HAPPILY EVER AFTER

MELANIE MARTINS

BOOKS THREE AND FOUR

CONTENTS

1.  Chapter 1

2.  Chapter 2

3.  Chapter 3

4.  Chapter 4

5.  Chapter 5

6.  Chapter 6

7.  Chapter 7

8.  Chapter 8

9.  Chapter 9

10.  Chapter 10

11.  Chapter 11

12.  Chapter 12

13.  Chapter 1

14.  Chapter 2

15.  Chapter 3

16.  Chapter 4

17.  Chapter 5

18.  Chapter 6

19.  Chapter 7

20.  Chapter 8

21.  Chapter 9

Acknowledgments

About the Author

HAPPILY EVER AFTER

MELANIE MARTINS

BOOK THREE

Melanie Martins, LLC

www.blossominwinter.com

Copyright © Melanie Martins 2022

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrial system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of its publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar conditions being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

First published in the United States by Melanie Martins, LLC in 2022.

ISBN (ebook) 979-8-9852380-6-8

ISBN (paperback) 979-8-9852380-2-0

CHAPTER 1

Manhattan, January 6, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

“This has to be, by far, the weirdest thing we’ve ever done.”

Alex is shuffling through papers, dressed in a perfectly tailored, slate gray suit, looking like the powerful, unforgiving man that he is. Except, instead of interviewing for his hedge fund or cutting a multimillion-dollar deal, he’s here with me today to interview women for love.

Obviously not for himself. For Emma.

Aspen had been a warm and wonderful trip and brought my husband and me closer than ever, but some dark things had happened thanks to Margaret, and somehow Emma had gotten dragged into the drama without even being anywhere near there.

Since my last phone call with Emma ended on such a bad note, and we hadn’t spoken to each other since, I didn’t even bother telling her I was back in town. I imagine she must still be somewhat mad at me, but I’m hopeful soon enough this whole mess will be solved and far behind us.

Weirdly enough, Alex is the least entangled in this whole thing, and yet he is just as involved as I am to find a solution.

Looking at him, I realize how he has made an incredible change in the type of husband and man he is, which is exactly why he’s here helping me today. His mother has threatened to expose Emma and Yara’s affair to Elliot herself if they don’t break up, and even though I’m almost positive that she is just bluffing, she’ll most certainly punish me and release my sex tape with Alex in Aspen before doing anything to tarnish her precious daughter’s reputation. After the polemic cases against him last year, we had finally gotten out of the news and weren’t being harassed by the paparazzi anymore. I definitely didn’t want to start it up again.

So here we are, trying to find the perfect woman for Emma to replace Yara. Emma is longing for love, even if she doesn’t say so, and she will never get it from Yara. If we can find a suitable partner that will truly love her, I’m sure she’ll leave Yara in the dust.

Plus, who doesn’t dream about setting their friend up with an amazing date?

“It’s not that weird,” I tell Alex, pulling my pencil skirt down as I sit beside him. We’d decided to do the interviews at the art gallery. After all, the press hadn’t been too interested in it since it was still closed for the holidays, so we’d assumed our romantic interviews would have a better chance of going unnoticed here.

Alex gives me a withering look, and a shiver runs through me. When he’s dressed like this, he seems almost dangerous. It’s pretty hot, honestly. “I’m not even sure why I’m here. I don’t think I’m the best judge for picking out a woman for your best friend, Petra.”

“You offered to come!” I counter.

“Because if I didn’t, you’d have chosen three hundred girls to interview, and we wouldn’t see you for a week. You needed me to thin the herd, my indecisive wife.”

“Fair enough. Still, I appreciate you.” I lean a bit towards him and kiss his cheek, and I see him try to fight off a smile and fail.

We’d narrowed it down to ten women, from professional athletes to the front women of up-and-coming alternative rock bands and from fashion stylists to business owners; I was just hoping we’d find the diamond in the rough among all of them. Even though Emma doesn’t know anything about our little interview, I know her standards aren’t so much about looks or career, but more about attitude and how someone carries themselves. My best friend loves travelers, free thinkers, people who buck the norms of society. But they also have to be independently wealthy, because, for someone looking to climb the social ladder by sleeping around, Emma would be the perfect target. After all, she’s beautiful, young, publicly single, and from old money. And I’m pretty sure Emma’s been terrified of falling for someone who would only be interested in her for her coffers and not for who she really is for years now. Unfortunately, the only way to avoid this is to look for other people living similar lifestyles to Emma and me. No dating down.

There is a quiet knock at the door, and Alex sucks in a breath. “Let’s get this show started,” he grumbles to me before raising his voice and saying, “Come in!”

The first woman is compact and muscular, her hair cropped short and a smile that is wide and bright. Her name is Mary Anderson, and she’s an Olympic hopeful in biathlon. She’s more masculine than Emma usually likes, but her friendly demeanor and easy laugh make me think she may have potential… that is, until she mentions the GoFundMe page.

“What did you say you were raising money for?” Alex asks.

“Biathlon isn’t a popular sport, so I have to raise my own money to get to the qualifying competitions,” Mary elaborates.

Alex quietly crosses her name off the list as she departs, and I’m sad to see her go. We were so close.

The next two, a holistic healer and a semi-professional women’s skateboarder, are the same stories. They’ve achieved moderate success in the world, but they are the first in their families to rise above the middle-class line, and they’re grasping at straws to make their careers work. After a brief interview, we learn that they are also not into jet-setting or partying in Mykonos or St. Tropez which might be a problem in terms of lifestyle and aspirations. If there’s one thing that Emma loves it’s traveling around and attending some good old parties.

My spirits lift when one of the most stunning women I’ve ever seen in my life walks in. Her skin is dark and smooth, and her hair coils around her face in a mixture of blond and black. Her name is Izzy. She’s the lead singer of a band gaining traction on social media, and although she isn’t famous enough to be considered “independently wealthy” quite yet, her cash flow from all her performances shows she’s well on the way.

I lightly tap Alex’s shin with my foot excitedly, but he gives me a look that says calm down.

Izzy greets us with a beautiful enigmatic smile before sitting in front of us and despite being the fourth we’ve seen today, she stands out pretty well on paper.

Alex starts asking questions about her career, her aspirations, and her hobbies.

After a few satisfying answers, I decide to take over. “And what about traveling? Have you traveled the world a bit?”

“Of course,” she says with enthusiasm. “I have been to around twenty countries, but my favorite place by far is Bali.”

I can’t help but nod at her. She seems perfect!

“You seem to be a perfect match for our friend,” Alex tells her, steepling his fingers and looking for all the world like he’s interviewing someone to run a company and not sleep with our friend. “She loves Bali just as much. Would you have any problem going with her for a few months there?”

Izzy shrugs, the snaps on her leather jacket tinkling. “My partners might not love it, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”

I pause in the middle of writing something down, looking up at her. “Partners?”

She waves a hand dismissively. “My polyamorous partners. I’ve got three of them, but we aren’t official or anything. It’s just casual.”

“You’re currently sleeping with three different people?” I ask, trying to clarify.

She nods, unbothered. “Uh-huh. I’m still technically single, like I said over the zoom call. It’s more like friends with benefits, you know?”

I laugh nervously, scratching her name out almost frantically. “Yes! Totally get it. We’ll… uh… be in touch.”

One after the other, the women we interview start off great and then as we start digging deeper into their lifestyles, their hobbies, their backgrounds, their past relationships, we realize none of them are a good fit.

The last woman, an entrepreneur from a wealthy Brazilian family, waits until the very end of the interview to tell us she’s asexual, and we bid her an exhausted farewell. After four hours, we are officially done, so I go and lock the office door before melting into one of the adjacent chairs with a groan.

“That was horrible.”

Alex raises his eyebrows. “That’s an understatement.”

I rub my eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. “Why do you think that went so terribly?”

“If I had to guess,” he muses, stacking the papers we had brought with us, “the real successful, wealthy women aren’t enlisted in matchmaking agencies. They’re out actually doing the things that Emma wants in a woman, not bragging about them in an online profile.”

“You’re probably right,” I admit with frustration. “But how can we just expect her to organically meet someone in the next week before St. Moritz?”

“We can’t, Petra,” Alex tells me, standing up. I follow suit, grabbing my coat. “She’s going to have to meet someone on her own. We aren’t going to meet European nobility or a soccer star on the streets of Manhattan out of nowhere. It’s going to take time.”

Wait. Did he just say European nobility? I chew on my lip, an idea forming in my head. I shoot out a quick text and turn to my husband. “Hey, Alex, do we have plans for dinner tonight?”

Alex pauses and thinks. “No, I wasn’t sure how long this would take.”

I grab my phone and check the time, surprised to see it’s almost 5 p.m. “I think I’m going to go out. Will you and the kids be okay for a while?”

“Of course.” He looks at me appraisingly. “I know you’re enacting some plan you’ve only just come up with. I won’t pry, but just be careful.”

I stand on my tiptoes and give him a kiss. He rests his hands on my hips until I pull away. “I will. Promise.”

I leave the office, my heels clicking on the marble stairs when my phone pings. I open the message…

From the one and only Catherine Dubois:

I’m free, Cafe Blossom at 6:30?

The last person I thought I’d invite to have dinner with me is already at the table when I arrive, her knee-length linen dress a creamy ivory that matches the tablecloths almost perfectly. She’s sipping a glass of Chardonnay, and only offers me a quick glance when I join her.

“Petra,” she says simply.

“Catherine,” I respond, trying to force myself to not fall into the vortex of her frosty energy. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“I have to admit,” she says, lowering her glass of wine and looking at me in the eye, “I’m curious as to why you wanted to dine together tonight.”

I look at the woman across the table from me, considering my next move. I could be honest with her from the get-go, but I’m banking on the idea that now that Catherine is separated from Margaret, she will be more amiable. I think I need to come on gently, and if she’s open enough, I’ll ask her about my problem with Emma.

“Truly, I’ve been thinking about our Christmas together,” I tell her candidly, my lips curving up. “I wanted to get to know you a little better since Dad seems so fond of you.”

Catherine blinks a few times, before shrugging delicately with one shoulder. “Alright. What would you like to know?”

Women like Catherine love to talk about themselves, so I give her a topic and I’ll see where it goes. “Dad mentioned you come from nobility. Is that true? It’s so interesting if so!”

Catherine preens, taking a drink of her wine to hide her growing smile. “Why, yes, I am actually. My maiden name is 'de Rohan,’” she tells me.

I rest my chin in my hands, playing into her every word. “It sounds familiar, but I can’t quite recall.”

Catherine grins indulgently. “Allow me to elaborate.” Before she can do so though, the waiter stops at our table and we order some food.

We share a plate of edamame and spring rolls while Catherine regales me with her stories of her family, who are actually minor French royalty, and how she ended up marrying Paul Dubois. To my surprise, she didn’t hide the financial problems her family faced or bringing up how Paul came at the right time in her life. When she mentioned their divorce, I thought I saw actual remorse flit over her features for a brief moment, before being replaced by her calculating look.

“Anyway,” Catherine says, “that’s how I met Julia, and through her, Margaret.”

I raise my eyebrows, carefully setting down my glass of water, shocked at her easy confession. “I thought you two didn’t know each other.”

“Well, it served Margaret’s purposes for us to appear as strangers. No harm intended towards you, of course.”

“It served her purpose?” I repeat, unable to take the shock out of my tone.

Catherine heaves a long sigh, her lips pressed together as she looks away, pondering for a moment whether to open up or not. “Julia and Margaret introduced me to your dad,” she discloses. Holy shit! Even though I had my suspicions, my heart halts for an instant at her revelation. “But they asked us to keep their names out of it, given the fact they are still very close to my ex-husband.”

I want to argue that deception is automatically harmful to me, but I have to keep my eye on the prize, so I let it slide. “Uh, sure. No problem. So, you know Julia?”

“Very well, actually. She’s one of Margaret’s least problematic children, no offense to Alex.”

I laugh a little despite myself. “Maybe they’ll all settle down now that they’re married, Alex included.”

“One can only hope. That Yara though, my bets are on her as being the next problem child now that you and Alex have worked your issues out.” She shakes her head with a motherly look of disappointment for what is yet to come.

I stay silent, taken aback by her comments about Yara. I didn’t know that Catherine knew so much about Margaret’s children, but I simply nod, having a few bites of food as I process everything she told me so far. Well, since she’s a close friend to Julia, it’s not hard to imagine she knows Yara and the reputation she has when it comes to preying on young women. A quick silence settles between us, until Catherine finally asks, “Petra, why did you really want me to meet you tonight?”

I give another sip of water, trying to find the best words to put on. “Honestly, I did want to get to know you better if you’re going to be in my dad’s life from this point on, but otherwise, I have a strange favor to ask.”

She nods, sitting back in her chair. “Go ahead.”

“My friend Emma is in a precarious affair that I want to help her extricate herself from. The problem is, she only dates women, which wouldn’t be too difficult to work around, except she has very discerning tastes in both women and the lifestyles these women lead. I’ve exhausted everyone in my own social circle, but since you’re French and your own circle extends into European nobility, I was wondering if you knew any successful, interesting women I could introduce my friend to.”

Catherine seems to think for a moment, rapping her nails on her wineglass as she does so. “I think I may have a few women in mind, but give me a little while to think it over.”

“I hope I’m not being too forward asking this of you,” I tell Catherine, meeting her eye, not wanting to ruin the tentative truce between us.

She shakes her head. “No, no, this is a relatively minor thing. I actually quite like playing matchmaker. Can you send me some of these difficult must-haves your friend has when it comes to choosing a partner?”

“Absolutely,” I tell her, squealing internally. Well, well, well… This might actually work after all.

CHAPTER 2

Manhattan, January 7, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

I kiss both twins on the top of their heads, checking the time. Lily is feeding them while also reading a book, and I have a brief moment of envying her multitasking abilities.

“I hate that I have to leave so early,” I lament, brushing my fingers over their soft hair.

Lily doesn’t look up at me, just continues to feed the babies bites of their rice cereal while turning pages. “You’re going to get busier and busier with the art gallery and school starting back up. You’ll learn to manage the time, don’t worry.”

“I scheduled my classes so I’d be home with them as much as possible,” I tell her, grabbing my bag and coat and slipping my feet into my boots. “I’m taking a few online and the others early in the morning.”

“That’s good,” Lily says approvingly. “Just don’t stretch yourself too thin. You’re paying me for a reason, remember?”

“I know, I know…” I say. And yet, it’s still hard for me not to feel a pang in my heart each time I leave them for longer than a few hours. I know I’ve got to get used to it, but it’s still a work in process. “Don’t have too much fun without me!” I tell them, blowing my children a kiss before exiting into the chilly January air. I’ve still got a few days before school starts, but I wanted to get the gallery open first so I can avoid the stress of it sitting empty while I am concentrating on my studies. We had advertised the gallery opening for today, but unlike the reveal party for my birthday, it wasn’t going to be too much of a high-key affair. I was just ready to have everyone welcomed into my gallery and share it with the world.

Alex is busy working today, so I’m alone, jittery with nerves and excitement at the possibilities of having my very own gallery up and running. I hope it can fill the space the Artemis Room left and more. I know I have a lot on my plate, but it’s something I’ve dreamed of my whole life.

My heart keeps thundering anxiously fast when Zach pulls in front of the gallery. As I exit the car, I’m surprised to see quite a few cars parked on the street outside, especially with it being so early. I head towards the entrance, nearly running up the stairs, keys jingling in hand. To my surprise, the door is already unlocked. How come? I pull my phone out to call Alex, hesitating to enter the unlocked building, when someone opens the door for me.

The woman standing there reminds me of a boarding school principal, her steel gray hair pulled into a severe bun on the top of her head and her thin, tall body clothed in all black. She has silver glasses perched on her bird-like face, but her expression is polite.

“Um, hi?” I say, taking a step back, utterly confused––and a bit afraid.

“Oh, good morning, Petra,” she says. “I’m Tilly. Your husband hired me as the supervisor for the gallery since you won’t be here all of the time. I opened up an hour ago, but later we can go over exactly how you want things done day-to-day.”

I blink a few times, getting used to the idea. I guess I’d need a supervisor anyway, and while I’d have preferred to give my input, I trust Alex’s judgment on who to hire. Plus, Tilly definitely looks like a woman who can get things done. “Well, that sounds great! You said you opened an hour ago?”

“Yes,” Tilly affirms. “You’ve actually already gotten a few guests. You picked a wonderful day to open the gallery to the public.”

She ushers me in, and I have to keep myself from celebrating when I see a modest amount of people milling about the gallery, including two looking directly at my own paintings. It takes a minute for Tilly’s words to sink in. “Why is it a good time though? I just picked a random Friday.”

Tilly adjusts her glasses, slightly surprised at my question. “Well, because there’s a huge Christie’s auction in town this Sunday, so there are some dealers who came especially for the occasion. Very strategic, opening today.”

Wow. A Christie’s auction this Sunday? How come I haven’t been notified about it? “I’ll take your word for it,” I say distractedly, walking around the space.

The walls are covered with pieces by local artists, as well as a few sculptures and ceramics placed in displays. It had been tempting to display as much of my own artwork as possible since I’d been waiting so long for this opening, but another part of me knew that if I didn’t offer a large enough variety, then the gallery wouldn’t be as successful. After all, having different artists is exactly what would attract more visitors and potential clients.

It feels kind of surreal taking it all in, but I fall right back into the mindset of a gallery owner and decide to spend the morning chatting with different aficionados and customers, even welcoming in some of the featured artists themselves so they can chat with the public about their pieces. It’s a fun and lighthearted atmosphere and it’s all too easy for me to forget that this will be a whole functioning business now, not just a dream.

From the corner of my eye, I notice a man in a well-tailored tweed jacket has been hovering around the wall of the gallery with the few pieces of my own that I had chosen to display, including my new Seasons of Life collection, depicting different parts of nature and the life within. I try not to stare too much as he peruses my work, wanting to see his natural reaction to everything. Though it’s hard to read exactly what he does or doesn’t think of it all.

Finally, I see him talking to Tilly, who has her hands clasped in front of her and is nodding sagely. I excuse myself from a conversation I’m having with a young couple about a sculpture when I see Tilly wave me over, and I square my shoulders, hoping to give off a confidant air, when inside I’m a ball of nerves. Could someone really be interested in my work!?

Tilly introduces me to the man, who happens to be an art dealer in town for the auction she was talking about earlier. He seems shocked to have me confirm that this is the first public showing of my pieces, and immediately says that he wants to purchase my entire Seasons of Life collection. He doesn’t even blink at the price tag of ten-thousand dollars each or try to negotiate, and I’m squealing in excitement on the inside while he writes me the check and calls one of his assistants to come and help Tilly as they pick and pack the paintings up. It’s an exhilarating moment for me, and I can’t wait to tell my husband about it. After all, none of this would have happened without his help and belief in my dream.

I excuse myself while the art dealer, his assistant, and Tilly work out the rest of the details about the purchase. I rush up the stairs to close myself in my still relatively empty office. I know Alex is busy and I usually hold off on calling him during work hours, but I simply can’t contain my excitement, so I give in and call. To my surprise, he answers on the third ring, amusement in his tone.

