I’m actually working on it as a project for the Winter Corporation.”
“Yes,” she says, “I gathered that.”
“What she means,” Isaac says dryly, “is that it’s a job. She’s paid for it through Exciteur Consulting.”
Amelia drops her hand. “Oh,” she says. “Silly of me, of course. That’s such a modern way to do it.”
I give a dutiful chuckle. “Yes. But I would be happy to meet with you, of course, if Exciteur is hired to put together the official coffee table book. I imagine you have a ton of great stories.”
“Yes, I daresay I do. So, tell me more about your job. What do you do?” There’s patient politeness on her face, and smile that looks genuine. I don’t know if I trust it quite yet. But I do what she asks, telling her about what Isaac and I are working on together.
It’s almost an hour later when Isaac and I are back on our own, walking through the main sitting room. It’s a beautifully thrown party on all counts: music, decor, food, and ambiance. An invitation to this party must be one of the milestones of having made it in New York society.
Isaac bends closer, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear. “How are you doing?”
“Great. I’d love another glass of wine.”
“You sure?”
“Why?” I ask. “Do you think I’ve had too much to drink?”
He chuckles. “No. But you’ve been… a bit quiet.”
“It’s nothing,” I say. “There are just a lot of people, and I want to be on my A-game.”
“You are,” he says. “Mingling is a breeze with you beside me.”
“Flatterer.”
He smiles and brushes back my hair, notching it behind my ear. “It’s the truth.”
“You don’t often bring dates to parties?”
“Sometimes,” he says, “but it’s rare. It’s usually more work than it’s worth.”
“That might sound harsh to others, but honestly? I can understand that completely.”
“I’ve been alone for a great many years,” he says and gently tips my head back. “It always worked well for me. But I’m starting to think that’s just because I hadn’t met you yet.”
My mouth opens. “Isaac…”
He smiles a little, like he knows he’s said too much, and kisses me. Warm lips against mine, right there in his parents’ house, surrounded by people who know him well, who all know who he is and what he represents.
He tastes like wine and coming home. I want us to be alone, just him and me, in my apartment or on his couch.
There’s a teasing look in his eyes when he finally pulls away. “Feeling ready to leave?”
“I could leave, but I know you have people to talk to.”
He shrugs. “That’s the good thing about this party. It happens once every year, like clockwork.”
“Then let’s go, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
My eye catches sight of a group of people behind him. There’s a woman staring at us. Her near-black hair is pulled into a low bun, and she has an impressive necklace around her neck. Even from here, I can see the shine of emeralds.
“Well,” I murmur, “I think there are a few more people who want to say hello to you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t mind leaving them disappointed.”
That makes me laugh. “Yes, but they might not give us a choice. Incoming, behind you.”
He turns to see the dark-haired woman striding our way. She’s our age, I’d venture, or perhaps a few years younger. Next to her walks a suit-clad man at least thirty years her elder.
“Isaac,” the man says and extends a meaty hand. “I haven’t had a chance to say hello yet.”
“Always a pleasure,” Isaac says and shakes the man’s hand. “Did the two of you just arrive?”
“No, no, we’ve been here a while,” he says and turns a reedy smile at the woman beside him. He must be in his late sixties. “But you know how Amelia’s parties are. Packed with too many brilliant people. Last year, I barely made it out of the dining room!”
The woman is watching me rather than Isaac, and there’s a glint of speculation in her eyes. I keep my gaze steady on hers. One of his exes?
“My mother is one hell of a hostess,” Isaac agrees. His hand drifts to my lower back, a barely-there touch, but a signal all the same. “I’m afraid we were on our way out.”
“Trying to escape?” the woman says with a smile. “Go, then. It was nice to see you both. And I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name?”
“Sophia,” I say and extend a hand.
“Delighted,” she says. “I’m Beverly. My husband and I have been to a lot of Winter parties, or so I’d like to think, but I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
“No, you’re new,” the man says. His eyes have narrowed into slits with the force of his smile, his cheeks red. “I would have remembered you.”
“Sophia and I have just recently started dating,” Isaac says. His words are matter-of-fact, the way they always are, but there’s a faint undercurrent of steel.
