Percy is wearing his wedding tux.
I recognize it immediately because I was the one who picked it out and suggested alterations to the tailor. His reddish-blond hair is cut shorter than it was the last time I saw him. His skin is deeply tanned from the summer. I imagine he’s spent most of it at his parents’ house in the Hamptons.
My stomach feels like it’s at sea, with a storm whipping up mile-high waves. The winds pick up when I focus on the woman beside him.
Shorter than him by a solid head, dainty in frame and face. Her strawberry-blonde hair is in a classic updo.
He’s here with Scarlett.
The last time I’d seen her, she’d been naked and wrapped around my husband.
I can’t tear my eyes away. I’m locked in place, an animal torn between fight and flight.
Percy nods at something Scarlett says, his mouth in a wide smile. Enjoying himself and enjoying her. And then, he looks up.
Our eyes meet across the room.
The floor sinks beneath my feet. It’s like the century-old marble has suddenly become unstable, fractured at the seams, and sent me into the deep.
He says something to Scarlett and leaves her with their friends. I watch from somewhere out of my body as he walks through the crowd to me.
At our wedding, he’d worn a white pocket square. It’s not there now. I stare at the pocket on his breast and avoid the familiar eyes coming closer.
“Sophia,” he says. “I didn’t think I’d see you here.”
I’ve always been half an inch taller than him in heels. It had bothered him, I know, even if he pretended it didn’t. Now, I revel in it.
I’d hate to ever look up at him again. “How could I miss it?” I say. “You know how passionate I am about protecting the arts.”
He looks over his shoulder. Not at Scarlett, but at his mother, still with her court of followers. “Right. It’s been a long time, Soph. I’ve been trying to call you.”
“Well, I think we said everything we needed with our lawyers present.”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t want it to end like that.”
No, of course not. He’d wanted to keep his marriage and his unblemished reputation intact.
Only I suspected he wanted to keep his mistress, too.
I clear my throat. “You’re here with Scarlett?”
“It’s a benefit,” he says and smiles like I’ve caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “You need to go with a date, or it’s unbearable. You’re here with someone. Isaac Winter, Soph?”
“Yes.”
His smile doesn’t falter, but there’s something tense around his eyes. “I didn’t know you two knew one another.”
“We met recently,” I say, and then I look over in the direction of the bar. Like I can’t wait for Isaac to return. I make my eyes doe-y, forcing them to sparkle so damn hard I should win an Oscar. “He’s… quite the man.”
The smile slips from Percy’s face. “He’s too old for you.”
I chuckle. “Don’t be ridiculous. What’s five years?”
“How’d you two meet?”
My mind casts about. Work. But that wouldn’t sound believable. He knows how much I care about my career, and that I wouldn’t do anything to risk it.
God knows we’d fought about it enough.
“At the club,” I say, “playing tennis.”
Percy’s eyebrows rise. “At Grandview?”
“Yes.”
“I thought the Winters preferred the Whitebridge. They’ve never had memberships at Grand.”
I chuckle. It sounds shrill, even to me. “Oh, I don’t know about that. We haven’t been dating for long, but it’s… oh. Welcome back.”
Isaac wraps an arm around my waist. I lean into it, into him—the man I’ve never shared more than a handshake with before. His body is a firm wall beside mine. “For you,” he says and hands me a glass of champagne.
I give him a warm smile. “Thank you.”
The hand at my waist tightens in response, and then he looks over at Percy. “Hello, Browne.”
“Winter,” Percy says. “It’s been years.”
“Yes it has, hasn’t it?” Isaac takes a long sip of champagne. “How have you been?”
“Good, good. Just the usual.” Percy’s eyes drift to mine. “Soph was just telling me how you two met at the club, playing tennis. I didn’t know you went to Grandview.”
Isaac shrugs. “My usual courts were being refurbished, and the Grandview’s are passable.”
“Yes,” Percy says. His jaw looks tight. “Passable indeed. The hardcourts were just refinished, and the squash courts were repainted last winter.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. I’m sure you’ve already seen it, Soph, but there’s a doubles tournament for members next weekend.” There’s a challenge in Percy’s eyes, one I recognize well. “If you two already play, you should join in.”