“Well, well, look who’s calling—my favorite gallery owner.” For some stupid reason, my heart gives a little flutter at the words gallery owner. Something I’d never have imagined to be possible just two years ago. “How’s it going so far, love?”

I giggle at his teasing. “The opening is going great! I met the supervisor you hired. She seems like she knows her stuff.”

“I know the gallery is your project, but trust me when I say the importance of having a quality overseer can’t be understated. I thought having her there today would let you be able to enjoy yourself a little more.”

I hum in agreement. “You were right on that one. It definitely took some of the stress off. But that’s not all I called for.”

“Oh?” he says curiously.

“Alex, I actually sold one of my paintings! Multiple paintings, actually! My Seasons of Life collection! A dealer bought them all!” I excitedly say in one breath.

“Really! Congratulations, wife. A successful opening day indeed then.” Alex sounds genuinely pleased for me, and it gives me a glow of happiness from my fingertips to my toes.

Suddenly though, a feeling of nostalgia runs through me as I recall how Alex was the very first person to believe in me—he had not only offered me my first brushes and painting kit but had always been so supportive, even when Dad dismissed my passion as nothing more than a passing fancy. I feel like I’ve come full circle, with my biggest supporter now being my husband and my paintings being sold out of my very own gallery. It’s the kind of success I’ve always wanted, and I’m thrilled to be able to pass down this beautiful building and my love of art to our twins.

“I wish you could be here,” I tell him.

“I know, but this is your thing now. You’ll have to learn to run it independently. Speaking of, since you liked my choice of supervisor, would you like me to line up some other employees to get you started at the gallery? I have connections for a good personal assistant, and we absolutely need our own art dealer to purchase pieces for the Gatt-Dieren fund. You can’t be everywhere at once, you know.”

I sit down in my office chair, spinning it around while I consider the offer. I do need a dealer, especially if I want to bring in more popular, expensive, crowd-pleasing attractions. I would also need someone to acquire the rights to and set up temporary installations by big-name artists for the gallery. At its heart, the Gatt-Dieren art fund and art gallery would be for local up and comers, but in order to draw in crowds, and therefore funds, we’d need things to tempt people to visit and donate.

I have no doubt that Alex would hire top-of-the-line, amazingly competent people to help me run the fund, and he had done a good job with the supervisor, but he was right about one thing. I had to run this independently. And while Alex may know business, I know art. I have to strike a balance in who I hire. Business-minded people with a passion for art, not the no-nonsense sharks that Alex preferred. I have a moment imagining one of Alex’s tough-as-nails employees chatting with the sensitive art crowd I know and cringe.

“Actually, I think I want to do that part myself,” I tell him, having made up my mind.

He makes an approving noise on the other end of the line. “That’s my girl. I’m proud of you. But if you are stuck or just need a push in the right direction, just ask me. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help.”

I think about how I don’t want to seem too dependent on him, but we are on the same team, after all. I guess I should lean on him when I need help, even if it hurts my pride a little. “Okay, I promise I will.”

“Don’t let me keep you from your grand opening. I’ll see you at home tonight,” he assures me, and we hang up.

After a quick refresh of my hair and makeup in the office bathroom, I descend the stairs back into the fray of the gathering.

I look at my watch, noticing we only have a few more hours to go before closing. After I go over everything that sold today, and what pieces garnered the most attention, I realize my own paintings were the ones that sold the most. Jeez! It sounds too good to be true. I can barely believe they actually bought the paintings just because they liked them. Were they just random art dealers as they claimed? Or were they sent by my husband or my dad to buy them? I didn’t think about asking Alex over the phone about it. No matter what I think, I have to bring new paintings to hang where mine were. I’m honestly a little afraid of running out of time to paint myself with the running of the gallery, the twins, and my return to Columbia, but I have to have faith that once everything settles down, I’ll still have time for the things I love.

The winter’s sunlight shines through the high, almost cathedral-esque windows of the gallery, casting everything in a golden hue. It lifts my worried spirits immediately, and I’m more than happy to get back to socializing and networking.

The opening day is winding down when a familiar figure enters, pushing open the huge wooden entrance doors. Catherine Dubois looks immaculate, the diamond studs in her ears sparkling in the natural afternoon light as she looks around. She spots me and saunters over, heels clicking smartly on the floor as she walks.

“Good afternoon, Petra,” she says coolly, pushing her sunglasses up to rest on the top of her head.

I’m surprised to see her so soon after last night. I can only hope she didn’t share anything to my in-laws about my little request.

“Hi, Catherine,” I reply, before we instinctively lean over each other to exchange two cheek-kisses. Maybe a symbol of amiable peace?

“May I offer you a glass of champagne or something to drink?” I ask, showing her the refreshment table pushed against the wall at the very end of the gallery.

“Yes, please,” she answers, her lips already twisting into a smile at the view of the bubbly.

There are a few high top tables pushed up against the wall near the modest refreshment table that had been set up, so we end up both perching on the tall stools. Catherine sits her clutch down in front of her and clears her throat delicately.

“So,” she begins. “I have truly outdone myself, if I do say so.” She reaches into her clutch and pulls out an invitation, printed on ivory card stock with delicate cursive writing and cherry blossom decal. “I think I have found the perfect woman for your friend, but I have to warn you. The woman I have in mind is so special that if you aren’t sure your friend is ready to move on, you shouldn’t waste this opportunity.”

This does give me pause. I want to believe that, for the right person, Emma would ditch Yara for good. But what if Emma meets the perfect person, but she mentally isn’t ready to move on and consequently ruins a promising new relationship? Emma is so picky about the people she spends time with that it’d be a tragedy to have someone that she could actually connect with be left in the dust for this thing Emma has with Yara.

What choice do I have though? This is my best chance to get Margaret out of my hair, stop my sex tape from being released, and keep Emma from getting her heart broken all at the same time. Despite my hesitation, I nod. I know that either way Emma will end up in some sort of turmoil, so it’s better that she has someone to turn to.

“I’m sure.”

Catherine slides the card over to me, and as I open it, my pulse bouncing hard in my chest from excitement, I realize it’s an invitation for two for a private art auction at Christie’s of New York—the most prestigious auction house in the world. I hadn’t had the chance to visit Christie’s before, let alone for a private auction. The invitation read:

Join us for a one-of-a-kind experience as we auction for the work of world-renowned Japanese artist Shi.

Shi, also known as Shiori Takahashi, will be present and auctioning off a special piece to the highest bidder.

I dart my eyes from the invitation to Catherine and back again, barely believing what I just read. The artist known as Shi is internationally famous, heck, she’s almost like a living legend in the art world. And although Tilly told me there was a private auction happening at Christie’s this weekend, I had absolutely no idea that it was for Shi’s work.

Her psychedelic art had taken the world by storm, especially because Shi had never revealed her face to the public. In over-the-phone interviews, she often hinted that she visited all of her exhibitions anonymously, and the mystery of who she was and what she looked like kept everyone on the edge of their seats and clamoring for her art.

From what I have seen, her artwork is stylistically striking, with bold, black outlines highlighted by colors that shouldn’t have fit as well together as they did. Her most popular pieces are of humans subtly morphing into mythological creatures, done digitally so the change can happen in real time. Shi’s digital pieces are heavily encrypted and can only be seen at her exhibitions. The digital paintings, when photographed, come out distorted and blurry, meaning the only way to truly see Shi’s work is to come to one of her exhibitions. It’s quite the feat to own one of her rare publicly sold paintings or digital pieces. Needless to say, it’s an exciting event for someone in the art world like me, but for Emma?

“Take your friend,” Catherine tells me. “There is someone at that event who will be perfect for her, if she has an open enough mind.”

“Emma doesn’t even like art,” I retort immediately. “How am I supposed to convince her with so little info from your side?”

Catherine waves a finger at me, and I cross my arms. “I’m sure she’ll enjoy this event. Christie’s only invite the finest people. This is the perfect set up for her.”

I blow out a breath, frustrated. There are sure to be dozens of people at the auction, even if it is invitation only. Finding Catherine’s perfect woman could take all night. Still… it’s an event I’d be thrilled to go to with or without Emma, so I’m not too annoyed at the extra time I’ll have to spend on this little side project.

“Fine.” I sigh. “I don’t know why you have to be so mysterious though.”

“The magic is ruined if you have to have the trick explained to you,” Catherine tells me with a coy smile. “It took me a lot of asking around to score this invitation, so don’t squander this opportunity. If Emma hits it off with this woman, like I think she will, it’s a done deal.”

I purse my lips, stressed yet excited about the auction/blind date for Emma. “Okay, I’m putting my trust in you, so I hope she’s everything you say she is.”

“Trust me, dear,” Catherine says, gracefully dismounting her stool and coming over to give me the traditional French bise. “She is. I don’t do average.”

Once Catherine leaves the gallery, I run upstairs to my office, already ruminating on how I’ll persuade Emma to join me to this auction. We haven’t spoken since I was in Aspen and yet I recall perfectly well her last words before she hung up the phone: “I’ve always been super supportive of you. But now I need you to do the same and to stop interfering.”

Well, it’s a bit too late for that.

After closing the door behind me, I pick up my phone, take a deep breath in and out, and press her number before putting the screen against my ear. Emma is my best friend, after all. She can’t be mad at me forever. The ringtone goes on, and on, and on…

Suddenly, a stern voice starts, snapping at me from the other side of the line. “What the hell do you want?”

“Hi, Emma,” I answer with the sweetest voice I can pull off. “We haven’t spoken for so long.”

“Well, there’s a reason for that,” she spits out. “Are you calling me again about Yara?”

“No,” I say, my tone low and carrying. “I wanted to apologize and invite you to hang out on Sunday…”

I hear nothing but a loud sigh in return. “Thanks, but I’ve got plans.” Her voice remains clipped and I can’t help wondering if Yara is in town.

“Oh,” I utter while thinking something through. “I, um, I’ve got an invitation for two to attend a private auction at Christie’s on Sunday at six pm. And, um, I thought going with you would be nice.”

“A private auction?” she repeats in surprise. “Of what?”

“Of art of course.”

I hear nothing but an exhausted gush of air from her side. “You know I hate that shit.”

“It’s gonna be a one-of-a-kind experience, I swear,” I tell her as I start roaming around my office in a failed attempt to tame my nervousness. “Plus it’s psychedelic art with deep meaning. It’s something very different from the usual postmodernism you are used to seeing around. There’s gonna be tons of super interesting people to meet. You’re gonna love it.”

“I can’t,” she answers dryly. “I already promised I’d attend a dinner on Sunday night. Why don’t you go with your husband?”

Oh gosh! Don’t tell me it’s with Yara! “Please, Alex is busy, and I want to go with you not him.” I’m starting to sound desperate so I pause for a beat, measuring my next set of words. “We haven’t hung out since I arrived back in the States,” I remind her. “Please, Emma, you’re my best friend and I really want us to move on. I promise I won’t bring up Yara or Margaret or anything related to either.” My heartbeat is steadily rising as I wait anxiously for her answer.

A few beats of silence ensue and I even hold my breath when she finally says, “I’m gonna think about it. I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

Disappointment slaps me in the face without mercy. The naivety in me truly thought she’d have accepted immediately, but now that she has decided on leaving me hanging until tomorrow it fills me with needless anxiety. “Okay,” I mumble. “Please, make it happen. I’m sure it’s gonna be one of the best events of your life.” I know I’m being insistent here but if what Catherine told me is true than I’m sure it will be.

“Alright, I have to go,” she announces without the slightest excitement in her voice. “Thanks for the invite, though.” And before I can add anything, Emma hangs up.

I should have expected her apathy in regard to my invitation. And yet I can’t help but heave a long sigh filled with nervous apprehension for tomorrow. All I can hope for is that she makes the right decision.

CHAPTER 3

Manhattan, January 9, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

It turns out to be surprisingly hard to convince Emma to join me at the auction tonight. I understand that it isn’t really her scene and that she might be a bit off with me because of what I did, but I didn’t think she’d push back so hard about attending the auction at Christie’s with me.

Eventually, though, after some more insistence, I finally manage to wear her down, and she reluctantly agrees to join me. She balked even more when I explained that she’d have to tone down the leather and spikes which made up her usual wardrobe, but she got over that too.

I’m still confused about how I’m supposed to find the woman Catherine picked out for Emma, but the closer we get to the event, the more excited I become. It isn’t just about finding Emma a date, it’s the chance to see some of Shi’s famous artwork up close. Maybe I’ll even be able to get one of my own to display at the Gatt-Dieren gallery.

After my public opening on Friday, word had gotten out that the couple that was plastered all over the news last year due to the trials had opened their own art gallery. Tilly started getting tons of calls all day on Saturday from art dealers wanting private showings and from artists who were desperate to be displayed. Rumor had gotten out that my paintings were pretty special too, and according to her, there’s a decent buzz of interest from buyers wanting to own something of mine. I’m still wondering if it is just Alex’s PR team behind all this new exposure. But I have refrained myself from asking him directly. Instead, Alex just mentioned that maybe those potential buyers were hoping something huge and dramatic would crop up again and I’d be right back in the media, and if that was the case, the worth of my artwork would skyrocket. I had dismissed the idea, determined to stay far away from any sort of stir ups in the public eye. Still, if dealers snatched up some of my pieces, in hopes that their value will go up somewhere down the line, I wasn’t going to complain.

I had set up the number for the gallery to forward to my cell for Saturday evening and Sunday, but that turned out to be a big mistake. My phone started ringing non-stop and fielding calls until I wanted to pull my hair out. In the midst of everything, I know I have to take Alex’s advice and hire a personal assistant to take on those calls. Since I didn’t have time to interview anyone, especially with school starting next week, Alex had assigned someone from his own staff to cover everything until I could hire the perfect PA.

Now it’s Sunday, the day of the auction, and I can’t be any more ecstatic. I sit at my vanity, watching my reflection in the lit mirror as I brush on my makeup with careful hands. The twins are in identical bouncers on the floor beside me, and every few minutes I turn to give them a bounce or brush their tiny noses with a clean makeup brush, making them giggle.

In Aspen I had spent almost every minute, besides my sparse alone time with Alex, with the twins, and it had been heavenly. I’d have to hold those moments close to my heart for when I’m away at school, or at the gallery, or on my trip to St. Moritz.

As I’m applying the final coat of mascara, Alex comes to the bedroom door, leaning on the frame as he watches me get ready. “I don’t know how I feel about you looking so amazing when you’re going out without me,” he quips.

I smirk at him, turning off my mirror lights and standing before walking over to put my hands on his cheeks. “Don’t be jealous, you know I only have eyes for you.”

“Damn right,” Alex growls before kissing me possessively. I melt into his embrace for a second; he’s warm, welcoming, and tastes heavenly. I almost feel like I’d rather stay in, but the lure of exclusive artwork and bailing my best friend out of a garbage pseudo relationship is too strong.

“Sorry, love,” I tell him, pulling back and smoothing my silk dress back down. “I really have to attend this auction tonight.”

One twin burbles loudly behind me, and Alex raises an eyebrow. “Just don’t forget your poor sad husband and children at home while you’re out cavorting with the elite.”

“Oh, hush,” I tell him with a playful slap to the chest.

I return to the children, kneeling down, which is not done without considerable effort in these heels, to kiss them both on their soft and squishy cheeks. “Be good for your father, okay? I don’t want to hear about any nonsense from you two while I’m gone.”

They both babble in response, a mixture of “ma’s,” “ba’s,” and “da’s,” with Jasper clapping to emphasize whatever point he’s trying to get across. I give them each a final snuggle before standing back up.

I take the clip out of my hair that I had put up and out of my face to get ready, and it falls down my back in a river of curls which are gathered into a single tie at the nape of my neck. Alex is looking at me appreciatively, and I get the feeling if I don’t leave shortly, my freshly dry-cleaned gray silk dress is going to end up on the floor and I’m going to end up in bed with him.

There’s a polite throat-clearing from the hallway, and we both turn to see Maria, who informs us that Emma has arrived and is in the foyer. Alex insisted that Zach be the one to transport us to Christie’s, and honestly, I didn’t mind. He’s still overly protective, but I meet him in the middle where I can, meaning that Emma is riding with me. It also helps to ensure that she doesn’t take off and go home as soon as we arrive, so in truth it’s a win-win.

Where my dress has spaghetti straps and a simple neckline, fitted but not skintight, Emma’s is a little more risqué. It’s black, of course, fitted close to her body, and although it hits the ground like mine does, the slit up the back reaches scandalously close to her backside. To top it all off, she ditched the combat boots like I’d requested, but with her black leather heels, she’s also sported a pair of fishnets.

Alex and I both walk out to greet her, a baby in each of our arms, and before Emma can rush over to kiss on the twins, he leans over to whisper in my ear, “Your date looks nice.”

I shoot him a glare and he smirks. I’m holding Jasmine, who Emma quickly plucks out of my grasp. Emma kisses her face all over, while Jasmine huffs and tries to turn away, which only makes Emma snuggle her more. My best friend’s lipstick is a red so dark it’s almost black, and Jasmine’s cheeks end up covered in lip prints.

“You’re getting my baby all lipsticked up. Let’s go!” I say, my tone lead with humor, as I take Jasmine back and hand her to Maria.

“Have her home by midnight,” Alex jokes, to which Emma scoffs.

“If you’re lucky!” she replies.

After biding farewell to everyone, we bundle up against the frosty night and head to the comfortable sedan, sighing gratefully at the pre-warmed leather seats. Silk may look nice on, but it definitely doesn’t keep the frigid air from getting to my skin.

Most of the buildings are still lit up by the Christmas lights that won’t come down until later this month, and we sit in silence for the first part of the drive. I’m buzzing with excitement about the auction, thinking about my checkbook in my matching clutch and how it might get some good use tonight, and while I do not know what’s on Emma’s mind, she doesn’t look thrilled.

“What’s up?” I finally ask her.

“I just hope this auction is actually going to be worth it.” She sighs. “I really did have other plans for today.”

I lay a hand on top of hers and lower my voice. “Thank you so much for coming.”

Emma gives me nothing but a small smile, before turning her face towards the window. Jeez, it nearly feels like she’s going with me against her will for the sake of our friendship.

Guilt pricks at me, and I frown as I study her face—still turned away from me to gaze out the window. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry,” Emma mutters.

I slide a little closer to her until our legs bump, and she looks over at me. “Is it about Yara?” I ask carefully.

Emma clenches her teeth, but exhales heavily, laying her head on my shoulder. The gesture is unexpected but quite welcomed. “Maybe,” she answers. Her honesty takes me by surprise and I silently let her proceed. “She said she’d try to meet up with me here in New York before her tournament in St. Moritz, but until now, all she has done is FaceTime me.”

“So the evening plan was a FaceTime call with her?” I ask, trying not to sound too shocked.

“Yeah, it’s pathetic, I know…” She heaves a long sigh, thinking something through. “The only way to meet her seems to be to fly out and attend her tournament. Though I’m not yet sure if I want to go, but it looks like it might be the only way I get to see her.”

