rusty chain-link fence behind my junior high school, alone, watching the popular girls play basketball. This time, I spoke up. “See?” I said. “My husband’s right there. Ethan Kensington.”
She looked at me with scrutinizing eyes, as if it were a good possibility I only wanted to score free champagne and all-you-can-eat stuffed mushrooms and crudités. “Listen,” she said, “I can’t let you inside if you don’t have an invitation.”
My heart lightened when I saw Ethan turn toward the entrance. He’d bound through the doors, and I’d run to him. I’d take his cheeks in my hands and tell him I was ready to end this war. Ready to try again. He set an empty champagne flute down on a waiter’s tray and selected two more. He smiled as he walked toward the foyer. I waved. But then my heart sank when a woman walked toward him and kissed him on the cheek. He handed her the second glass of champagne. I was so close, I could see the fizzy bubbles in the glass. It took a second before I realized who she was, and then it hit me like an arrow to the heart.
Cassandra.
I shuddered, watching them together. They smiled. They laughed. She placed her hand on his arm flirtatiously. Part of me wanted to charge through the doors and tear her hand off of my husband’s sleeve. Instead, I reached into my bag and fished out my cell phone. I dialed Ethan’s number, and held the phone to my ear. A moment later, I watched through the doors as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He glanced at the screen, said something to Cassandra, and walked a few steps toward the door. I slunk back, worried he would see me through the glass.
“Claire?” His voice sounded distant, foreign over the phone line, even though he stood mere feet from me. “Is everything all right?”
I felt too numb to answer. I thought about all the things I wanted to say to the man I loved, all the things I had rehearsed on the cab ride over. But when presented with the opportunity, I could only stare at my scuffed shoes.
“Claire, are you still there?”
“I’m here,” I said, my voice cracking. I bit my lip.
“You don’t sound well, honey,” he said. “Listen, why don’t I come home? I’m just at a work function. I can cut out early.”
I peered through the window and watched Cassandra pop an hors d’oeuvre into his mouth. She grinned at him, and helped herself to another on a nearby tray.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m eating on the fly tonight.”
“Right,” I said, pulling myself together. “Never mind. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I have to go.”
I watched as Ethan walked back to Cassandra’s side. She spoke, her face animated, and he laughed, before they meandered deeper into the crowd.
“Excuse me,” the woman with the clipboard said in a voice that was both syrupy sweet and exceedingly annoyed. “We really have to keep this entrance free to invited guests.”
“Yes,” I said, with no attempt to try to mask the defeat in my voice. “I was just leaving.”
Chapter 13
VERA
Sitting at the table with Lon was painful. Not because of the pressure of the corset binding my waist or the heat of his gaze, like fire, on my chest. No, it was seeing the faces of the people I’d worked with, the faces of disappointment. Lou, the old jolly doorman, once a father figure to me, looked away as I walked in on Lon’s arm. Two maids whom I’d counted as friends, Jenny and Vivien, gave me sour looks in the lobby before turning back to the sconces they were dusting. I didn’t blame them for feeling betrayed. Primped and pressed in clothes that didn’t belong to me, I stood for everything we all detested about the upper class and their penchant for taking what they wanted. But I couldn’t worry about that now. I felt a lump in my throat and closed my eyes, long enough to see Daniel’s face, his soft cheeks, those blond silky curls hanging over his blue eyes. He always waited there in the dark quiet of my mind.
“What’s the sad look for, dollface?” Lon asked before prying open a crab leg with his teeth. A drip of butter rolled off his chin. “Why don’t you eat?” he said, pointing to the decadence laid out on the table.
The tears were coming. I couldn’t stop them now. “I’m sorry, Mr.—I mean, Lon,” I said. “It’s