“Next weekend?” Isaac asks. There’s polite disdain in his tone; one like he’s making conversation because it’s expected of him, but he has no interest in the topic.
It’s glorious.
“Yes,” Percy says. “I’m playing with Scarlett. It’d be fun if you two joined in. You always liked a good contest, Soph.”
The edges of my vision turn hazy with anger. “Why not?” I say. “Isaac and I love to play. We’ll see if we can make it.”
“Great,” Percy says.
“Terrific,” I say.
“I’ll see you there.”
“Can’t wait.”
Isaac extends a hand. “Well, always a pleasure, Browne.”
His voice drips with the opposite meaning.
Percy shakes the offered hand. “Likewise, Winter… Soph.”
“Bye,” I say and lean into Isaac’s side. He supports me away from my ex-husband. Away from the situation, and through the crowd.
Perhaps people are looking. Perhaps they all are, but I can’t see anything, can’t focus on the goings-on around us.
“Oh my God. I’m sorry, Isaac, I shouldn’t have said yes. Of course, I won’t force you to do that. I’ll get us out of playing doubles, I just had to… wow.”
“You’re okay,” Isaac says quietly and pulls open a door that says Staff Only. “In here.”
We walk up a flight of old stone steps and emerge onto a small balcony, complete with lounge chairs, that overlooks the vaulted hall beneath us. It’s replete with guests, servers, and music.
I sink down onto one of the chairs. “I’m sorry,” I say again. “Don’t know what came over me, truly.”
He takes a seat opposite me and reaches for my empty champagne flute. I watch as he sets it down gingerly on the stone floor. “It’s all good.”
“It is?”
“Yes.”
I lean back in the chair and close my eyes. “He didn’t seem unbothered. Did he?”
“No,” Isaac says, “he definitely didn’t.”
“Good.” I take a deep breath, then another. “He’s here with her.”
“With who?”
“The woman I caught him with in your hotel. Scarlett.”
There’s a quiet curse from the man opposite me, so unexpected it makes me smile.
“Yes,” I say. “Exactly.”
“That’s who he’s partnering with in the tournament, too?”
“Yes.”
There’s complete silence from Isaac. And then, in sepulchral tones: “No offence to you, Bishop, but your ex-husband is a son of a bitch.”
A laugh slips out of me. “Yes. Quite literally.”
“He taunted you by saying it would be a contest. Between her and you.” Disgust drips from Isaac’s voice. “The motherfucker.”
I look up at the vaulted ceiling and the intricate designs and laugh. It’s a fight against the constriction of my tight dress. “Yes,” I say. “That, too, although not literally. Not that I know of, anyway.”
“We’re beating them at tennis.”
“We are?”
“Yes.” Isaac leans forward and brushes a hand against my thigh. Getting my attention. I look over and catch the dark eyes, now trained on me. “You play. Don’t you?”
I nod. “Yes. It’s become… well, my obsession since the divorce, after work.”
“Good. We’ll win, then.”
“You’re confident.”
“Just being a realist,” he says. “And I rarely lose.”
I smile. But then it dies, and I sigh. “I’m sorry. For implicating you in all of this, for taking up even more of your time. I know you don’t have a lot to spare.”
He looks out over the crowd. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll sell the illusion even better like this. What couple wouldn’t play together?”
“Yes, I guess we will.”
“My aunt and uncle bought it,” he says. “Seems like Percy did, too.”
“Do you think they’ll tell your parents? Or your brother?” I know what his family tree looks like. More than I should, probably, all courtesy of the well-packaged brief on the Winters I’d received from the background team at Exciteur.
“They will,” Isaac says. “I suspect my aunt is calling my mother as we speak.”
“Will that get them off your back for a bit?”
“I hope so.” He leans forward. “It’s almost midnight.”
“Oh. The carriage is about to become a pumpkin.”
“Yes.” He looks out from the balcony again, down to the patrons below. “They’ll announce the winners of the blind auction. Nothing we have to stay for.”