I’m silent, rolling her words over in my mind. I don’t want her to know that taking her to the auction is an elaborate setup to get her away from Yara, yet I need to comfort her without her finding out my actual intentions.

I lean my head on hers. “I’m sorry about that. The Van Dierens aren’t an easy family, I can tell you from experience.” I let out a light chuckle.

“Was it worth it though?” she asks, her voice small. “Sticking it out even when it seemed like the world was against you and Alex?”

Crap, this was not the message I wanted to give her. “Well, of course it was. But Alex is a trailblazer and didn’t care what the world thought of us. Yara… well, she’s still married to Elliot, isn’t she? I don’t think she’d risk it all like he did.”

Emma tenses for a moment before sighing. “You don’t think she’ll leave Elliot for me, do you?”

I hug her close, and she accepts it. “I don’t think so, Emma. They’ve got kids, and an image to uphold, and we both know Margaret would never allow it. Even Alex has a hard time telling his mother no, and he’s the most distant and detached of all her kids.”

“You’re lucky to have found someone that would risk everything for you,” Emma tells me, sounding sad. The atmosphere is heavy in the car, and it’s not at all how I wanted her to feel for the night. I need her to be happy and receptive.

“I am.” I lower my voice to a whisper, not wanting the driver to hear. “Even if he’s the biggest pain in the ass sometimes.”

Emma snorts before laughing. I start to giggle too when she says, “I think he was a pain in the ass to all of us.”

The mood lightens, thankfully, and we talk about what to expect at the auction. I’ve been to some auctions in my life, but not an invitation-only at Christie’s. Although I’m sure now with the Gatt-Dieren gallery being open, I’d become a regular at the famous New York auction house. I gush about how exciting it is to see the work of an artist who is so secretive, and Emma rolls her eyes.

“I did a little digging online to see why this auction was such a big deal,” she announces, causing me a surprised look. “Did you know this Shi person is auctioning off a portrait of herself and that’s what the fuss is all about? It’s already worth millions and no one has even seen the damn thing.”

“She’s selling a self-portrait!?” I exclaim, barely believing it. “Oh my gosh, Emma. You don’t get it. This is an enormous deal. She’s been completely anonymous for years and has gained all her fame on her artistic talents alone. Can you imagine what a portrait of Shi would do for my gallery?”

Emma shrugs. “I’ll take your word for it. Hey look, we’re here!”

I look out the window and realize in my excitement I’d totally missed Zach pulling up to the curb to let us out. He steps out of the car to open our doors, and Emma quickly checks her reflection in her phone camera, snapping a selfie when I insert my face next to hers and grin.

“Show time!” I say as Zach opens the car door and we step out onto the cold streets of New York.

Located in Rockefeller Center, the entrance is illuminated and clearly full of energy even in the darkness of an early winter evening. Emma seems to brighten even more as we walk inside together arm-in-arm. Even she and all her darkness can’t resist the excitement of such an event.

I hand my invitation over at the door and we make our way into the auction house. The vibe of the place might appear calm to an outsider, but I’ve been around these types of people my entire life, and I can sense how thick the tension is among everyone. All the people here want to be a part of seeing Shi’s face for the first time, and owning her self-portrait would be a tremendous boon to any public gallery or private collector.

We turn heads as we saunter through the modest crowd, and as I glance around, I’m not surprised to find out that we are quite young compared to a lot of the art dealers. Emma’s alternative style always catches looks from the older jet-setting elite, and while I’m used to seeing eclectically dressed artists, the dress code at Christie’s prevents anything too crazy.

Realizing that Emma and I are some of the more youthful guests at the auction, I think that finding Catherine’s perfect woman wouldn’t be as hard as I had initially thought. Surely Catherine wouldn’t want to hook Emma up with someone having a midlife crisis, would she?

We snag glasses of champagne from a nearby server’s tray, and I watch Emma’s face closely as she looks around. I know she isn’t too impressed by the art dealer crowd, so I’m going to have to keep her entertained if I want her to make it to the actual auction portion of the night.

A collection of Shi’s work is hung in the gallery outside of the auction hall, ranging from her early acrylic on canvas pieces to her more recent digital pieces that helped catapult her to fame. Shi’s digital paintings are displayed on proprietary screens framed to look like canvases, and if you didn’t know the paintings were digital, it would be easy to be fooled into thinking they were regular paintings––especially with the slower moving digital pieces.

Shi’s body of work is all about transformation, and in her fast-moving paintings, the changes are obvious. Some of Shi’s paintings, though, transform so slowly that it’s impossible to see it with the naked eye. You’d be looking at the electronic canvas and the portrait of a person for long minutes with no change, but if you came back an hour later, the portrait would look noticeably more feral. It’s a clever, beautiful, and sometimes scary narrative about the nature of humanity.

I lead Emma over to the rows and rows of artwork, and we peruse slowly. The auction starts in forty-five minutes, but no one seems to be rushing, taking the opportunity to see this rarely displayed collection in all its glory. Soft Japanese music is being piped through the overhead speakers, and the din of everyone's voices is low and unobtrusive.

“This is boring,” Emma hisses to me, but I studiously ignore her, chatting with other guests while Emma passes the time drinking champagne.

“Do you think there’s something unexpected about Shi’s appearance, and that’s why she’s never revealed herself?” an older woman standing next to me asks.

“You know, I’m not sure,” I muse. “I’ve spent so much time studying classical artwork that I’ve only recently been exploring what little of Shi’s catalogue is public. What do you think?”

The other woman shrugs one thin shoulder. “I’ve heard murmurs she may actually be a he, or maybe they may have some sort of facial deformity.”

“That would only make them more popular in the art world, I think,” I reply.

“Very true,” my conversation partner agrees.

Emma sighs heavily, so I bid the older woman farewell and move on to look at some other displays. We end up in front of two of the largest screens that are nearly six feet tall each, showing a man and a woman, the woman slowly transforming into a lamia and the man into a minotaur.

“And this is considered art? Damn… It’s like a life-sized holographic trading card,” Emma says dismissively, checking her dark red fingernails instead of examining the digital paintings.

My jaw drops at her comment. Leaning over her, I can’t help but say, “Emma! Come on, these are two of the most impressive pieces here! You have to appreciate them at least a little bit.”

Emma snags another drink from a passing server and gives the screens a second look, but eventually she just shrugs again and takes a drink. “I don’t get it, sorry. Modern art is just weird and boring to me.”

I reach a finger out and tap the tips of the wings on her butterfly tattoo, which is partially revealed due to her dress’s style. “What do you think this is if not art?”

“You know it's not the same,” Emma continues after brushing my hand away. “Plus, my tattoos are meaningful and beautiful! These are just…” She waves her hands at the digital screens. “Being edgy just for the sake of it. They mean nothing.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” a short woman says as she sidles up next to us, an amused note in her voice. “You don’t like it, I assume?” she asks, looking up at Emma.

I can tell Emma is working up to a snarky comment, but she and I turn our heads to the woman at the same time and…wow. I’m not into women romantically or sexually, but she is stunning. The first thing I notice is her striking makeup; dark blue lipstick on her full lips and almost no other artifice besides shimmery highlighter on her broad cheekbones. Her angular eyes, so richly brown they are almost black, are fixated on Emma, who seems equally as fascinated by her.

This woman is dressed in something that seems to be a cross between a military coat and a kimono, the same deep shimmering blue as her lips, with complex gold filigree and tasseled sleeves and hems. Her hair is as dark as night and pouring down her back in a straight, shiny sheet that shifts with her every movement. I had the thought that if I were to touch her hair, it would be impossibly silky. Velvet, thigh-high boots with no heels are the only thing she wears on her bottom half, the tunic length of her kimono-coat acting like a dress.

At first I thought she was going to argue with Emma about the paintings, but I realize quickly that while she’s amused, her question is also sincere. I look to Emma to see what she’ll say, and it takes my friend a moment to answer, seemingly surprised to be asked her genuine opinion.

“Not really,” Emma finally says, regaining her usual haughty composure.

“Why, pray tell, are you at an auction for this artist, then?” the woman asks.

Emma tilts her chin towards me. “I’m just Petra’s plus one. This isn’t really my scene.”

The woman’s gaze turns to me appraisingly. “As in Petra Van Gatt, owner of Gatt-Dieren gallery?”

I make a conscious effort to conceal my astonishment and with a smile on my lips, I just nod in return.

“You’ve been the talk of the town after your gallery's public opening. It seems no one even knew you had purchased the old Artemis Room.”

Part of me wants to shyly and awkwardly laugh and let the conversation fizzle, but I have to be a good representation of my business, even for this perfect stranger, who might end up being an art dealer or a well-renewed critique for an art magazine. “Yes. I have to say I’m surprised to see a gallery featuring smaller local artists garner so much attention.”

The corner of the woman’s mouth quirks up. “As much as I’d love to say everyone is interested in seeing the young, local talents, we both know that the biggest draw is you.”

I blow out a breath. “Well, if people come because I own the place, and at the same time take an interest in the local talents I’m trying to promote, then I guess it’s still a win in my book.”

She nods sagely before turning her attention back to Emma. “Are you business partners?”

“Just friends,” Emma says firmly.

The other woman nods. “So how is it that your friend is the owner of a significantly historic piece of New York’s art scene, but you’re not interested in art yourself?”

Emma shifts her weight to one foot, sticking her hip out and crossing her arms. “It’s not that I don’t like art. I just don’t like art that pretends to be smarter than it really is. Like these.” She nods her head in the direction of the huge digital paintings.

The woman in blue seems even more amused, the crystalline chandelier earrings she’s wearing tinkling as she shakes her head. “Maybe the paintings are just too smart for you, and not the other way around.”

Emma takes a second to be offended, before her face takes on an interesting, calculating look. “Oh, so you’re clever enough to understand these paintings?” Her rhetoric question hangs in the air for a second, while the other woman just smiles in return, almost in delight. “Very well. Explain them to me, then.”

I dig my phone out of my clutch to check the time and cringe. There’s less than ten minutes before the auction starts. “Emma…”

But she doesn’t hear me. All of her attention is now on the other woman here with us, and it’s then I realize the energy between them is sizzling with electricity. I’m ashamed to admit I had forgotten, in the haze of looking at all the beautiful things around me, about my plan with Catherine to get Emma hooked up with a secret someone. Out of all the people here, I do believe the specific person I was supposed to find has found us instead.

The woman in blue takes a step closer to Emma, tilting her head to the side as she considers her. She narrows her eyes, and her smirk becomes mischievous. “Very well. To me, I see layers. The two humans are looking at one another, as if they yearn to be together, but they’re still kept apart. As they change, their true ferocious nature coming out, they seem to forget about one another. So maybe at their animalistic cores, they weren’t suited for each other, anyway.”

Emma looks again at the paintings, and a look of understanding passes through her eyes. Still, it’s Emma, and she’s not going to admit defeat so easily. “Bullshit. You just made that up on the spot. It doesn’t make any sense.”

The woman slowly looks Emma over, eyes hitching on her tattoos as she speaks. “Is there no animal in you yearning to be free?”

Emma leans even closer to the woman until their faces are inches apart. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Oh gosh, I’m starting to feel like a third wheel when the chime signifying the start of the auction plays over the speakers. I guess I’ll just have to leave Emma and the mystery woman here and hope the sparks continue to fly. Emma will find me eventually. Shooting my friend, who seems to be in a heated argument—or seduction—with her newly found acquaintance, a last glance, I tear myself away and follow the rest of the crowd to the auction hall. I hate having to go alone but if I pull Emma away now, I’d be ruining my chances of hooking her up with someone new.

Right before I enter the hall, I send Catherine a quick text: I think we found your secret perfect woman.

Catherine sends me back nothing but a thumbs-up emoji. Why does everything have to be so cryptic?

Resigned to attending the auction solo, I find my seat, pick up my bidding paddle, and wait quietly for the event to begin.

The lights are lowered in the auction hall, and the auctioneer steps up to the podium, causing a hush to fall over the room. I shift in my seat, nervously looking at the empty chair next to me where Emma should be. I really hope she isn’t getting into any trouble.

The auctioneer opens the auction with a speech informing the audience what all of the lots will be today, giving Shi a quick introduction and an explanation of why her artwork is so special and coveted. Most, if not all, of the audience already knows everything he’s telling us, but appearances have to be upheld.

At the end of his speech, he says, “And yes, the rumors are true. At the end of today’s auction, we will be bidding on a never-before-seen self-portrait by Shi herself, and it will be the first public display of her identity.”

The crowd murmurs among themselves excitedly, and I’m exhilarated right along with them. I sit with my back ramrod straight, my bidding paddle clutched tightly in my hand. Even if I didn’t win the bid for the self-portrait, I’d be among the first to see the face of Shiori Takahashi, and self-portrait or no, I’m still determined to win a few pieces for the gallery.

The auctioneer calls for silence in the crowd so they can begin the bidding on the first item. When the noise in the room dies down, a traditional canvas pop-art painting, one of Shi’s early works, appears on the enormous screen behind the auctioneer, with the text on the bottom of the screen reading “Lot #1.”

Before I can blink, the bidding begins in a chaotic flurry, bidding paddles flying up around me so fast I can barely keep up. I decide to wait out this one, and maybe the next lot too, to get a feel for the prices and how quickly everyone is going. For a brief moment, I wish Alex, or at least Emma, were with me, but I have to be self-assured. I can do this.

Lot #2 passes me by, but by the third lot I’m ready to roll. This one is the last traditional canvas, and it seems to me like her early paintings will go for less than the digital ones. I’d like to take home at least one canvas and one digital piece, so now is my chance.

Four paddles have gone up when I decide to make my move.

“Two hundred and fifty-thousand,” I call, raising my paddle, which is emblazoned with the number 32.

There are two other bids after mine, but I put the last bid in and win the artwork for three hundred thousand dollars. Adrenaline rushes through me, and I pat myself on the back internally for getting with the program and winning a piece I wanted.

I’m not terribly interested in any of the digital paintings that come up next, even though they are exquisite. I need to hold my purse strings shut for something special. Not everything of Shi’s are of the intense mythological type. Some are softer and show the artist’s gentler side.

I’m particularly struck by one medium-sized digital piece in a driftwood frame of a beach, ocean, and horizon all done in huge broad strokes that, on their own, wouldn’t look like much, but together form the stirring landscape.

This one is going for a little more than I expected, and I’m waffling on whether to bid when Emma slides unobtrusively into the seat next to me, patting any pieces of her short black bob back into place and fluffing her bangs. I glare at her, sneaking a bid in before turning my attention back to her.

“Where have you been!?” I hiss.

“The bathroom,” she says vaguely, checking her reflection in her phone camera again.

“Four hundred and thirty-thousand going once,” the auctioneer calls.

“Four hundred and forty!” I yell, holding my paddle up. The man who bid before me grumbles but sits his paddle back in his lap. Good, looks like I’ve won this one too.

While the auctioneer counts down and announces the piece as sold, I grill Emma more.

“The bathroom for almost an hour? Were you alone?” I say under my breath, looking around to see if anyone had noticed her late entrance.

“What kind of question is that, Petra? Of course I was alone!” Emma insists, trying to look casual as she settles in her chair, holding her own paddle in her lap and looking for all the world like she had been beside me the whole time.

“You’ve got some explaining to do later,” I huff, and Emma rolls her eyes.

We watch more of the auction, but then Emma leans in to ask me something as quietly as she can.

“Has the portrait sold yet?”

I shake my head. “No, it’s the last item. Why?”

Emma clenches and unclenches her hands on her paddle a few times, and her eyes dart around the room. She seems almost…nervous? Emma is never nervous, so it has to be something else. Is she looking for someone special? Maybe the woman she had been arguing with?

She exhales when she doesn’t find whoever she is looking for, her shoulders relaxing minutely. “It’s nothing. I had this weird thought and…never mind. It’s nothing.”

She’s freaking me out a little, so I lay a hand comfortingly over hers and she actually meets my gaze. “If something’s wrong we can go, Em. No harm, no foul.”

“No way,” she insists. “Stop worrying.”

I’m not convinced, but I sit up straight again and watch the bidding intently, trying for two other digital paintings but not winning. Oh well, I had met my goal of taking home one traditional piece and one digital piece, and I find myself fantasizing about where to put them in the gallery to garner the most attention. They’ll need to be in the back, so all the visitors have to pass by the other artists' work first, and maybe…

I snap out of my thoughts when another hush falls over the room, and the preloaded picture of the previous artwork on the screen changes to a live camera feed of a figure in a solid black cloak, hands clasped in front of them, and hood drawn up so the face was completely concealed in shadow. Beside the figure was an easel with what appeared to be a canvas on it, but just like the figure, a black piece of fabric completely conceals the painting, too.

“And finally,” the auctioneer announces. “Our ultimate piece, titled simply: A Portrait of Shiori. Once the lot has been sold, the artist will also reveal herself. Let us begin.

“Should I bid? Do you think her portrait would look right at–Emma?” I try to ask my friend's opinion, but when I slide my glance over to her, she’s fixated, unblinking, on the screen. I tap her on the shoulder, and she shushes me.

“Let me concentrate,” she says.

She’s being a total weirdo about something, but now isn’t the time to talk. I hadn’t made up my mind on whether I was going to fight for this portrait or not, but I might as well jump into the fray if everyone else is. Even if I don’t win, people here will remember I put up a fight.

If I thought the other auctions went quickly, I was immediately proven wrong as soon as the floor opened for the last lot. Bids are going up like wildfire; people who hadn’t placed a single bid so far are suddenly throwing their paddles up like their lives depended on it. Everyone would get to see Shi’s face tonight, but only one of us would leave with her self-portrait to mark the occasion.

I’m not a very competitive person by nature, but oh my gosh, the atmosphere of the auction brought out what little competitiveness I had in me. Midway through the bidding I start putting in bids myself, but when the price soars well over the million-dollar mark, I falter. We have the money of course, but would it be better spent funneled into my art fund instead of this portrait? I hesitate, and by the time it’s over three million, I surrender and let the others fight for it.

At six million, the bids slow between only five art dealers, yet the price keeps going up, and the tension rises at every new bid, until one of the man shouts “ten million” hoping to close the bid once and for all. Yet only three of them resign, and before we know it, we are at eleven million. Oh my goodness, what a stark contrast with the price tag of the first paintings. When it looks like one of the men, whose face looks triumphant, will overcome the others, a single voice echoes through the hall that hadn’t been heard at all in any of the bidding tonight.

Emma, as calm as can be, holds up her paddle. “Fifteen million dollars!”

WHAT!

Everyone explodes into chatter, and I even see the stalwart auctioneer’s eyebrows raise at the insane bid. I look at my friend, my mouth agape. Is she crazy or what? I’m beyond shocked and completely speechless.

All I can manage is a thin, breathless, “Emma…!” but she doesn’t even pay me any mind, just holding her paddle in the air as all the other bidders around us lose their minds, albeit quietly.