“Oh, how lovely!” Beverly says.
“Hope to see you again,” her husband says. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”
Isaac turns his back on them, steering us toward the foyer, and we finally emerge into the cool New York air.
“Beverly,” I say. “That was Beverly?”
Isaac’s voice is tight. “Yes. I’m sorry, Sophia, I didn’t know she’d be there.”
“That was your old…” The crassest of terms comes to my tongue, hovering right at the tip, before I remember that there are still guests milling around. Isaac’s steps are quick, and I follow him away from the house, beneath the trees that stand like sentinels along the street.
“Yes,” he says. “I told you about her.”
“She married that man?”
“Arthur, yes. He plays golf with my father.”
An icy cold hand grips my spine, and I come to an abrupt stop. “When did they get married?”
“Almost a decade ago now, I believe.”
My stomach turns. It’s the flip you experience on a roller coaster, that shift when gravity drops out beneath you, but you haven’t started to fall yet.
But you know it’s coming.
“Please tell me it’s not what I think it is.”
His brow furrows, his face turning tight. “Fuck, I wish I could. Sophia, wait, let me explain—”
“No.”
I don’t want to hear it. Not while I’m free-falling, imagining Isaac, the Isaac I know, doing that with her. Sneaking away in hotel rooms and helping her break her marriage vows. He had an affair with a married woman.
They all have affairs here.
Infidelity is like a drug for the incestuous, status-obsessed, insular New York upper class. Is wealth so boring, then, that you take to ending marriages just to keep life interesting?
“Sophia, their situation isn’t anything like yours,” he says. There’s urgency in his deep voice now. “It’s not the same.”
“Oh, really?” My heels tap sharply with every furious step. “They don’t wear wedding bands on their ring fingers?”
“They do,” he says. “Sophia, I wanted to tell you.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t, and that mistake is on me.”
“As is fucking a married woman!” I say. The fury burns through my veins, my atoms, into my very soul. It feels like I’ve been slapped, a betrayal, yet again.
Cheating is everywhere in this world.
Everywhere.
“Sophia,” he says. “I will tell you anything you want to know. Their marriage isn’t a true partnership, it’s not a—”
“Excuses,” I say. “How could you?”
He’s quiet, and in the charged silence, I hear the sound of us breaking. Fracturing right down the middle, as clearly as if the sidewalk had opened up between us and turned into a gaping chasm.
“It’s not something I’m proud of,” he says quietly. “Sweetheart, this doesn’t change a single thing about us or how I feel about you.”
No. I can’t handle that endearment, not right now. “There’s a reason I didn’t want to date Upper East Side men,” I say. “There’s a reason I was done, and damn you for making me reconsider. Damn you for doing this. Not you. It wasn’t supposed to be you, too!”
He stands there, gilded beneath the streetlamp. Pain is etched into the planes of his face. “Let me take you home,” he says.
“No.” This conversation won’t get us anywhere. My hands shake, and I don’t know if it’s the cold or the anger. Both. Neither. Maybe I’m just that close to exploding, to fleeing New York, never to return.
“Sophia, let me drop you off back home.”
“I can take a cab.”
“It’s not as safe—”
“It is safe,” I tell him, and yank my arm away. My words feel like they’re laced with venom, and I know I need to get away, right now, or I’m going to start crying. “Thousands of people take cabs every damn day. I know how to take care of myself.”
“Okay,” he says. “Then, at least let me know when you’re home.”
I shake my head. Everything inside me is vibrating like I’m a bell that’s been struck. He slept with a married woman. He goes to parties with her and her husband. He acts like nothing’s out of the ordinary.
“I don’t think I will,” I say.
He drops his hand. “Please let me call you in a few days.”
I step off the curb. There’s a taxi approaching. They must have been tipped off about the large party here, or they’re just constantly in motion, having dropped off guests.
I flag it down.
“Sophia,” he says. “Please.”
“I thought you were nothing like Percy,” I say.
For a long moment, we look at each other. His eyes reflect the way I feel inside, but I’m the one who’s furious, I’m the one who’s hurt. And damn him, I think, for looking like I’m breaking his heart when he’s the one breaking mine.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I should’ve told you.”
I slam the cab door behind me.
