Look - Zan Romanoff Page 0,57

pulled up. Handed over the keys.”

Cass drives quietly for a while.

“I just kept thinking about the guy who opened the door for me. What I looked like to him. What he imagined or even just, you know, assumed about me. If he could tell I wasn’t rich like Ryan, or if he couldn’t. If I was blending in, and if I even wanted to.”

Lulu has had plenty of these thoughts herself. “He probably didn’t think about you at all,” she says.

“Probably not,” Cass agrees. “But it was still—I—it was the first time I understood that other people were going to see me and assume things about what I had, what I was like, that weren’t true. And there was nothing I could do about it. It’s obviously not the worst thing in the world. But it is weird.”

“People tell me all the time my life’s not normal,” Lulu says. “But no one has ever told me what normal actually is.”

“Well, off the top of my head, normal definitely isn’t knowing a half dozen people whose family names are on buildings,” Cass says. “And normal isn’t how everyone knows everyone, how you’re all always talking about how we met through JTD, The Center, Marlborough, Lowell, that summer program in Cambridge, and like, I don’t even know if you mean the Cambridge in Boston or the one in Europe. It’s like your entire childhood was a very successful networking enterprise.”

“I guess what I wonder is: Isn’t it a type of normal? If it’s what’s normal for me?”

Cass doesn’t answer. She pulls the car up to a curb. A lush stand of low palms and tall cacti form a hedge that hides the entrance to what must be Ryan’s house.

Cass undoes her seat belt. She looks pale. “You don’t have to come in,” she says.

“Don’t be dumb,” Lulu says. “Of course I’m coming.”

* * *

There’s no bell on the gate to Ryan’s house—not even a keypad. Over their heads, an orb regards them with dark, glassy silence.

Lulu looks up at it. “Hello?” she says.

“I think it alerts someone when there’s movement,” Cass says. She fidgets. Lulu wants to put an arm around her, but she doesn’t. Who knows who’s watching.

An intercom buzzes to life. Lulu can’t even see where the sound is coming from.

“Yes?” a woman’s voice says.

Cass says, “Hi, I’m—we’re—um—we’re here to see Ryan?”

“What’s your name, please?”

“Cass. Cassandra Velloro.”

Cass nudges Lulu.

“Lulu Shapiro,” Lulu says.

Silence.

There’s another long pause, and then a faint clicking sound. Cass reaches out and pushes the gate, and it swings open. Involuntarily, Lulu takes a step back.

Then she makes herself step forward again. She can’t wimp out on Cass now.

A tiny Central American woman opens the front door and stands aside to let Lulu and Cass pass.

“Hi,” Cass says to her. “I’m here—”

“Arsema, I’ve got it,” Ryan calls.

The woman slips away, dismissed.

Ryan stands in front of them in the hallway. He’s wearing jeans and a button-down and a watch Lulu’s never seen on him before. It looks heavy and expensive. His face is impassive.

“Cass, what?” he asks.

“Cass what,” she repeats. “Are you kidding me?”

“Are you interrupting Christmas lunch?” Ryan gestures behind him, and Lulu sees: the front foyer opens onto a palatial living room that, in turn, spills onto the back deck, the lawn glowing green and the pool shimmering aqua behind it.

The Riggs family is sitting at a long table on the deck. A Christmas tree is stationed at either end—Lulu would bet money they’re honest-to-god firs—dripping in crystal ornaments that catch and refract light, dappling everyone in rainbows. There’s wine in every cup and a delicate salad on their plates. It looks like a lifestyle shoot for someone’s Instagram. Lulu doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything less cozy or intimate, or more icily, professionally beautiful.

“Ryan,” Roman Sr. calls from the table. “Who’s there?”

Lulu looks at Cass. Cass is still looking at Ryan.

“We can leave,” Cass says, quiet, to Ryan. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and look. You’re fine.”

She turns, but Ryan reaches out and grabs her arm. “Don’t go,” he says. “We can talk. Upstairs.”

Cass looks down at his hand on her wrist. “Okay,” she says.

Ryan lets her go. He steps in close and wraps her in a hug.

It’s Lulu’s turn to look away.

Someone gets up from the table and makes his way to Lulu. As soon as he’s close enough, she recognizes him: Flash makes good use of Roman Jr.’s looks in their ads. He has Ryan’s handsome, striking features, but they’re