“Uh… Fifteen-million dollars going once, twice, SOLD to—” The auctioneer checks his paper briefly before looking up again. “Ms. Emma Hasenfratz.”

Emma’s family is wealthy and well-traveled, but she’s a complete unknown in the art scene. Some of those present know her from their social circles, but the art dealers that have flown in from out of the country seem to have no idea who she is, and frantic whispers are being exchanged all around before a storm of applause starts echoing across the auction hall.

Emma lowers her arm and folds her hands in her lap, looking smug but still concentrating solely on the screen. The auctioneer calls for everyone to be quiet, and once the cacophony ceases, it’s finally time to see the painting Emma has purchased and its artist at the same time.

I want to shake my best friend out of whatever stupor she is in, to demand why she would do such a thing. Emma has no use for a digital painting, especially a piece of artwork that would be in high demand all around the world. Emma didn’t even like to stay in one place for long. Where would she hang it? In her private jet?

I don’t get time to ask her though. I want to see who Shi is just as bad as everyone else. A low drone of music fills the auction hall, soon crescendoing into soaring pipe and string melodies, and as the song hits its splendid climax, the cloaked figure uncovers the canvas before shedding her own cloak. Both pieces of fabric flutter to the floor, and the world sees Shiori Takahashi once and for all.

“I fucking knew it!” Emma exclaims, causing everyone in the room to turn and look at us. On the screen, Shiori smiles widely, showing an array of perfectly straight, white teeth. Beside her, the self-portrait shifts from a photograph of Shiori into her gorgeous portrait, painted in a watercolor style, before shifting back to the photo again.

The smooth transition between digital and watercolor is absolutely mesmerizing! Of course it is; everything Shi had ever produced had been like that, but I can’t concentrate on the painting. Why? Because the woman standing next to it is the same woman Emma had been arguing with in the gallery earlier this evening.

My stomach feels like it falls to the floor, and I can feel myself going pale. Oh-my-god! Did Emma really insult Shiori Takahashi’s work to her face? Before buying her self-portrait!?

I whip around to Emma, and where I have blanched, her usually porcelain face is flushed red with something between delight and anticipation. I suddenly understand why she bought the portrait, and at the same time my suspicions about her strangely long bathroom trip are confirmed. Emma had been, at the very least, making out with a mysterious stranger, and something had given her the idea that the stranger was Shiori.

Shiori, still smiling, exits the frame on screen and, to my surprise, struts out from a door hidden behind one banner hung on the wall behind the auctioneer. If everyone had gasped when the picture was revealed, they were all completely beside themselves now, as Shiori walks down the aisle between the chairs directly to Emma.

Emma stands to meet Shiori, and I hear the rapid click click click of the media’s cameras going off as Shiori reaches her and bows her head a minuscule amount.

“Congratulations on your purchase, Ms. Hasenfratz, and thank you,” Shiori says, her polite yet sultry voice pitched low enough that only Emma and the people directly next to us could hear.

“My pleasure,” Emma responds, and holds her hand out for what I think is a handshake, until Shiori pulls Emma’s perfectly manicured hand to her dark blue lips and kisses it. The cameras go wild, capturing Emma’s reaction, and I have to admit it must make an excellent picture; the American socialite millionaire and the alluring, Japanese artist.

This scenario is wilder than anything I could have ever imagined, and I’m not sure whether I want to kill Catherine or kiss her in thanks.

CHAPTER 4

Petra Van Gatt

After the auction finishes, everyone adjourns for a short cocktail hour. A limited amount of press had been allowed in for the auction, and they’re all clamoring to speak to the newly unmasked Shiori.

Shiori Takahashi has two bodyguards with her, two hulking men nearly seven feet tall who silently stand beside her to keep the reporters at a safe distance. She does an admirable job of ignoring them or diverting the conversation when their questions become too prying or inappropriate. She had informed everyone as soon as the auction ended that she would only answer questions about her artwork and nothing about her personal life, and no matter how aggressive the reporters became with their queries, she never budged.

I say all this as an outsider because none of the guests from the auction were allowed to be too close to Shiori. Except for one person, who never left her side.

Emma.

The older woman I had spoken to earlier stands beside me as I watch the spectacle of my friend flirting with Shi. After Shiori had thanked Emma for her generous purchase, she had invited her to join her for the cocktail hour, and the pair talked quietly, heads bowed close to each other, when Shiori wasn’t talking to the press.

My new companion, who had introduced herself as Beverly, seemed to be just as curious about this turn of events as I was. Well, honestly, everyone was fascinated with the fact that the famously aloof painter had chosen Emma to join her for the night, and I’m sure everyone was dying to know what they were talking about. I couldn’t wait for Emma to spill it all to me later.

“You’re sure they don’t know each other? Before tonight, I mean,” Beverly asks me, stirring her dirty martini with an olive on a pick.

“I’ve known Emma all my life. She’s never met Shiori before, I’m certain,” I reply, happy to play into the woman’s desire to gossip.

Emma is too busy to control the narrative of what’s going on between her and Shi, so I take up the task of feeding all the curious onlookers innocuous bits of information. Enough to keep everyone satisfied, but nothing that would embarrass Emma later on. Everyone knew we had come in together, so I was a hot commodity for chit-chat during the cocktail hour.

Emma’s past isn’t necessarily checkered, but she was arrested at a secret underground party some time ago, and her public social media accounts aren’t exactly spotless. She’s kept herself out of the spotlight since getting with Yara, but tonight definitely changes all that.

I have to admit, they look good together, and Emma seems drawn to the painter like she has some magnetic pull. I spot Shiori dragging her pointed nails down Emma’s arm, and the heated look that Emma shoots her back under her long, sooty lashes. Oh man, there is some serious chemistry there. My plan might actually work.

Yara would no doubt get wind of the whole auction affair soon enough. It’s not every day that someone unknown in the art scene appears out of thin air and drops fifteen million dollars on a portrait. This was going to be a hot topic for some time, I’m sure of it. How Yara would react is the real question. She couldn’t publicly have a problem with Shi and Emma hanging out because it would blow her cover. In a perfect world, Yara would get angry enough to call the whole sordid relationship off on her own, but something tells me she’s going to be too stubborn for that.

When the cocktail hour ends, I see Shiori slip Emma a business card, their hands meeting for longer than was necessary during the exchange. Shi disappears as swiftly as she first showed up, and Emma watches her go, a wistful expression on her face

The media is on Emma as soon as she is alone. She presses through them without stopping, walking directly to me, and when the reporters become too aggressive, she flips them off with both hands. I laugh, because even here, where we’re supposed to be on our best behavior, Emma doesn’t change one bit.

“You’re giving them a ton of material to work with tonight,” I tell her when she finally makes it to my side.

“Fuck them,” she says, glaring at the mass of cameras behind us. “Let’s get out of here before they make you the focus of some dumb story too.”

I message Zach to let him know to be ready for us, and that there may be some trouble from the flock of reporters on our tail. He agrees to meet us at the doors and then escorts us to the waiting car through the crowd. As we do so, Emma and I both keep our heads down, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I’m finally closed into the sedan with my friend beside me.

“Sorry about all that,” Emma says, looking out the tinted windows at everyone still gathered outside.

“It’s honestly fine. At least I’m not the center of attention this time.”

She’s quiet as we buckle in, but I can see how jittery she is. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s still riding the adrenaline rush of the entire night.

“You know I have a million questions,” I say, my tone dripping with amusement.

Emma leans her head back against the leather seat and sighs. “Fine, I guess I owe you some answers.”

I turn my body to face her fully. “Why were you in the bathroom so long?”

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” she shoots back.

“Ugh. Fine. When did you figure out that the woman you had been kissing and not telling was Shi?”

“Honestly, it didn’t cross my mind until I snuck into the auction and didn’t see her anywhere. She carried herself with such an air of importance I was sure she was a top art dealer or something along those lines but when she wasn’t in the room bidding…” She holds her hands up helplessly. “I just had a hunch.”

I take a minute to digest this information. “So you spent fifteen million dollars on a hunch?”

“What can I say? I’m a risk taker,” she says nonchalantly, and I can’t help but groan.

“You’re impulsive. That’s different.”

She examines her fingernails, adjusting one of her many rings. “I just had to know who she was, okay? We had a connection. Or something.”

The passing city lights illuminate her face, and I see a wrinkle between her brows. Something else is on her mind.

“At least it worked out, right? You know who she is now,” I say, my tone cajoling.

Emma swallows, still twisting one ring on her finger. “You’re right. It was a spur of the moment. I don’t regret anything that just happened, but I know there’s going to be some fucking fallout from it. I can never avoid it.”

I try to read between the lines and find out what she isn’t saying. “You’re talking about Yara, aren’t you? You’re afraid she’s going to see all those pictures that were taken.”

“There’s no way she won’t,” Emma says, her lips pursed. “She’s going to be so pissed.”

“So what!” I say heatedly. “You guys aren’t official, and I bet she’s still sleeping with her husband! You’re allowed to see other people.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure she is,” she admits, a touch of repugnance in her tone. “You know what? A part of me is rather happy she’ll see them. Maybe she will feel an inkling of how I feel seeing her with Elliot, or how it feels when she goes weeks without calling me.” Emma sounds sad, and it tugs at my heart. I know I set all this up to separate her and Yara, but I wish it didn’t have to hurt her so badly.

I have a quick flashback of Emma kneeling in front of Yara at the masquerade, and a chill goes down my spine. “She doesn’t want your love, Emma,” I tell her softly. “She wants your surrender and obedience. That isn’t a relationship you need, honey.”

“Don’t ‘honey’ me,” Emma snaps, and I flinch, but before I turn away, she grabs my wrist. “Fuck, I didn’t mean that. I’m just a mess of emotions tonight. I’m sorry.”

I pat her hand, letting her outburst slide. She’s hurting, and at the same time, probably excited about the prospect of something new. “Forget about Yara for right now. She’s not here. What are your plans with Shiori?”

“All she said was ‘we’ll see each other again’ and handed me her card. Actually–” She pauses, reaching into her small leather bag and pulling out the card Shiori gave her. She slides her thumb over it, causing a second identical card to slide out from behind the first. “She said this one was for you. She’ll be in contact about having an installation at your gallery.”

I gingerly take the card, which has the same gold filigree cherry blossom design that the invite had, the only word on the card being “Shi” and then a phone number beneath it. I’m genuinely shocked that she’d want to have a showcase at Gatt-Dieren gallery, it being so new, but the idea makes me giddy.

“You have no idea how big that would be for us!” I tell Emma, tucking the business card into my bag as carefully as I can so I don't crease it. “Even if I suspect that she’s just interested in my gallery to get to my best friend.”

Emma snorts. “She doesn’t have to try that hard. I’m easy.”

We both laugh, letting the tension from our earlier talk about Yara fade away. There’s nothing to be done about Emma being photographed with Shi now. It’s done and will be public knowledge by tomorrow morning at the latest. I’m sure the pictures are already firing around social media like a ricocheting bullet. Yara was going to find out, and Emma would just have to deal with the fallout.

For now, I’m glad she connected with someone that sparked her interest. The mysteriousness surrounding Shi was probably a big factor too, and Emma had to be preening considering she was the only one allowed close to the newly unmasked painter while everyone else had to be held at a distance.

It’s almost 11 pm when we pull up to my condo, and I’m actually glad to be back.

“Zach will drive you home,” I tell Emma before crushing her into a hug. “Thank you so much for coming,” I whisper into her ear.

“Thanks for inviting me,” she replies to my biggest surprise. “I had a great time.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I tell her. Then I bid Zach goodnight, and after getting out of the car, I watch the headlights come on and the car departing. Afterwards I get inside the building, cross the lobby area, and get into the lift to take me to the highest floor.

I don’t realize how exhausted I am until the front door creaks open and I step inside. The house is warm and dark, only the recessed lights in the walls on, turned to their lowest setting, offering me a tiny bit of illumination. I kick off my heels, gratefully sinking my bare feet into the carpet of the living room after I hang up my coat. Everything is silent, almost eerily so, and I have a quick pang of disappointment that Alex didn’t wait up for me. I have so much to tell him. Oh well, there’s always the morning.

I pad as quietly as I can to our bedroom, peaking in quickly to check on the sleeping twins. They’re both fast asleep, arms stretched above their heads as they snore gently. I blow them each a kiss, shutting the door behind me.

My bedroom is dark too, and I fumble with my phone flashlight, so I don’t have to turn all the lights in the room on and wake Alex, but when the bright light finally flares to life on my phone, it doesn’t show me my husband sleeping beneath the covers like I expected. Instead, a figure is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me wordlessly.

I jump back, yelping in alarm, heart racing. The figure laughs, and when my vision focuses, I realize it’s Alex. He’s in only a pair of black boxers with his arms crossed, and his laugh is low and gravelly.

“You scared me half to death, Alex!” I admonish him, holding my hands over my still-racing heart.

“I’ve been waiting on you,” he says simply, motioning me over with a crook of his finger.

I comply, but I’m still not thrilled that he frightened me so badly. “You could have been waiting with the lights on,” I point out.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he rumbles, hands skittering up my sides over my evening dress. “You were out all night showing off for everyone else. I just wanted my fair share.”

His hands reach the curve of my hips and slide behind me to cup my ass. Oh. Okay. I see where this is going now.

“What do you mean by ‘fair share’?” I ask breathily.

I’m standing between his legs, and he’s looking up at me, almost completely in shadow since the only light in the room is my phone flashlight sitting on the vanity where I had left it. His eyes look almost black when he nips at the sensitive skin of my breast through my dress, growling, “Everything.” I suck in a breath, heat prickling my arms at the heady sensation of being so close to him. “No bra?” Alex asks, sliding the thin straps of my dress over my shoulders and rolling it down over my bare chest. With the zipper still up, the dress won’t come down any farther, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Any sleepiness I had been experiencing immediately evaporates into thin air as he first palms my breasts, ravishing me with his gaze, the calluses on his fingers making me shiver as they skate over my sensitive skin. Lust comes alive deep in my belly, and I exhale shakily.

“You can at least kiss me hello first,” I tell him, letting my head fall back when he does just that, only on my nipples instead of my mouth.

“Like that?” he asks, moving from one tight peak to the other.

“Close enough,” I pant.

Alex’s mouth is nearly burning after the frigid January air, like dipping a toe into a hot bath after a long day in the snow. I lean my weight into his waiting hands, and his fingers trace the curve of my upper rib cage while he works my nipples over with his tongue and teeth.

“Zipper,” I manage to gasp, and he gets the hint, mouth never stopping while his hands pull the zipper down until my dress pools on the floor in a silvery puddle.

“All night I’ve been thinking about everyone watching you, and how no one can touch you but me,” Alex tells me, pulling me closer still, and I whimper. “You’re mine.”

“Yes,” I respond, fingers threading through his short hair.

The light on my phone times out, and we are cloaked once again in the pressing darkness. Everything is so quiet, besides the sounds of our breathing, that it almost seems like we’re floating.

I sink wordlessly to my knees, and even in the pure black of the room, Alex knows what I need. He lifts himself up enough for me to tug his boxers to the floor, and I run my hands up the lines of his muscular legs. Of course he isn’t wearing any underwear. I smile with a flash of amusement. He must have planned all of this out.

We rarely make love in the dark, wanting to see the desperation and desire in each other’s eyes, but there is something erotic about finding his throbbing manhood by touch only, following his legs to the apex of his thighs where he stands proudly, waiting for my touch. He hisses between his teeth when I cup his sack with one small hand and the base of his cock with the other, and I feel his muscles tense.

“Your hands are cold,” he tells me, and I huff a short laugh.

“You’ll get over it,” I assure him, spreading the droplet of precum on the tip of his member over the head and stroking him slowly. He’s not wrong. His skin seems heated from within, and I instinctually want to be closer to him.

I jerk him lazily, wanting to take my time, but Alex has other ideas in mind. I feel his hand fist in my hair barely a second before he’s guiding my mouth to the tip of his cock, and I stubbornly keep my lips closed, teasing him.

“Open your mouth, little Petra,” he demands.

I consider ignoring him, but truthfully, I was hungry for the taste of him on my tongue. I obediently part my lips and he pushes inside impatiently, cursing under his breath when he bumps the back of my throat, bringing tears to my eyes.

I try to go at my own pace, but he isn’t having it, moving my head with his hand buried in my hair exactly how he wants it. I surrender, letting him take what he needs, breathing evenly as he fills my mouth over and over. Finally, he pulls me off of him with a frustrated groan.

“Get into this fucking bed,” Alex says, and I’m all too happy to comply. I’m nearly shivering without his hands on me, and I can’t wait to be skin to skin. I ditch my panties, throwing them on top of my discarded dress before crawling into the bed beside my husband.

He scoots himself back against the headboard, and after a bit of fumbling in the dark, he welcomes me into his arms with a passionate kiss, holding me flush against him. I tangle our legs together as his tongue dips into my mouth, tracing the line of my bottom lip with his thumb between kisses. He’s still as hard as a rock pressing against my thigh, and I’m becoming more and more impatient to have him inside of me.

“Hands on the headboard,” Alex says, and although I’m reluctant to leave his embrace, I do as I’m told, gripping the headboard on my knees.

I feel his hands on my ass cheeks first, spreading them apart with his hands, before the tip of his member pushes against the folds of my pussy from behind. I’m wet and swollen for him, my breasts still tingling from the rasp of his stubbly jaw and the taste of him still on my tongue.

Alex doesn’t ask permission, or if I’m ready. We’re attuned to each other on such a level that he doesn’t need to; he can feel my need just as clearly as I can feel his, charging the air around us like an electrical storm. He enters me slowly but without pause, gripping the globes of my bottom unforgivingly as he fills me completely. The sound coming from my throat is thin and desperate, and he gives me exactly what I need, until we are completely joined, and I feel the press of his hips against my ass.

There could be filthy talk, or sweet nothings, spoken between us, but tonight we don’t need any of it. Even in the pitch black of our bedroom, we know exactly what the other needs, and our lovemaking is almost transcendent. His thumbs brush the dimples at the base of my spine while he fucks me at the perfect pace, before covering my body with his and peppering the back of my neck with love bites and kisses.

I’m already feeling that tight, achy sensation in the pit of my stomach, but when he leans so far forward, he completely changes where he is hitting me inside, the head of his cock pressing and rubbing hard against my inner walls and the sensitive bundle of nerves deep in my pussy. My arms shake and I cry out, but Alex is there, wrapping a powerful arm around my middle as he pumps into me again and again. The sensation is almost too hard, too fast, but I’m grounded by Alex’s hot breath on my nape and the soft press of his lips.

“You can take it, baby,” he murmurs into my ear.

“Okay,” I pant. “Okay.”

The feeling is so intense that I nearly push him off me; it’s too much, but I’ll ride it out for him. He makes a ragged noise that sounds like my name, and the sound of his voice breaking shoots through me. Without even a nanosecond of warning, I’m coming so hard that I feel like I might black out, dots swimming in my vision, even in the dark, as the pleasure rolls over me so hard the muscles in my stomach clench.

