complaints about the way Alicio did business, and he was particularly hard on Sasha. He’d never liked her—even less so when she and Alicio had become engaged.
And I’d always defended her.
“What if I didn’t listen to him?” I asked Paige, fear creeping into my voice.
Paige grimaced. “You did have Sasha-shaped stars in your eyes those first few months. But, Dani, this is Alex we’re talking about. You cared about him. You would have listened.”
I shook my head, forcing out the sympathy that had slowly been creeping into my brain. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter if I would or wouldn’t have listened. He could have done a thousand different things to let me know he was leaving. Even if he thought my loyalties were to LeFranc, I didn’t deserve to be cut off.”
I thought of all the texts and emails I’d sent him in those first weeks after he’d left. Ranging from curious, to a little more desperate, to downright distraught and worried. A surge of embarrassment coursed through my veins.
“He doesn’t get a pass on this,” I said, with an air of finality. “I’m glad he apologized. Maybe it’ll help him get some closure, but it doesn’t change anything.”
“Fine,” Paige said, with a defiant fist pound onto the back of the sofa.
“Fine,” I echoed.
She grinned. “Do you feel better?”
I wasn’t quite ready to smile back, but I did breathe out an audible sigh. “Maybe a little.”
“Good. Can we sort of change the subject?” Paige asked. “Also, are you hungry? I’m hungry.”
“I’m starving. I was too nervous to really eat my dinner.”
Paige stood and started rummaging through the kitchen—rather, the tiny counter behind our tiny living room where we kept our food. She returned to the couch with a loaf of French bread, a block of Wensleydale cranberry cheese, a bowl of strawberries, and a knife wedged between her teeth.
“Bless you, woman,” I said, reaching for a strawberry. She unloaded the impromptu meal onto the coffee table, but before sitting down, returned to the kitchen, this time retrieving a pint of Talenti gelato from the freezer, and a couple of spoons from the drawer. The girl had a killer metabolism, which I probably should have found annoying, what with my own petite and curvy frame. I loved it though. She wasn’t quite tall enough to actually be a runway model, but she was still lean and lanky and was perfect for when I wanted to make something for a normal-sized human, as opposed to the miniaturized clothes I made for my own not-quite-five-foot-three self.
“What are we changing the subject to?” I asked, reaching for an offered spoon.
“Right, yes,” Paige said, settling back down on the couch. “Why on earth did Isaac need to hire a business manager?”
“I know!” I said. “Weird, right?”
“And someone like Alex. He’s so business-y. And Isaac is so . . . Isaac.”
“Seriously. They’re so different. It seems like such a weird combination. Alex made it seem like Isaac was ready to diversify and do something more profound with his money. So that’s why he brought him on.”
“How much money are we talking, here?” Paige asked. “Is he really that successful?”
“I have no idea. I mean, he bought a house, so that’s something, I guess.”
“What kind of house?”
“I don’t know, but . . .” I reached for my phone. “He sent Mom the address the other day in a group text. I guess I can google the address.”
Paige looked over my shoulder. “Uh, he bought a house on Church Street?” she asked, as soon as I pulled up the text. “I bet it’s historical.”
I copied the address into Google. A listing on one of those “value your home” websites pulled up. I quickly scanned the information.
Isaac hadn’t just bought a house. He’d bought an early 19th century Single House in the heart of the Charleston peninsula.
“Built in 1804,” Paige read over my shoulder.
I swallowed. “And worth more than two million dollars.”
I swiped through the photos of the home, likely the ones that had accompanied the last real estate listing.
I gasped at the next photo that filled my screen. “Paige! Look at this garden!” I turned my phone around so she could see. Brick walkways, Carolina Jasmine curling around a wrought iron fence. Flowers everywhere.
Charleston city ordinances required historical homes to stay historical, keeping the outside looking just like it would have when it was originally built. It gave the city an old-world feel that my entire family had always loved. Cobblestone streets, gas lamps, and beautiful