“You’re right.” The dress is becoming uncomfortable, restrictive. I can’t wait to take it off and sit down on the couch with a cup of tea and Milo in my lap. The damn cat who proves my sister right every time I see him because he’s far too cute for me to ever resent.
Isaac extends a hand and helps me out of the chair. “How are you feeling?”
“I feel okay,” I murmur. His hand is still around mine, and we’re close enough that the tip of his leather shoe brushes against mine. “I can’t wait to take off this dress, though. It looks great, but it feels awful.”
He doesn’t answer. No wonder, either. I’m saying too much, and none of it’s good. Tonight had been a lot. Too much champagne, and too many close calls.
I slip my hand from his. “Should we?”
“Yes,” he says and clears his throat. His voice is hoarser. “Lead the way.”
We walk down the stairs and back out into the main hall. The low, murmuring chatter and the music blend together, and where it had before been imperceptible, I now long for silence.
Isaac walks by my side. He offers me his arm, a silent gesture, and I take it. It’s steady and unfamiliar in the most exciting of ways.
The sound of friction against a mic rings out through the hall. “Sorry about that, folks. It’s finally time to announce the winners of tonight’s blind auction!” I look over to see Maurizio Madden on stage. He’s the eccentric head of the charity and organizer of this benefit, year after year. “You’ve all been most charitable indeed, let me tell you. It’s been a wonder to go through all the blind bids. Let me start off with the 1998 bottle of Château Margille, one of only twenty bottles produced in that vintage. And the winner is… Celine Browne!”
Isaac’s steps don’t falter. Neither do mine, despite the ringing in my ears. This time I notice the people looking at us as we pass.
Seeing him, and then me.
Recognizing him, and not me.
“The second item received an astonishing number of bids, which isn’t surprising because this is a special one. It’s a weekend stay for two at the legendary Marmont Manor Hotel in Connecticut this fall, complete with the executive suite and access to the spa. The winning bid is from none other than Isaac Winter!”
Applause erupts around us, and beneath my hand, Isaac’s arm tightens. But he doesn’t slow down.
“You have to accept the gift card,” I murmur.
He shakes his head. “It’s not important.”
“It wouldn’t look right not to,” I say. “You know that.”
“That’s okay.”
“I don’t mind,” I say. “Truly.”
He changes direction, a smooth shift that’s nearly imperceptible, and steers us in a circle back toward the stage. “I shouldn’t have bid at all,” he says.
“You had to,” I murmur. He knows it, and I know it. There are social expectations around these things, and with his place in this crowd, he was obligated to.
He accepts the ornately decorated envelope from Maurizio, containing one very expensive gift card. Then, he raises a practiced hand and gives a wave and a smile to the audience. I notice Celine standing nearby, her son to her right. I don’t meet Percy’s heavy gaze.
But I feel it.
“All right,” Isaac mutters beneath his breath. His free hand lands on my lower back again. “Let’s go. Finally.”
Everyone’s still watching us. Their eyes feel like a weighted blanket on my skin, and I feel reckless, a little drunk, and too emotional.
So I lean against Isaac and look up at him, my eyes sparkling again. And I let a slow smile spread across my face. “Yes, please,” I whisper. “I’d like that.”
His eyes dip briefly to my lips before he raises an eyebrow. “Well played, Bishop.”
“Thanks. I’m one of the most useful pieces on the chessboard, after all.”
“Are you?” He bends to rest his lips against my ear, playing the part I’ve cast him in. “And do you think you’ve checkmated your king?”
I close my eyes, shutting out the too-curious gazes of the crowd. “Not yet,” I whisper, “but I have him in check.”
He chuckles, a warm exhale of breath against my skin. I shiver. “Yes, and I bet he knows it very well.” His cheek brushes against mine as he pulls back, stubble pleasantly rough, and then he’s straight again. “Let’s go.”
We walk out of the hall and emerge back into the warm, late summer air of the city, his hand staying on my lower back the entire time. Caught between longing for the safety of my own apartment, and the desire to stay close to this man for as long as I can, I don’t realize the full meaning of his words until much later that night.
Who was the king in that analogy, really?
Which man do I have in check?