“Oh God,” I whimper as Alex picks up the pace, sending me spiraling into another climax right as he spills himself inside of me in a rush.

He keeps us locked together, barely moving as he rides the wave of his own orgasm while my body clenches around him, milking every last ounce of pleasure from us both.

I can feel my fingers slipping off the headboard in my exhaustion, but Alex’s arm around my center keeps me up until he gently rolls us both onto the mattress, spooning me against him without pulling out. I can feel his breath fluttering my hair, and I realize I never took it out. Oh well, I’ll fix it later.

“Worth staying up for?” I ask him contentedly and he hums in agreement.

“I have to wash my face,” I complain, and he grabs me tighter.

“Not yet.”

I feel tiredness wanting to pull me under, and it’s really tempting to fall asleep in Alex’s arms in our post-lovemaking bliss, but I’m still in a full face of makeup. “Just come shower with me,” I say, tugging on his hands to free myself. He doesn’t budge.

“Alex, come on,” I say, and I hear him exhale heavily.

“Fine, but you better make it worth my time.” His tone is rough and sleepy.

I roll over, and we both make a strangled noise when he pulls out of me, still half erect. I cup his face in my hands, feeling his bristly stubble under my palms, and kiss his mouth gently. I could stay like this forever, in the warmth of his embrace in our bed, but a shower sounds pretty heavenly too.

“Don’t I always?” I ask against his lips.

“Hmm,” he hums. “We’ll see.”

CHAPTER 5

Manhattan, January 10, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

With Tilly taking care of the gallery and its opening, I decide to spend the day in my atelier and start a new collection. I’m not sure if it was Shi’s artwork that inspired me, but when I woke up, I felt an imminent desire to close myself in my atelier and spend the day working on a new canvas. While my style is very different from Shi’s, I realize her dedication and perseverance is what made her the reputable artist that she is today. I knew that if I wanted to be just as good, I had to have the same self-discipline. I’ve even chosen a different playlist, and for some reason, I chose the one playing at Christie’s—a quiet and relaxing Japanese traditional music. The brush feels light on my hand as I let the inspiration guide me. The music transports me to winter, wintery trees, and a mountainous village, but I’m not interested in doing a realistic painting; my minds gravitates towards a more abstract type of landscape.

Suddenly though, the intercom pinned on the wall starts ringing, halting me from my reverie.

I pause the track, put down my brush, and go to press the button of the intercom. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, Miss, but Emma is here,” Maria informs me. “What should I do?”

“Oh, Emma is here?” I ask rhetorically. That’s odd, I don’t remember having anything booked with her today. “Um, can you escort her to my atelier, please?”

Maria agrees, and a few moments later, I hear knocking on the door of my atelier, to which I open immediately.

“Hey,” I greet seeing Emma’s face beaming at me. I give her a tight hug, and for some reason, I feel her getting slightly emotional. I observe her face, and she seems way more serious than usual. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry to come over, but I, um…” She lets her words trail off, clearly in embarrassment. Her gaze goes above my shoulder as if something caught her attention. “Oh! That’s nice.” She points a finger towards my painting. “Can I come in?”

I step aside, inviting her in. “Of course.”

As soon as Emma enters, I close the door behind me, and she stops in front of the canvas I’m currently working on. “You working on a new collection already?”

“Yep,” I tell her, a proud smile settling on my lips. “This one will be made entirely of abstract landscapes in watercolor.”

Emma keeps roaming around the studio, checking carefully every canvas standing against the walls.

After a few more seconds in total silence, I call her name and ask the same question again. “What’s going on?”

I observe her figure standing at the end of the studio, her back to me. She’s sporting a black sweater and a matching mini-skirt with her usual black boots, looking fashionable as always.

“Yara called me this morning,” she announces with deep concern in her voice. She then turns, facing me. “And…well, let’s say it wasn’t cute to see.” She heaves a long sigh, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I know I told you to stay out of it, but she was so…rude.” Then she starts pacing in my direction, her gaze trying to avoid mine as she thinks something through. “I felt like my whole world was crashing under me.” She finally stops in front of me, and then says, “So I came here before doing something stupid.”

I suck in a breath, wondering what she means by that. “She saw the pictures, huh?”

A gush of air rolls off her lips. “Yeah, she did.” She pauses for a beat, her eyes drifting away for a moment while her lips remain pressed tight together. “I swear I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why do I even care about that bitch? It’s crazy.”

I ruminate on her question for a few seconds. “Well, my guess is that she represents the forbidden fruit,” I venture. “The fact she’s unavailable might turn you on more than you’d like to admit.”

“Everything turns me on about her,” she blurts out, her tone dripping with outrage. “And she knows that. She knows that and she keeps playing games like I’m some sort of toy.”

Emma heaves a long sigh, shaking her head. I feel a pang in my heart watching her being hurt like this. “I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice just above a whisper. Sometimes that’s all we can say to our friends.

After all, I know Emma isn’t here looking for advice or guidance, she just wants someone to be here for her while she mentally digests the messy affair she put herself in. Her mind knows exactly what to do, but now that the heart is also mingled into it, she’ll have to gain the courage to take herself out on her own.

“Did Shiori call you yet?” I ask, trying to pull her out of her gloomy thoughts.

“Gosh, I just met her yesterday,” she answers, while she starts roaming around the studio, as if avoiding more questions. “Of course she isn’t gonna call the next day.” She stops by the window, looking out at the view, before she turns and asks, “You know who called though?”

I shake my head.

“My dad,” she answers, a small smile curving up her lips. “He was very concerned at me spending fifteen million for a portrait. The rest of the gossip didn’t bother him though.”

“I mean, it is quite a lot. I’d have called you too if I were him.” I go to where she’s standing, and once I’m beside her, I ask, “What did you tell him?”

“I said I was investing in art, and that I could actually lease that painting to galleries and museums for quite a lot, making it a good asset to own.” My lips twist into a big smile filed with pride at her answer. It looks like she truly listened to me when I spoke about my fund. “At the end, he was quite understanding.”

“That’s true—it can be a very good source of income,” I say before letting her words sink into me. “Wait—you want to lease it to galleries?” I repeat rhetorically. “If you want to lease it to me, we can certainly work something out.” Emma smiles at me seeing how excited I am at the realization I can have it in my gallery. Suddenly, I recall I still didn’t give her the Christmas present I bought for her in Aspen. “Oh! Wait for me here.”

“Where are you going?” I hear her asking behind me as I leave the atelier, storming down the stairs to go to my bedroom. There, I go to the closet and take the gift bag with her book wrapped inside.

When I come back, I open the door only to find Emma with her iPhone in hands, smiling and chuckling as she types something in. Wow. What a contrast from a few minutes ago…

I feel tempted to ask her who she’s texting, but decide not to. All I hope is that one day or another she stops wasting her time and energy with Yara. Standing before her, I extend my hand, showing her the gift bag. “I got you a little something,” I tell her. “For Christmas.”

Emma blinks a few times, observing with parted lips the bag I’m holding. “Really? Oh, I didn’t know we were about to exchange gifts.”

“Don’t worry about it, I just wanted to give it to you now since you are here.”

Emma finally accepts the shopping bag, opens it and takes from there her wrapped present. “Oh, that seems to be a book, no?”

“Go ahead, open it,” I say, clapping my hands excitedly, burning with impatience to see her reaction.

She removes the wrapping paper and her eyes widen in surprise once she reads the title of the book. “Damn,” she utters, blinking a few times. Her fingers rub the embossed letters with delight and a smile settles on my lips, knowing exactly what she is thinking. “Well, those poems are quite timely.”

I let out a quick chuckle, before saying, “I remember how much you liked The Raven in high school, so I thought you might like this hard copy.”

She starts flipping through the pages, then observes the cover and back cover totally smitten. “I, um, I don’t know what to say.”

“Do you like it?”

“Nope…I love it,” she replies before she opens her arms and gives me a deep, tight hug. I remain in her embrace for a few more seconds, reveling in her warmth and friendship. “Thank you so much,” I hear her whispering.

"You are so welcome, Em.”

After releasing me, her features deepen and become more concerned. “I didn’t buy you anything to be honest. With everything going on, I totally forgot. But if you want to have Shi’s portrait in your gallery once I receive it, you can have it for a month or so free of charge.”

I suck in a breath, completely taken aback at her incredible offer. “Emma! The point is for you to get a return on your investment.”

“That’s okay,” she says, a smirk rising on the corner of her lips. “I’ve got the feeling it won’t be the last painting I’ll have from her.”

CHAPTER 6

Manhattan, January 18, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

Things had been a whirlwind getting ready for my first day back to class, but when the morning finally arrives, I find that I’m not nearly as anxious as I thought I would be. The twins had just woken up and were with Lily when I left, so besides a quick goodbye kiss, I didn’t have any time to feel guilty about leaving them behind.

I’m going to go easy on myself this semester with the amount of classes I take so I can manage my gallery, my paintings and my homework evenly. Over the past year, my mind has been occupied by pregnancy problems, court cases, my marriage, and, on a more positive note, my gallery and art in general. My economics classes at Colombia would be a shock to my system, but I’m up for the challenge.

It’s a blustery morning, tiny flakes of snow spiraling to the ground. Just enough of a dusting to make the air sparkle, but not enough for any real accumulation. It makes the streets of Manhattan slushy and gross, and I’m thankful for my knee-high Wellingtons over my fleece leggings, keeping me dry.

Alex offers to drive me to class, telling me that Zach could pick me up afterwards while he’s at work. I catch him looking at me when we stop at a red light, an affectionate expression on his face as he takes in my puffy coat, backpack full of my laptop and books clutched in my arms.

“You’re absolutely adorable,” he tells me. “No wonder you’ve gotten me into so much trouble over the years.”

I giggle. “You know you went looking for trouble, not the other way around.”

“Agree to disagree,” he says. “Are you nervous?”

I mull over my answer before responding. “Not really, no. After the year we’ve had, what can school possibly throw at me that would be too much to handle?”

“That’s the right mindset to have,” Alex says thoughtfully. “But just remember that your education is separate from the rest of your life. Don’t sit in class dwelling on Jasmine and Jasper, or the gallery, or even Emma. If you’re going to be successful, you need to be able to keep those parts of your life distanced from one another and not worry.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Easier said than done.”

“Did my business fall apart, even when my life was? No. If I can do it, so can you.”

“Alright,” I agree. “I’ll give it my best shot.”

Looking out of the window, Colombia’s campus is alive with activity, groups of people making their way through the concourse and from building to building. I take a deep breath, Alex’s words and the sight of so many other students making the first flutter of nerves take flight in my stomach. There are so many familiar faces I spot right at my first glance that it doesn’t make it any easier. Would they think differently about me now? I tug self-consciously on the Toboggan hat I’m wearing, hoping it’s enough to keep my anonymity, at least for the first day. Most of the students my age aren’t married, and definitely don’t have a set of twins at home. I almost feel like I’m in a different part of my life now, and that I don’t belong here. I try to shake the negativity off, because I’ll never succeed if I spend all my time worrying about what other people think of me.

I want Jasmine and Jasper to know that nothing stopped me from finishing my degree, despite all the obstacles that had stood in my way. I need to set an example for my children.

“Okay,” I reassure myself. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Alex kisses me goodbye in the parking lot, but I can see a tightness around the corners of his mouth when he pulls away. He’s nervous too. Probably about letting me go alone, but no paparazzi would ever dare to come near the campus.

I’m about to open my mouth to ask him if he’s okay when someone taps lightly on the passenger window. I jump a little before turning to see Matt and Sarah standing outside the car, holding hands. Sarah waves excitedly at me, and out of the corner of my eye I can see Alex visibly relax. It looks like I won’t be so alone after all.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Alex tells me. “I’m so proud of you.”

Flush with happiness from his compliments, I give my husband another quick peck on the cheek before opening the car door to step out and join Matt and Sarah.

“Take good care of my woman, you two! Or else!” Alex yells to Matt and Sarah. Sarah giggles happily, assuring Alex that I’m in excellent hands. Matt does the same, but looks slightly on edge, which makes me grin. Old habits die hard, I guess.

“He’s just joking, Matt,” I say, giving my old friend a friendly elbow jab while we watch my husband pull away.

“I know,” Matt insists, and Sarah and I both laugh.

I feel more confident than ever with my friends beside me, and I fumble through my phone for my schedule so we can compare classes. We’ve got thirty minutes until classes start, so there is no rush. The campus looks beautiful in the sparse snow, unlike the streets, picturesque and serene. New York really does have some of the most stunning historical architecture around.

I hold my breath when we pass the first few groups of students, but besides a few polite nods, they tend to ignore us. I blow out a sigh in relief at not being recognized, and Matt immediately notices.

“You okay, P?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “It’s just so weird being back. Like stepping into my old life or something. I keep thinking someone is going to recognize me and ask me something uncomfortable, but so far, so good.”

Matt nods understandingly. “I get it, but for as much as some people pay to go here, I doubt many of them are looking to gossip. I think you’re safe.”

“I hope so. It will be nice to at least have one place where I can blend into the crowd.”

After a few minutes of small talk, Sarah asks, “What did you do for winter break?”

I tell them all about Aspen. Both are familiar with it, but neither had ever been during Christmas time, and Sarah’s eyes light up when I describe the atmosphere of the place during the holidays. All the carolers, magical lights, decorations, and joyous aura had certainly left an impression on me. They both groan in sympathy when I tell them about my mother-in-law staying in the same villa as us.

“That family is something else,” Matt says with a shake of his head. “No offense to Alex, but from what I have seen, it seems like everyone but you and him are scheming twenty-four hours a day. I don’t know how you put up with it.”

I cringe, thinking about how I’ve been manipulated into going to St. Moritz with Emma by Margaret. Scheming is putting it lightly.

“Honestly, I don’t care for any of them, besides Alex, of course,” I confide. “He’s not cut from the same cloth as they are. He just wants a quiet, happy family.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Matt adds. “I’d be worried about blackmail or something if I were you though.”

At the world “blackmail,” my steps stutter. As unnoticed and discrete as I feel here at Columbia, it could all be ruined in an instant if Margaret leaks my sex tape with Alex. Looking at Matt and Sarah, who stop to ask if I’m okay after I trip over my own feet, I’m horrified at the thought of them seeing me like that. Not that there is anything wrong with me having sex with my husband, but it would seriously damage my reputation and my ability to finish school if I had a highly publicized sex tape of any kind.

“I’m fine,” I assure my friends, who look worried at how pale I must have become. “I just had an uncomfortable thought, that’s all.”

Matt frowns, stopping to look me dead in the eye. “Petra, you know if something is going on, you can talk to me, right? I will help you any way I can.”

If only it wasn’t a sex tape, I’d have told Matt already. He’s good enough with computers that I could have turned to him for help, but there’s no way my pride would allow me to admit to him the type of blackmail that was bothering me, let alone the fact that it was my own mother-in-law who was holding it against me. Matt is the godfather of my children; he doesn’t need to see the ugly parts of my marriage to Alex, especially not when they involve Alex’s conniving mother.

“I’m fine, I promise.” I hold my hands up to stop either of them from coming closer. “I was just thinking about how much has changed in my life since I was here last time, and it’s a little bit overwhelming.”

“Don’t be overwhelmed,” Sarah says gently, and I’m comforted by the kindness in her eyes. “We’re here for you whenever you need us.”

Matt is lucky to have found such a caring soul in Sarah. I give her a quick hug, and she returns it happily. “Thanks guys.”

All the thoughts of my potential humiliation out of the way, I’m more than ready to get inside. It may look as pretty as a picture out here, but it’s cold enough that the tip of my nose hurts. I say as much, and we all hurry into the main hall. Sarah shares the first lecture period with me, while Matt is headed to a different class on the third floor. I look away politely as they kiss each other goodbye, thinking about how bizarre but amazing it is that the friendship between Matt and I has survived. Matt jogs up the stone stairs to his class, and Sarah turns to me, eyes bright.

“So,” she begins, “can you tell me anything about the infamous art auction you went to? I’ve seen you in all the tabloids.”

I laugh but shake my head. “Unfortunately, it’s not my story to tell. It’s more between my friend and Shiori Takahashi.”

“They’re saying so much about the two of them in the papers!” Sarah gushes, walking with me into the lecture hall. We find two seats near the back so we can continue to talk while the other students file in.

“Funny, since they were only around each other for a little over an hour,” I comment, amused.

Sarah groans, sinking down in her seat. “I knew you probably wouldn't be able to tell me anything, but it’s just so interesting. A New York trust fund darling and a Japanese anonymous artist? It sounds like something snatched right out of a romcom.”

Out of a romcom? I contain a suppressed laugh at the thought of it. In my mind, I picture Emma swearing, flipping off the press, and smoking cigarettes outside of expensive charity dinners, and I smirk. “Sarah, Emma isn’t exactly romcom material.”

Class is getting ready to start, and we pull out our laptops and notebooks. I do everything automatically without missing a beat, and I’m glad I haven’t forgotten the ebb and flow of university.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarah muses quietly. “Everyone knows that those with the darkest exteriors have the softest hearts.”

I think about the sheen in Emma’s eyes when she told me about hoping that Yara felt hurt when she saw the pictures of her and Shiori, just like Emma was hurt every time she had to see Yara with Elliot. It wasn’t often that I saw my tough-as-nails best friend misty-eyed. I suddenly have an intense desire for her and Shiori to work out, or even her and someone else. Anyone but Yara. I just want my Emma to be happy and find the love that she so obviously craves.

“Maybe you’re right,” I tell Sarah. “I guess we’ll just have to wait it out and see.”

CHAPTER 7

Manhattan, January 21, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

Emma seems to have spent quite a good amount of time over the past few days with Shi. If what the media has been reporting is true, then Yara might become history sooner than I expected. Today Emma and I are having a lunch date, followed by a stopover at the condo so that she can see the twins.

While Emma is telling me all about the delivery of Shi’s portrait to her estate, I can’t help but smile and nod at her glowing face and energy. She truly seems to be on cloud nine, happiness radiating throughout her.

“I swear, she even came with the staff to make sure I was happy with my purchase and advised me where to hang it. I didn’t have to do shit,” she explains as we wait for the server to come over and give us the menu. “As they were delivering the portrait, I was even greeted with champagne and we watched the sunset while listening to some jazz music. It was absolutely magical.”

“Well, looks like Shi knows how to treat you,” I say, hoping she understands the underlying meaning of my comment.

But before Emma can add another word, my iPhone starts ringing, and by the ringtone it seems like it’s work related. I take the cell and after checking who’s calling, I decide to answer. “Yes?”

“Hi Petra. I’m sorry for calling you around lunch time, but the two paintings just arrived at the gallery,” Tilly informs. However her voice is laced with concern and worry as if something is bothering her.

“Um, okay… is there something wrong?”

“Well…” She lets her word trail off, pondering her answer. “I think it’s best you come to see for yourself.”

My heart brisks up at her suggestion. “Uh oh,” I spit out immediately. I look up at Emma, who gives me a nod of the head, as in “We can go if you want.”

“Alright, I will be there in twenty-minutes.” I stand up and Emma follows suit.

“See you soon,” she says before hanging up.

“What happened?” Emma asks right away.

I take a moment to process everything and gather my things. “Tilly said the two paintings arrived but apparently something’s wrong.”

We leave the restaurant on an empty stomach and instead of waiting for Zach, I decide to take the first taxi I can catch outside. Emma and I get inside and I instruct the driver to take us to the gallery.

My heart is thundering as I ruminate on several scenarios in my head. Why didn’t she tell me over the phone what the issue was? Is it that bad? Did Christie’s send me the wrong paintings?

Emma notices my concern, so she lays a hand on top of mine and says, “Don’t worry, everything has a solution.”

I’m glad to see my strong and confident Emma back. “Thanks,” I say giving her a soft pat on the arm.

Once the taxi pulls up at the curb, we leave the car and we run towards the entrance of the gallery as fast as we can to see what the problem is.

Well, it isn’t so much a problem as it is a surprise. Reaching where Tilly is standing, I notice the two pieces I had purchased are there, packaged carefully and already unloaded… As are six others.

“This must be a mistake,” I conclude as I watch the eight packages laying on the floor on the west wing of the gallery. “I only won two paintings.”

“Well, on the papers it clearly states our delivery address,” Tilly answers, checking once more the details on the packing slip, before handing them to me, along with a closed envelope. “And here’s a note that came with the delivery.”

I first read the packing slip that displays eight pieces, and, after opening the envelope, I find inside a personalized card in looping, elegant cursive.

Petra,

I’d hate for your beautiful new gallery to have an incomplete exhibit, so I’ve included a few other pieces as a show of good will. In the future, maybe we can help each other out. After all, women in the art world should always support other women.

Tell Emma I said hello.

- Shiori

“Huh,” I say out loud after reading the note a few times. “Does this seem like something that can turn out badly for me in the future?” I ask Emma, handing her the note. I have no idea what favor I could do for Shiori, and I don’t want to get myself into a nasty spot.

Emma reads the note, her face thoughtful, but eventually hands it back to me with a shrug. “The worst thing I can think of is her asking you to display a controversial exhibit in your gallery, or something along those lines.”

I haven’t even seen the six other pieces she had shipped me, but my palms are already itching to open them and see what kind of treasure lay within. I don’t think I can resist the siren song of the paintings, even if it meant I’d owe Shi later on.

“Fine,” I say quickly. “Let’s open them and see what’s in it.”

Emma and Tilly give me a hand and in no time we manage to take all the paintings out of their boxes and we lay them against the wall to have a full view of the collection she sent. Three of the new paintings seem to be from the same collection of the digital one I bought; they are all landscapes with slow movements and transformations. While the other three seem to be from the same collection of the traditional acrylic painting I bought. I’m both moved and speechless as I observe the set of paintings she offered me. With four paintings from each collection, I can have a proper exhibit set up in representation of the one and only Shiori Takahashi.

“Well, those are pretty dope,” Emma praises. “I like them better.”

I stand before the pieces, pondering the best place to hang them. The wall against where they are standing seems large enough to accommodate the eight pieces, but I don’t think the white background is good enough. After originally acquiring my two Shi pieces, I bought several shades of beige paint for the wall which were intended for the painters who were about to come on Sunday. Well, since Emma is here maybe we can do it together today.

“Tilly?”

“Yes, Petra?”

“You can take the rest of the day off since the gallery will be closed,” I announce. “I have to set up the exhibit and it’ll take some time.”

“You want me to help?” Emma asks immediately, her excitement palpable.

A smile curves the corners of my lips at her question. “Yes, please, I need to paint the wall a different color for her exhibit. Can you give me a hand?” In my opinion, Shi’s art needed more than the neutral colored walls that I preferred when displaying other artists. With more subtle pieces, I didn’t want the walls themselves to detract from the artwork. Shiori’s art, on the other hand, demands attention so powerfully that they almost seem out of place on a white wall.

“Uh, alright, but you promised we’d eat and then spend the afternoon with the twins,” Emma reminds me. “So far, I’m on an empty stomach condemned to spend the whole afternoon here.”

“I can fix that,” I tell her as I come up with a plan. I grab my phone and order Chinese food from the restaurant where we were about to eat that will be delivered in forty-five minutes. Then I call Lilly so that she can pass over and drop the kids while she takes her break. “Problem solved. Food and the twins will be here in no time.”

Once this is done, Emma and I go upstairs to my office where we leave our coats, jewelry, and shoes. She then takes her sweater off, revealing a plain white t-shirt underneath. I give her one of the smocks that were intended for the painters, and we then grab all the tools needed including trays, paints, and rollers before going back downstairs.

“How come you had all this stuff in your office?” she asks.

“I wanted the painters to come over and paint the wall to have it ready for her pieces,” I explain as we go down the stairs. “But since her artwork came sooner I thought we could do it ourselves.”

“Don’t you think we should let the professionals handle this?” she asks with concern. “I have never painted a wall in my life.”

“Don’t worry, these are emulsion paints, they are super easy to spread. We’ll put plastic and cardboard on the floor to protect it. I know how to do it.” While I have never painted a wall in my life either, I have painted enough on a canvas, and I suppose the techniques aren’t that different.

“Only you make me do those things,” she says, shaking her head.

I smile and give her a light pat on the shoulder. “It’ll be fun.”

We first start completely rearranging some of the other painting series in the west portion of the gallery. Then we chose our favorite shade among the few paints I have and we start filling the floor with a protective plastic and a few pieces of cardboard. While I’m not gonna be painting on a canvas, the fact I’m getting some manual work done on my gallery along with my best friend fills my heart with pride and delight. I take the first roller, dip it in the paint tray, and show her how to spread the paint from the top of the wall to the bottom. The concern in her facial expression deepens and it makes me laugh. “It just seems hard the first time, then it’s gonna be automatic, you’ll see.”

My Emma has never been into manual work, but seeing her doing her best as she takes the roller and starts spreading the paint on the wall brings me immense joy.

“I’ve got uh… let’s see… two fried tofu lo mein?”

I quickly take off my gloves and sign the receipt, thanking the bicycle delivery boy and taking the steaming brown paper bag from his hands.

“This is my first delivery to an art gallery,” the delivery boy says with a chuckle. “I passed it twice thinking I was in the wrong place.”

“Sorry!” I chirp. “I’ll clarify next time.”

I lock the enormous gallery doors again after he leaves, taking my bounty of Chinese delivery food to the west wing of the gallery where Emma and the twins are waiting.

Lilly had come over and dropped the twins at the gallery before going out for her break. They seem perfectly content to watch us paint while they sit in their jumpers, occasionally screeching just to hear their own echoes in the empty gallery and cackling in response.

Emma and I take off our painting smocks, electing to sit on the cardboard that lies on the floor with the babies rather than tracking down chairs. I groan when I sit, pushing on my lower back with my hands until it cracks.

“I think I’m getting old,” I complain.

“Surely it couldn’t be because you birthed twins like eight months ago,” Emma ripostes, cracking her pair of chopsticks in half and digging into her food.

“Probably a bit of both,” I agree, fishing my oyster pail of tofu lo mein from the paper bag along with a copious amount of soy sauce packets.

Jasmine and Jasper become eager at the sight of food, so I pour some yogurt melts out onto the tray of their saucers so they can eat with us. “You’re still a little small for Chinese takeout,” I tell them.

Emma looks at the paintings from Shiori lined up against the adjacent wall. “I still can’t believe she sent all of those.”

“I know, right?” I respond. “I’m telling you, she’s trying to get to you through me!”

Emma is suspiciously silent, looking anywhere but at me while she chews a mouthful of rice. “What are you hiding?” I demand.

She swallows. “Stop being so fucking nosy.”

I sit my chopsticks on top of my food box and cross my arms. “Don’t say the F-word in front of the babies! And I’m not being nosy, actually. She delivered the paintings to my gallery, so I’d say it’s my business too.”

Emma sets her own chopsticks down and leans backwards on her hands, face to the vaulted ceiling. “Fine. We’ve been…hanging out,” she finally admits. A pity I had to learn it from the media first. “So I doubt she’s trying to get to me through you. She already has gotten to me.”

I gasp, covering my mouth. “Emma, are you blushing?”

“No! Yes. Maybe. Fu–” she slides a glance at Jasmine, who is watching her with enormous round eyes. “Frick. She’s under my skin Petra, and we haven’t even… kissed.” She does finger quotes as she says the last word. “I mean, since the auction that is.”

“Woah,” I say, at a loss for words. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Emma shrugs self-consciously. “I saw you were in the tabloids after the auction. Not as much as Shi and I, but you’re recognizable too. I know you want to avoid being in the public eye, so I wanted to leave you out of it.”

I motion towards the paintings against the wall. “I think I’m in it either way.”

Emma sits up straight again, picking up her food but poking at it more than eating. “Petra?” she asks.

I’d just resumed my lunch, but I slurp up the noodle hanging from my mouth to answer her. “Yeah?”

“I know it’s complicated with Yara being your sister-in-law. Shiori and I aren’t doing anything but hanging out, but I don’t want to make things more complicated for you regarding Alex’s family.”

Oh, poor Emma. As hard of a front as she puts up against the world, she cares deeply for the few people she lets close to her. “Your happiness will always come before Yara’s, or anyone else's, opinion of me, Em. Do what makes you happy.”

Her smile is full of relief. “Thanks, Petra, I–” She stops when her phone rings, and the relief is quickly wiped from her face when she sees the screen. “It’s Yara,” she says tightly.

“Put it on speaker,” I instruct, before giving a pacifier to each of the twins so they can keep quiet. “But don’t tell her I’m here.”

Emma hesitates, but when she sees the twins behaving so well, she nods, answering the phone on the speaker setting. “Hello?”

“Emma.” Yara’s haughty voice comes through the phone, her usual attitude not dulled at all by the slight buzz of the speaker. “I’ve seen yet another interesting photo and story online today. I see you continue to think nothing of me or my feelings.”

Emma closes her eyes before responding. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the picture on the front page of the latest gossip rag of what looks like you and that fine lady boarding a yacht for a private trip up and down the coast?” Her tone is sarcastic, and borderline offensive. “Added on to the pictures of you sniffing up her skirt at her latest auction, can you see why I’d assume you’d completely disregarded me and what we have together?”

Yara’s words should sound hurt, but instead she merely sounds annoyed. As if she’s angrier that Emma would dare to have some fun with another woman without her permission, not that the woman that she was currently sleeping with and leading on might be cutting things off.

“We’re just friends. She’s interesting. Different.” Emma takes a deep breath. “Can’t I have female friends without you getting upset with me?”

“Do you want to see me play at the tournament or not, Emma? I was hoping you’d be able to join me, but if you’re too busy playing house with Shiori–”

“No!” Emma insists. “I want to come. I miss you.”

Yara sniffs disdainfully on the other line before barking a sarcastic laugh. “Excuse me if I don’t quite believe that. Have you forgotten all I’ve done for you?”

“No,” Emma says again, quieter this time.

“Good.” Yara’s tone is clipped. She’s decided the conversation is over. “Expect your invitation in your inbox soon. Don’t keep me waiting. You’re on thin ice with me.”

Yara hangs up without another word, and Emma looks thunderstruck as she stares at the silent phone in her hand. I can’t believe what I just heard; how Yara completely tore down the usually defiant Emma with just a few ugly phrases. I’ve never been more upset at Alex’s sister as I am now watching my friend rub her eyes with her hands, covering up what I assume are tears in the corners of her perfectly lined eyes.

“What a frigid bitch,” I say through clenched teeth before I could stop myself. I notice both babies looking at me, and Jasper forming the “b” sound over and over with his lips. “Shoot, pretend you didn’t hear that!” I amend, pressing one of the musical buttons on each of their Exersaucers.

I turn back to my friend, both of us still sitting on the cardboard on the floor of the gallery. “Don’t go to St. Moritz, Em. Don’t put yourself through that.”

She looks down at the ground. “I have to. I’ve been waiting for weeks now to see her. I already promised I’d be there.”

“But what about Shiori–” I start, and Emma cuts her hand through the air, signaling for me to stop.

“Shiori is just a friend,” Emma says sternly, as if she’s trying to convince both herself and me. “Yara is…more. I have to go and see her.”

Like hell you do! I want to yell, but nothing is going to change her mind. Even if she told Yara she wasn’t coming, that wouldn't be the end of it. Yara would stomp her feet, complain, and guilt trip Emma into coming, no matter what. For the first time, I’m glad that I’m stuck accompanying her. She’s going to need some backup, and maybe my presence will help keep Yara on her best behavior.

“Okay,” I acquiesce, giving Emma an understanding smile. “I won’t argue with you about relationship stuff. You’re a big girl.”

Emma smiles reluctantly. “Yeah, I’m a big girl.” She laughs, holding up a yogurt melt for Jasmine. “And us big girls have to stick together, right, Jas?”

Jasmine coos, taking the yogurt melt in a slobbery hand and eating it.

I go to put the rest of my food back in the bag for later, but my eyes land on the eight pieces from Shiori, and an idea forms in my mind. We all needed to stick together, right? Maybe that includes Shiori too.

“Emma, watch the babies for a minute. I’ve got to make a phone call.”

I don’t trust the echoes of the gallery to not tip Emma off to my plan, so I head out to the front steps of the building and pull out my phone, finding the newest contact I had entered just a few days ago.

Shiori picks up right away, her voice calm and melodic. “Petra.”

“Shiori,” I reply. “First off, thank you so much for the paintings.”

“Oh, you’re most welcome,” she says, her tone warm. What a big contrast with Yara’s! “As I said in the letter, we women have to look out for each other.”

“You’re right, and that note made me think quite a bit. Um, well, I have to ask you something a little more personal.” I pause for a breath, mentally getting ready to go forward. “What are your intentions with Emma?”

Shiori is silent, before her tinkling laughter comes over the line. “Are you her keeper? Why must I tell you?”

I kick myself mentally. I should’ve been less blunt. “No… I mean… do you like her?” I close my eyes, feeling even more foolish. “I don’t know how to say this without either sounding crass or like I’m in elementary school. Are you interested in her romantically?”

Shiori sounds amused when she speaks next. “The path Emma and I are currently walking together is one I would like to continue on. Does that help?”

Sort of? “Yes, it does,” I say instead. “So I want to suggest something to you.”

I might be messing up royally here, but I give Shi a quick rundown of everything happening between Yara and Emma. To her credit, Shi seems genuinely angry when I explain how emotionally manipulative my sister-in-law can be, which leads me to believe she really has feelings for Emma. I finish up telling Shi about St. Moritz and inviting her to come. It would be the last place the public would expect a famous artist to show up out of nowhere, but she’d absolutely be welcomed at the festivities at the tournament.

“I’ve never been to Switzerland,” Shiori muses. “Is it beautiful?”

“Very,” I assure her. “They play on a frozen lake in a mountainous valley. It’s breathtaking.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and when she speaks again, she sounds almost vulnerable. “And you’re sure Emma won’t be angry at me for interfering?”

“Just have your manager call the tournament officials and they’ll be falling all over themselves to have you come. She never needs to know we orchestrated this.”

Shiori sighs. “I will think about it. Going seems like a very large step in a very new relationship, especially if there is someone else competing for her heart. Give me some time to consider this.”

“Thank you, Shiori,” I tell her, and we conclude the call.

This could go very well, or very badly. Either way, I was in the thick of it now whether or not I wanted to be.

CHAPTER 8

Manhattan, January 27, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

Moonlight pours in through the frosted windows of the nursery, the only illumination in the room. I stand in Alex’s arms, my back to his front, as I finish saying goodbye to the twins. It’s 9:30 pm, and the company’s plane is waiting at Teterboro for me, but I can’t seem to tear myself away from this silvery, silent room and my husband's embrace.

“Do you want me to join?” Alex whispers.

“No, don’t worry,” I tell him, my eyes still pinned on my sleeping babies. “It’s just gonna feel so odd being away from them for so long.” Suddenly, my worst fear settles on my mind and I can’t help but share it out loud. “What if something happens and I’m not here for them?”

“Everything will be alright,” Alex rumbles in my ear, followed by a press of his lips to my hair. “You’re going to put this nonsense with my mother, my sister, and your friend to rest and come back home. It’s only four days.”

Alex still believes that I have to go because if I don’t succeed in tearing Emma away from Yara, his mom will ruin my friendship with my bestie forever.

In reality, I know Margaret has my sex tape with Alex and will reveal it if I fail. Either way, I’m screwed. Which is why I’m standing here, my luggage already in the car's trunk, which is idling outside of the condo.

“I don’t want to be across the world from you. From them.” I turn to bury my face in his shoulder, and he lets me, stroking my back.

“Just think of it like this. When you wake up, it will be Friday and you’ll be home by Monday. It’s just the weekend. That isn’t long at all. You can do this. I promise nothing will happen to the twins while you are away.”

I know he’s right. More so, I know I don’t have any choice in the matter. Somehow everything has ended up on my shoulders, and I have only this short time to fix it. Except, I can’t seem to physically make my feet move from this nursery away from the twins.

“Send me pictures and videos, okay?”

“Of me having fun with them without you? You bet I will,” Alex tries to tease me, but it just falls flat. Realizing I’m not cheering up, his face deepens and he clears his throat. “Alright, I promise.”

I can hear Jasmine and Jasper’s slow, sleeping breaths, and I close my eyes to soak in the sounds and smells of them. It makes a knot form in my throat again, and I press my hand against it, willing myself not to cry.

“Fuck Margaret,” I whimper. “I hate her.”

Alex flinches but doesn’t scold me. He just holds me, rocking us back and forth, so warm and solid. I think about us being catapulted into the tabloids again for a raunchy sex tape leaked online, and how it would strain the tenuous happiness he and I had finally found together. Everything, besides Margaret’s scheming, was peaceful now. I wanted it to stay this way.

But jeez, I really really hate all the dramas I’m about to dive into headlong.

Emma knows something’s up with me going with her to Switzerland, but I think she’s relieved enough to have someone with her that she won’t ask too many questions. She knows Margaret has some sort of power over me, but she isn’t sure what. To her, the important thing is she doesn’t have to face Yara and their spiraling affair alone.

The one bright spot in all of this is that I have a secret weapon up my sleeve, if all goes correctly that is. No one but me knows that Shiori Takahashi has snagged a VIP invite to the St. Moritz Snow Polo World Cup celebrations, and if Shiori decides to attend, I’ll have the dual pleasure of making Emma happy and pissing Yara off, all at the same time.

Shiori and Emma just make sense. Emma is a traveler and adventurer and Shiori, an artist ready to scour the world for inspiration, from the smallest village to the highest peaks. They are a perfect pair. All that stands in their way is Yara.

“Fuck Yara too,” I say into Alex’s shoulder, and he sighs heavily.

“Do you like anyone I’m related to?” he asks me softly, his voice both sad and amused.

“Only you and the twins,” I assure him. “Everyone else can get f–”

Alex puts a finger over my lips. “That’s enough. You’ve been hanging out with Emma too much.”

I huff a laugh and his arms tighten around me. We stay like that for more long minutes in the cold winter starlight before he lets his arms fall away, tilting my chin up so I look into his cerulean eyes. “It’s time to go, little Petra.”

I try to look over at the cribs once more, but Alex pinches my chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, keeping my eyes on him. “You’ve already said goodbye a hundred times. They’re sleeping and doing it another time is just going to cause you more pain. Let’s go.”

Sniffling, I nod, and let him lead me out of the nursery. Even though every motherly instinct is telling me otherwise, I don’t look back. Alex is here. Lily is here. Even my dad is nearby. My babies are not alone, no matter how lonely I seem to feel without them.

It’s pitch black out when I kiss Alex goodbye and climb into the black sedan, feeling heartsick. There’s nothing to be done about it now, though. I’m on my way to Switzerland, and I might as well get over it.

To distract myself from how badly I want to turn around and go home, I go over my plans for the next three days. Once we land in Switzerland at around 10 am, our driver will take us to Badrutt’s Palace for check-in, and we’ll then head to our rooms for a quick refresh, before going to see Yara’s match.

According to what I found out about the Snow Polo Tournament, she’s captain of Team Badrutt's Palace, and the media is in a frenzy to see her and her team, composed of all men aside from herself. Yara has a private residence a short way up into the mountains, and she is convinced that Emma will be staying with her. I had insisted that we rent a separate room just in case Emma wants to get away from Yara for a night, or even a few hours, but unless Shiori shows up, I’m afraid Emma might actually take Yara up on her invitation.

Once the sun begins to set, it’ll be too cold to play, and the parties and celebrations will begin. The snow polo teams are small, but the amount of people who are coming to watch outnumber them by the hundreds. There are only two games a day, which leaves plenty of time for socializing. With St. Moritz being difficult to get to, expensive, and tickets to the matches being sparse, only the wealthiest and most elite sports fans would be attending.

I am not a sports fan by any stretch of the imagination, but I get the feeling there will be a lot of attendees like me. Mostly present for the parties and networking, less for the polo. Being able to be at the St. Moritz Snow Polo World Tournament is, by what I read online, a status symbol in and of itself, and no sports knowledge is necessary.

Judging from the string of annoyed texts on my phone, Emma has already boarded the jet and is waiting less than patiently for me. She had her own family jet, but Samedan Airport could only handle a certain number of flights a day, and with Emma and I being last minute additions to the event, it made more sense for us to fly together instead of arriving at different times, or even worse, landing at the public airport and having to drive for over five hours to reach St. Moritz alone.

I yawn hugely, seeing the lights of Teterboro out the window. The only awkward part about flying in with Emma would be sharing the bed in the plane's bedroom, but it’s a king-size mattress anyway. Plus, Emma and I had slept on worse in our younger days. The thought makes me smile to myself. How weird is it that just a few years ago I would be ecstatic to be boarding a plane and traveling to an exclusive event in the Swiss Alps with my best friend, not a single worry in the world? Now, I’m leaving not just a husband behind, but my children and my business. I could never have imagined feeling this way.

My driver unloads my luggage while I grab my carry-on bag, stifling another yawn as I trot reluctantly towards the plane, which is already lit up with the stairs let down for me. This airport isn’t very busy at this hour, and besides the whooshing of my plane's engine, it’s a beautiful evening.

Emma, dressed in a black romper and without a stitch of makeup, is reclining in one of the beige leather seats, a cup of something steaming clutched in her hands. Her dark, blood-red nails tap a click click click cadence on the ceramic cup, her eyes narrowed and following me as I board.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” she says sarcastically.

“Oh, shut up,” I respond, my nerves raw from having to take this unnecessary trip. “Why are you drinking coffee when we’re going to sleep through this entire flight?”

“It’s hot chocolate with Baileys,” she informs me, before giving a sip.

I raise my eyebrows appraisingly. “Is it vegan?”

“Yep,” she responds. “This is made with almond milk.” She gives another drink, observing me attentively. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry,” I mutter, falling into the seat across from her. “It’s just hard to pull away. From the babies and Alex, I mean.”

Emma pages the flight attendant, who soon brings me a large round mug just like Emma’s full of hot chocolate and Baileys Irish Cream. I take a long sip and sigh, eyes fluttering. Delicious.

“I figured that’s why you were late,” Emma says, sounding sadder than I expected. I look up at her and she’s looking out the window wistfully. “I know you’ve got a lot here, but I can’t say that I’m not looking forward to traveling with you. It’s been a long time since we’ve escaped like this.”

“I was thinking the exact same thing on the ride over,” I admit. “I think once the sadness subsides from having to leave the twins, I’ll be a lot more excited. We always have fun, don’t we?”

Emma smiles a little, looking from the window over at me. “Yeah, we do. Even if we’re going to see my vengeful lover play polo.”

“It’s a first, that’s for sure,” I say with a giggle.

Takeoff is uneventful, and before I know it I’m draining my mug of hot chocolate and we’re in the air, leaving New York and my family far behind. Switzerland is an incredibly long flight away, but my company is good, and the plane's bedroom is at least familiar. I have to remind myself I came here with a clear mission: making sure Emma and Yara’s affair ends once and for all.

Looking at Emma who seems more pensive and worried than usual, I say, “Is everything alright, Em?”

She heaves a long sigh, her eyes never leaving the window. “I’m fine, I’m fine…” And yet, her tone seems to indicate otherwise. “Just excited to see her,” she announces.

I keep quiet for a moment, ruminating on a few questions I have in mind that would help Emma see with clarity how Yara is treating her. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she answers, her eyes finally meeting mine.

I ponder for an instant the best words to formulate my question. “Doesn’t it bother you sharing the same person with someone else?”

She blinks a few times, clearly confused. “How so?”

“Well, you and Elliot are basically sleeping with the same woman. Doesn’t it bother you?”

“It’s not really like that,” she retorts, shifting in her seat. I raise an eyebrow at her words, waiting for her to dwell further. “Yara said her marriage sex life was dead and her and Elliot hardly ever sleep in the same bed let alone for pleasure.”

What? My jaw drops at her revelation. That doesn’t make sense! Yara literally has his initials marked on her skin. Why on earth would they sleep in separate bedrooms? “How come?” I ask immediately, trying to digest the news. “Did she tell you why?”

“No, she didn’t. But sexless marriages aren’t unusual.”

I frown at her answer, unable to believe it. Does Elliot already know something about the affair? Or is Yara just bluffing to reassure Emma? As I come to think of it, that might explain why Margaret has been so worried about the affair. Maybe she has seen Yara and Elliot’s relationship deteriorate over the past few months because of Emma. I’m momentarily taken aback as I realize Emma had never told me about it before. It’s hard to believe Elliot and Yara are in a sexless marriage, though. But either way, I’ll soon find out the truth.

Looking out of my window to the clouds surrounding us, I try to convince myself that this will be a fun adventure and a much-needed break from the twins. After all, I haven’t traveled with my best friend since I got married, and from what I saw online, the hotel looks absolutely fantastic with its views to the frozen lake and mountains. Plus, this will be good practice for me to network with wealthy investors for my art fund and get my name out there.

The only dark spot on the horizon is Yara, but the cracks in her pseudo relationship with Emma are already starting to show, and if I’m lucky, this weekend will turn those cracks into trenches. Then, once I return home, I can put Margaret and her nonsense out of my mind again for a long while.

I look at Emma’s sleepy profile as she finishes her drink and tries hard not to doze off on her seat. If I’m really lucky, I’ll get everything plus a happy ending for my best friend and godmother to my children. I got my once-in-a-lifetime love, so now it’s her turn.

CHAPTER 9

St. Moritz, January 28, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

“I’m beginning to think it’s going to be winter forever,” I tell Emma, pulling on my gloves as the plane comes to a stop on the tarmac at Samedan. When I look out the window, all I can see is white, white, and more white.

The landing had gone off without a hitch, even if it had looked terrifying as the plane circled down into the mountain valley and onto the short runway. Emma and I had crawled out of bed about an hour beforehand and were having our coffee and breakfast before the nerve-wracking landing. Now it’s time to disembark and head to the hotel. I give a quick double check to make sure I’ve not left anything behind. Once that’s done, I’m more than eager to check my phone. I power it on, immediately texting Alex that I’ve arrived safely. He responds in seconds, which makes me grin, knowing that he had been waiting for my message.

What I don’t expect is the message that pops up right afterwards… from Yara.

Don’t say anything to Emma, but you and I need to talk. I’m sending a separate car for you. Make an excuse.

My stomach flutters. Are we getting into all this already? I haven’t even gotten off the plane yet!

I’m going to the hotel first, I reply.

She’s as quick to text back as her brother. Absolutely not. We’re going to settle this now. I’ll see you in 20 minutes.

I feel like throwing the phone across the plane, but I take some deep breaths to center myself, trying to think up a way to explain to Emma why I have to leave immediately, before we even get to our rooms. It’s impossible, and as much as I don’t want to piss off Yara even more before our talk, she’s just going to have to get over it.

No. I’ll come to your villa after we check in. There’s no other option, I type.

The bubble pops up, showing that she’s typing, but she stops multiple times, before sending me a brief message.

Fine. I’m unavailable in 2 hours, arrive before then.

It’d be cutting it close, but it’d be leaps and bounds easier than trying to meet with Yara in the next twenty minutes.

After departing the plane, the freezing wind chills my bones instantly and we hurry to get inside our car waiting on the tarmac. Once we close the door, the heated interior is welcoming but very warm so we remove our gloves and coats, making ourselves comfortable for the trip to the hotel. A few minutes later, our luggage is loaded and we are finally ready to go. As we hit the road, I can’t help but look out of my window to take in as much of the landscape as possible. The field on which the airport was built is surrounded on all sides by the Alps, and there’s so much to look at as we go that I have a hard time keeping up.

St. Moritz is clearly a town that caters to the wealthy, with women in ankle length fur coats window shopping outside of luxury boutiques. All the buildings are emblazoned with some sort of flag or sign advertising the snow polo tournament, and the festivities for the event seem to have overtaken the town.

The roads aren’t too busy, since one game has already started, and it doesn’t take us much time at all to get to the hotel. Except, it looks less like a hotel and more like a medieval castle, towering above us. I’m no stranger to five-star hotels and resorts, but seeing the age and all the history of this gigantic stone building fills me with joy and excitement to be here. This place already feels special.

As we get inside, the lobby area is just as stunning, wood and marble polished to a reflective shine and refined woven rugs covering the floor.

“Damn,” Emma says, craning her neck to see the place. “Good choice.”

“Alex booked it,” I tell her, handing my carry-on bag to one employee while we do our check-in. “He’s the expert about places to stay in Europe.”

Keycards in hands, one of the staff members escorts us to our rooms located beside each other. They face the frozen lake, with huge floor-to-ceiling windows and linens in all shades of creams and golds. I sink onto the mattress and sigh in pleasure. I had just woken up, but I suddenly want to just lay down in the early morning sunshine and doze off.

Emma is still standing, looking out the window at the polo match already in motion. We’re too high off the ground, and there’s no way to tell which player is which, or even the colors of the team, but it’s still affecting her to see the game.

“Yara doesn’t play till later,” I tell her, and she just nods.

Finally, she says, “I’m going to go to my room to unpack and shower. I’ll come get you right before the match starts. Does that sound alright?”

Mentally, I relax, knowing I’d have time to sneak away and talk to Yara. “That’s fine. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Afraid that I won't have time later, I shower as fast as I can, which is a shame in such an amazing bathroom, rapidly braiding my hair when I get out and throwing my clothes on. I have a dress more suited for the party this evening, but for now, a pair of dark jeans and an ivory cable-knit sweater will do.

I text Yara, and true to her word, there is a car waiting for me outside of the hotel. The driver doesn’t say a word to me, just peeks into the rearview mirror to confirm my identity before pulling out of the parking lot to head toward Yara’s home.

Like most of her family and her in-laws, Mrs. Van Lawick owns multiple residences around Europe, and she had chosen this one specifically because of these annual snow polo tournaments. According to what Alex told me in Aspen, rumor has it that Yara always has a young woman staying with her at her property. And while Yara is just as hard-nosed and unyielding off the field, it seems like she has let her guard down a few times when it comes to her female companions. Thanks to Margaret though, nothing about Yara’s private life pops up on Google search. At least not in the first few pages. Well, all I can hope is that it stays that way.

As we cross the gates and drive onto her property, I look out of the window, taking in my surroundings. Her outdoors is spacious, but the defining feature is the gigantic patio overlooking the valley where a few employees are setting out ambient heaters, tables, and chairs. This must be where she will hold her own celebration on Sunday if her team comes out on top.

Once the car stops in front of the entrance, the silent driver opens the door for me and escorts me inside. I take a second at the doorstep, straightening my posture and raising my chin. Yara isn’t going to intimidate me; not today.

As I observe the hallway, the interior design is minimalist, ultra-modern, with high ceilings, long boards and veneer applications. And yet, despite the best architecture money can buy, it feels cold and empty. To my surprise, the driver invites me inside what seems to be an open kitchen and dining room, with glass walls giving way to the bright snowy outdoors. I find Yara standing there, looking out of the floor-to-ceiling window, already dressed in her uniform, tall brown riding boots reaching her knees and her long, straight hair caught in a ponytail that hangs down her back. She’s not wearing her team's jersey just yet, just a white compression shirt that shows off the lines of her toned arms and stomach. She turns to face me, a freezing smile on her face. I don’t say a word, and she doesn’t say anything either. She slowly paces across the room, and then goes and sits at a glass dining table, a frosted glass of water in front of her. She remains just as quiet, looking at it as if she’s pondering her existence. I know better though. It’s all an act to get me to let my guard down.

“Yara,” I say simply as I walk over, declining her invitation to sit when she waves a distracted hand at the chair across from her.

“Petra,” she responds. “I’m glad you were able to take a break from your babysitting duties and join me.”

I sneer, but don’t rise to her bait. “So, what do you want?”

She runs her finger along the rim of her glass, finally deciding to meet me in the eye. Damn. She looks so similar to Alex that I physically recoil before catching myself.

“I’ve been thinking, and putting some puzzle pieces together in my mind, and I’ve come up with a hypothesis about this Japanese woman that seems to be a thorn in my side all of a sudden. Would you like to hear my theory?”

Not really. “Sure, go ahead.”

“I think,” Yara says seriously, but with a conspiratorial tone in her voice, as if she’s telling me a secret, “that you are the reason Shiori and Emma are spending so much time together.”

Uh-oh. If Yara has busted me and my plan already, why was I even here in Switzerland?

“That’s ridiculous,” I bluff. “Can I go back to the hotel now? I’m jet lagged.”

“Now, let me finish,” Yara says, waving a finger at me. She stands, pacing around her open concept kitchen, and I circle at the same time, keeping the counter between us. “It all just makes too much sense. You open your paltry excuse for a gallery right before Shiori’s private auction, hoping to drum up an invitation, and low and behold, you get one. Somehow, probably by offering up a boatload of my brother's money, you got the ear of Shiori Takahashi herself and bought her out, on the condition that she flirt it up with Emma.”

Yara clenches her teeth upon hearing Emma’s name, as if having to admit that Emma was hitting it off with someone else burned her tongue. She then continues, “That would explain why publicly, you won the bid for two paintings, but rumor has it that eight of them were delivered to your gallery. It all just seems a little suspicious to me. If anyone was going to use a world-famous artist as a honey trap, it would be you, Petra, you snake.”

“Excuse me?” I blurt out, flabbergasted. “What did you just call me?”

“A snake,” Yara says again, getting closer and closer from me. “Do you deny it? Trying to hook Shi and Emma up?”

“Yes, I deny it!” I exclaim. “But do you know what? I like them together. They look good. Happy. Not hiding under a rock from anyone's husband.”

Yara is fast, like the cobra she accuses me of being, and before I can blink, she’s toe to toe with me, my butt pressed against her kitchen island as she bares her perfect white teeth in my face, expression contorted with rage. It reminds me of our face-to-face at the Breitner House in Amsterdam and how uncomfortable I felt.

“You,” she seethes, “need to mind your own business, little girl. You might have spread your legs and given my brother some children, but you’re not family, and you never will be. You’re just angry that I’m taking Emma from you, but guess what? She wants to come with me. She’d rather be my lover than alone.”

She’s really pushing my buttons. I’ve never been a violent person, but the anger she’s trying to bring out of me is boiling under my skin, pleading to be released. Cool down, Petra. I knew since the day she gripped my wrist at the Breitner House that she was a total psycho. I can feel her breath on my face, and the strength of her slender body radiates. I don’t think she will hit me, but it’s clear that she really, really wants to. “Get away from me,” I demand, my heart pulsing hard in my chest. “Or else—”

“Or else what?”

“I’m gonna report you!” I dare to spit out.

“To who, huh?” She chuckles at me, head shaking. "My brother isn’t here. Emma isn’t here. Who are you going to tell that I give a single fuck about?”

I could say the police, but I know they aren’t gonna do shit. I smile, thinking something through, which seems to make her even angrier. “The tournament officials,” I decide to say instead. “I don’t think they’d like it if their star player was roughing up young VIP attendees before matches.”

Yara hesitates, before whirling around so fast the edges of her ponytail graze my face. She stomps back to the glass table, taking a swig of her water before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looks me up and down and scoffs.

“You aren’t worth any more of my time. Leave. And if I find out you’re lying about being behind Shiori and Emma's meeting, you’ll live to regret it. Understand?”

I’m full of adrenaline from having her square up to me, and I have to concentrate hard to keep my voice even. “Whatever, Yara.” I don’t waist my time any longer and turn around just as fast to leave the kitchen and this place altogether.

The taciturn driver is waiting for me again outside, and I consider calling my own car, but decide that if Yara wanted to get rid of me permanently, she’d have a more creative idea than having her driver crash us into a ditch.

Our exchange had taken less than fifteen minutes, less time than it had taken to drive to her villa from the hotel, but it leaves me shaken, nonetheless. Yara seems like a pot about to boil over. She’s been aggressive with me before, but never on such a short fuse, and never to the point where I actually thought she would lay her hands on me. Either something with her personal life or polo team is going on, or this thing with Emma is actually bothering her. Is she that controlling? Damn… I truly hope Emma will ditch her once and for all.

I get into the car and the silent driver takes me away once and for all from this witch. All I can hope is that I won’t have to come back here any time soon. I take a few deep breaths in and out, trying to relax, but our conversation doesn’t stop replaying in my head. I consider giving Alex a call upon my arrival at the hotel and telling him what just happened, but there’s the slim chance he’d show up at my hotel door in nine hours, ready to avenge me against his sister, and that doesn’t fit in at all with my plans.

A few minutes later, the castle-like hotel finally comes into view and I’m relieved. Oh thank God! My heartbeat is still pounding anxiously fast inside my chest and while I try to appear calm and serene, as soon as the valet opens the door for me, I leap off of my seat, and storm through the hallway and then disappear into the lift. Glancing at my watch, I realize I’d be back in plenty of time for a power nap, but I don’t think my nerves are going to let it happen. When I get back to my room, I sit on the edge of my bed for a moment to breathe, then take a bottle of chilled water from the mini fridge and roll it over the back of my neck, trying to relieve the tension headache I can feel coming on.

With my iPhone in hand, I check my inbox; nothing from Shiori, and I bite my lip. If she doesn’t show up, this ordeal is going to be significantly more difficult. Jeez, how am I supposed to separate Emma from Yara if Shiori doesn’t show up? I need a back-up plan, just in case. I ruminate a bit, and as I remind myself of the talk we had on the plane, I finally come up with an idea.

The time zone difference makes it tricky, but I send out a text to Matt anyway, hoping that he has some spare time to help an old friend out. He might deny it, but Matt loves a good bit of drama as long as it doesn’t involve him.

Hey, Matt, can you do me a favor pls? I need anything *interesting* regarding Yara and Elliot Van Lawick that Margaret may have scrubbed from the tabloids. Any throw away stories I might have missed.

He doesn’t respond right away, so with some time to spare, I try to do a little digging on my own, turning up nothing but article after article about Yara’s polo team. I need something more personal that could dissuade Emma once and for all to continue with this affair. Maybe something about the other young girls Yara brought here? But then, Matt responds with a link.

Like this?

It’s a Google archives link for a webpage that’s no longer up, but that Matt could see the history of. I click on it, and the archived page is painfully slow to load, but finally the one-year-old tabloid headline pops up.

Baby blues? Sources say the Van Lawicks are trying for another child, but is Yara’s polo career impeding on parenthood bliss?

I read the article so fast that I have to go back and read it again, slower, so I can actually retain what I’m seeing. The article says that one year ago, Yara and Elliot were supposedly heard discussing the possibility of having another child when leaving the doctor's office near their principal family home. Yara had been heard saying she wanted to pursue her polo career but had told her husband they could stop using protection and whatever happened, happened. It was a slimy piece of tabloid gossip, no doubt overheard by a hidden paparazzi, but I’ll take what I can get.

Yara obviously never got pregnant, but a year ago was relatively soon after the masquerade, which meant that Yara had been actively sleeping with both Elliot and Emma, despite telling Emma that her sex life with him was dead.

Thanks, Matt. That’s perfect, I text him, and he replies with a thumbs up emoji.

I don’t know if this information would completely deter Emma from continuing to try and be with Yara, but I decide to keep it in my back pocket just in case Shiori doesn’t come through. I’ll have to tell Emma eventually anyway, because this isn’t something I can keep from my friend, but all in due time.

I lay back on my bed, folding my hands behind my head and smiling up at the chandelier on the ceiling.

But my few moments of peace don’t last long, and soon enough, Emma is knocking on the door connecting our adjoining rooms. Since I don’t reply, she just invites herself inside, walking towards me.

“Come on, I don’t want to miss the opening of the match,” she says, trying to encourage me to leave my comfortable bed.

As my eyes alight on her, my lips curve up into a smile; her hair is glossy and her makeup flawless, and no one would ever be able to guess she had just gotten off a nine-hour flight. Emma is, of course, sporting dark colors, with knee-high black boots and a long gunmetal gray parka lined with black faux fur on the collar and hood.

“Have you talked to her at all?” I ask, curious if Yara had even bothered to speak to her between getting ready for the match and threatening me.

Emma’s expression falters. “She texted me her address, but nothing else. I’m sure she’s busy, being the team captain and all.”

I hold my tongue, wanting to tell her about my earlier visit with my sister-in-law, but knowing that it would just cause unnecessary tension between us. Oh well, I’m excited about the match, even if I have to watch someone I despise playing. It’s hard not to get caught up in the place's energy.

Winter wear and veganism aren’t the easiest combination to deal with, but my full length faux sable fur coat looks better than expected when I slip it over my shoulders, looking myself over in the mirror. The Snow Polo World Cup may seemingly be primarily about the polo itself, but similar to the Kentucky Derby back stateside, fashion for the onlookers is also key to the event. Instead of stunning gowns and tailored tuxedos, designers provided celebrity attendees with the finest in winter coats, hats, and boots. It had been a scramble to come up with an ensemble for the weekend on short notice, but thanks to Emma, I had acquired a few brilliant vegan-friendly options from her favorite brands.

“Are you ready?” she complains, tapping her foot impatiently as I gather the rest of my things.

I glare, but I am finally ready. I cinch my hood around my face and follow her out of the room. It’s ridiculously cold out, but we’re dressed for success at least.

The polo game is a flurry of activity and excitement, and even if I detest who is playing, I have to admit it’s a fun time. The surrounding air is crispy and cold, and while there are heated tents we can retreat to when it becomes too chilly to bear, Emma insists on staying as close as she can to the action, leaning over the railing and cheering on Yara and her team as they take the field.

This match will be Badrutt's Palace Hotel vs. Azerbaijan, but it’s clear team Badrutt is the favorite to win. Yara isn’t the first woman to play in the world cup, but her fame and fortune have put her in the spotlight more than any other woman on this field before, and all eyes are on her.

I have to admit, she looks impressive, leading her team out onto the frozen lake on her powerful chestnut mount. Hot breath curls from all the horses’ nostrils, rising into the air along with the shouts of everyone in the stands. It’s so bright from the sun reflecting off the snow that I have to squint to see even with sunglasses on.

The noise around us grows and grows. The cheers and jeers of onlookers combined with the announcers over the loudspeakers and the pounding of the horses’ hooves on the snowy ground all converges into one low roar. Emma has us pressed so closely up against the barrier that I feel like if I reached my arm out far enough, I could touch the sleek coats of the thoroughbreds.

Emma is almost quivering with excitement, looking with awe at Yara, and I realize then why it will take someone truly extraordinary to separate them. It’s because Yara, as much of a terrible person as she is, is also extraordinary. She’s gorgeous, confident, strong, and an incredible athlete. It’s no wonder she has such a hold over my friend.

Yara’s eyes slide over us as she passes, waving to the crowd as they announce her name, but only looking at the two of us. Her expression is steely, her eyes burning through me like hot coals. This is her battlefield, where she feels most powerful, and I am at a distinct disadvantage if I want to go toe-to-toe with her.

Jeez, I really wish Shiori had shown up already.

“They’re about to start!” Emma tells me over the din, grabbing onto my sleeve excitedly.

I look longingly at the heated tent behind us before resigning myself to freezing while we watch the match, up close and personal. There are only four more after this, I remind myself with an internal groan.

And without further ado, the game begins.

I try to stick it out, I really do, but the game stretches over two hours, and I have to steal away a few moments to warm myself in the heated tent. It’s not that the game isn’t engaging, because I found myself invested in the match right away, swept up by the energy of everyone around us. But I can only take so much cold, so I tear myself away from Emma’s side to take a break.

I peel off my gloves, rubbing my reddened hands together and blowing into them to try and disperse the chill before reaching into my bag and checking my phone. Nothing from Shiori, but plenty of baby pictures from Alex that bring a smile to my face.

The ambient heaters in the tent are almost intoxicating, and I find myself seated underneath one, watching the game on a screen instead of outside next to Emma. If I’m being honest, it hurts my heart a little to see how zealous she is to cheer her on. Yara is like an Amazonian warrior on her horse, giving no mercy to the other team, and she completely enraptured Emma. The thoughts of Margaret and the sex tape keep replaying through my mind, and I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. As much as Emma had claimed to be on the fence about her fling with my sister-in-law, she seems a lot more willing to be with her now that they are in the same country. This isn’t looking good so far.

“Now that’s a surprise,” I hear a male voice saying beside me.

His voice sounds familiar, and as I look at my right, my heart drops as I recognize the man standing there.

“You!” I snap at Kenneth, the reporter from RTN who interviewed me at my mom’s funeral and then sold an edited version of my interview to the American media. “What are you doing here?”

“I got a media pass,” he answers serenely, showing me his badge hanging on his chest. “What brought you here?”

I don’t want to reply. Actually I want to ignore him as much as I can but he’s standing right next to me and the last thing I need is this reporter on my feet. “Well, my sister-in-law is playing so I came here to support her.”

“Wow,” he utters, sounding impressed. “That’s very kind of you to have left your infant twins at home to come here. You must be very close to her.”

I can nearly taste the sarcasm in his tone, but I decide to smile and play along. “We are quite close, yes.”

Our attention switches to the cheering noises coming from the TV that is broadcasting the match live. The camera is zooming on the crowd and on Emma in particular who seems the most devoted cheerleader.

“Oh, I see you didn’t come alone,” Kenneth ventures, a smirk playing on his lips. “I didn’t know your best friend loved polo so much.”

Glancing at the screen, I’m mildly embarrassed at Emma’s behavior, and I don’t think she realizes how much her enthusiasm is out of touch with the rest of the crowd’s.

“Yeah, she loves sports,” I say, putting on a blasé attitude. “Well, I’m gonna go. Enjoy your time in St. Moritz.”

“You too.” Kenneth bows his head slightly, but before I can turn my back on him, he calls my name and then says, “Tell your friend to be more discreet.”

I swallow dry at his words, and I’m left totally in shock at his “advice.” Does he know about their affair? Oh gosh! Maybe that’s why he’s here! The last thing I need is a new scandal in the media about Emma and Yara for the world to see. I give him a small smile and a nod of the head, before turning around and making my way out of this tent.

I hurry to rejoin Emma outside, finally deciding to demand that we get a seat in the VIP section of the stands instead of standing on the barrier the whole time, but when I work up the energy to go back to find Emma, she’s gone. Worried, I walk the length of the barrier looking for her, but when she’s nowhere to be found, I check my phone, only to find a message from her.

Yara’s valet came to invite me back to her personal viewing box. I’ll catch up with you later.

Annoyed, I type a few different scathing messages before deleting them and finally send back a terse OK, but be discreet before pocketing my phone again. I’m fuming. I don’t want to watch the game alone, or at all really, especially while Emma is waiting like some pet lap dog for Yara to come off the field and give her a few absentminded pats. I kick at the snow with my boot, earning myself a scowl from some people next to me. Shit.

It may be childish, but I decide not to stay for the rest of the game. There is an opening day charity dinner later tonight that I’m expected to attend, but for the moment, I have no desire to bump elbows with these strangers watching my enemy dominate the opposing polo team. I hate that Emma has left me in the dust and I hate even more the fact that Yara is behind it.

Feeling a bit forlorn, I call the driver, pushing through the crowds of coat-clad polo fans until I can slide into the heated car with a sigh of relief.

“Just you, Ms. Van Gatt?” the driver asks, looking around for Emma.

“Yes, Ms. Hasenfratz will join me later,” I confirm, a note of bitterness in my voice.

“Very well,” the driver says.

Back at the hotel, I send Emma a message letting her know I’m in my room before pinning my hair up and running a hot bath in the deep, sunken jacuzzi tub. I find the novel I had been reading in my carry-on bag and take it with me to the bath, turning on the bubbling jets and slipping beneath the toasty water. Cracking open the book, I recline in the bath, and sigh. If I was going to get ditched, I was at least going to enjoy myself.

As I’m getting myself ready, I hear stirrings from the adjoining room, but when I open the door to check, expecting to find Emma, I find Yara’s valet instead, there to collect Emma’s attire for the evening. With clenched teeth, I help him find what he’s looking for and send him on his way, resigned to having to go to dinner alone. Damn. I know she came here to be with Yara, but I never thought she’d leave me hanging like an old sock.

The charity dinner is being held in the primary ballroom at the Badrutt Palace, so I don’t have to travel far. It’s a sprawling space with high, vaulted ceilings and a myriad of tables dotted throughout. Six tables are placed at the front of the room on an elevated platform for the six teams and their families, while I am placed at one of the normal tables.

“Oh, you must be Petra Van Gatt, aren’t you?” the woman standing in front of me asks. She seems to be in her mid-forties, sporting a long dark-blue dress with sleeves, short blonde hair, and a pair of glasses. “I’m Fiona Van Lawick, Yara’s sister-in-law.”

Holy shit! I can’t believe this! I do my best not to look too astonished as I shake her hand, before she pulls me closer for a three cheek kiss.

“Oh, very nice to meet you, Fiona,” I manage to say with a composed smile. “I didn’t know Elliot had a sister. You also came all the way from the Netherlands?”

“I actually live in Zurich so I decided to pop over for the tournament.”

I nod politely as she talks, wondering if she took this decision deliberately or if it’s Yara herself who invited her. Knowing Yara as I do, I’ve got the feeling Fiona’s presence isn’t really welcomed here.

“Are you seated at Yara’s table?” she asks.

“I’m afraid not,” I tell her, feeling slightly embarrassed at my negative answer. “I have a seat at one of the tables close by.”

“Oh, perfect. Me too,” she answers in excitement.

My eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, I replied to the invitation very last minute and her table was already full.”

Despite Fiona’s smile and bubbly tone, I have the feeling Yara truthfully didn’t bother to accommodate a space for her at her table. As I come to think of it, maybe Emma’s right, maybe there’s some marital problems going on between Yara and Elliot. The fact Emma is at Yara’s table, but not her own sister-in-law will most likely feed the rumor mill. Talking about rumor milll, my gaze zooms at the man standing a few feet away from us talking to another man who’s holding a camera. Yep, Kenneth, the reporter from RTL, is here too and I’m pretty sure he’s on the hunt for some juicy story about Yara.

“Maybe we are at the same table?” Fiona comments. My attention returns to her, and I suggest we go and check at the table chart.

I rejoice myself when I see my name at her table—at least I won’t be spending the dinner alone.

As we walk towards our table, Fiona seems to know quite a few of the people attending the charity dinner tonight. She stops once more to greet another couple and makes sure to introduce me to them. I’m quite surprised how much she knows about me, my new gallery, and my art fund.

“How come you know so much about me?”

“Oh, I’m an art finance advisor at Deloitte,” she explains. “We advise art dealers and collectors, so your gallery and the purchases you did at Christie’s came up on our radar.”

My brows rise in astonishment. “Wow,” I say, still processing the news. “What a great coincidence!”

And just like that, it feels like my evening is going to be much more interesting than I thought.

We finally get to our table after a few more rounds of small talk, which is already full except for our two seats. Fiona doesn’t waist time introducing me to all those she knows, and I must say, her kindness is so refreshing compared to Yara’s. Although I won’t be sitting beside Emma, I’m at least surrounded by people who know my sister-in-law and the Van Lawicks very well, and I can hold a conversation with.

Flickering candlelight and crispy white linens greet me as I find my seat, and Fiona’s acquaintances welcome me warmly.

I can see Emma at one of the head tables at Yara’s side, neither of them touching in any way that would alert the surrounding people they are having an affair, but close enough that Yara could keep an eye on her. Every time I look in that direction, trying to catch Emma’s attention, it’s Yara gazing back at me instead, a wicked gleam in her eyes and a Cheshire grin on her face. She knows I’m pissed, and after our confrontation earlier today, she isn’t going to give me any leeway.

Come back to the hotel tonight, I text Emma. You can’t make an unbiased decision about staying with Yara if you’re around her constantly.

I see Emma check her phone from across the ballroom, and she frowns, looking torn, before texting back:

I came all this way to see her. I might as well spend my time in her company.

I waste no time to reply, I thought you were excited that the two of us would be traveling alone together again.

A few seconds later, I receive one more text from her: And I am! We’ll see each other tomorrow at the games. X

I sit my phone down on the table, blowing out a frustrated breath. Emma is a lost cause, at least for tonight. She needs to get seeing Yara out of her system, and then maybe she would be able to think a little clearer tomorrow.

I’m still holding out hope that Shi appears, but every hour that passes without her here makes me more and more nervous. I have the trump card of the article Matt found, but it isn’t going to be nearly as powerful in separating Yara and Emma as Shiori’s presence would be.

Ugh. Well, Fiona did me the favor of introducing me to her acquaintances. I might as well spend my time on something useful instead of obsessing over something I can’t control. When the conversation around the table lulls, I jump in, more than ready to take my mind off of other people's love lives.

Leaning forward, I clear my throat to get everyone's attention.

“So, has Yara told all of you about my newest art fund that will provide grants for promising new artists? Well, it’s called the Gatt-Dieren Art Fund, and we’re planning quite a few big events this year at our gallery to raise money. Of course, you’ll all be invited…”

“How come your brother isn’t here?” I finally decide to ask Fiona. After all, we’ve spent the whole evening getting to know each other, dinner is officially over, and we are the only two left at our table.

Fiona gives me a small smile in return, before finishing her champagne. “Elliot never attends her tournaments,” she says. “And I don’t think Yara would like him here anyway.”

“Really?” I ask, genuinely surprised at her answer. “But why not? It’s her husband, after all.”

Fiona doesn’t hide her uneasiness at my questioning. She remains silent for a few instants, considering me. “Well, according to what my brother told me, she doesn’t want him at her place of work.” She pauses, as if she’s pondering whether to add something else or not. “And I think he is okay with that.”

“So she invited you but not her brother?” The question instantly rolls off my tongue, likely due to my indulgence in champagne, and I find myself already regretting it.

Fiona shifts in her seat, smiling unpleasantly at me, and I wonder if I crossed some boundary. “I’m sorry I was just—”

“Oh, that’s okay,” she interposes, cutting me off. “Yara didn’t invite me.” The sadness in her tone is overly palpable and it squeezes my heart to see her like this. “Do you remember the couple who was seated here?” she asks, pointing at the two empty seats on her right.

I nod.

“They are the ones who did.” Her features deepen and she lets out a sigh, her gaze falling to her lap. “To be honest, I came here to see myself if what I had read online was true.”

My curiosity is perked. “What did you read online?”

Fiona sneers, shaking her head briefly. “I’m afraid that’s something really private.”

“I understand,” I say, forcing myself to smile.

Despite the secrecy, I remember what Alex told me about the young women who used to come and stay at Yara’s place. If Fiona came here to find out the truth about them, then Emma might end up in her radar. I look up at the head table, but Emma isn’t there anymore. Yara, on the other hand, is taking some pictures with her team and sponsors. I scan across the ballroom and tables, but I don’t see Emma anywhere. Where on earth is she?

Standing up, I take my clutch, and say, “Well, I’m gonna go and get some sleep.”

After bidding farewell to Fiona, I leave the ballroom, marching towards the lift.

After reaching my bedroom, I open the door that gives access to the adjacent room, and find it totally empty.

Emma told me she wasn’t gonna sleep here, but I was still hoping otherwise. I take my iPhone and decide to call her. A few ringtones go on, until I finally hear her voice.

“Hey, where are you?” I ask, my voice sweet but worried. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, um, I’m at her place,” she answers. “It’s pretty dope. She’s got a huge jacuzzi on her balcony.”

“Emma, please be discreet,” I say, my tone coming off more fearful than I’d wanted. “I was seated next to Elliot’s sister, and believe me, she didn’t come here for the polo games.”

“I know, that’s why I left early.” Her tone, on the other hand, is totally chill. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna be okay.”

As I pay attention to the gurgling sound coming from the other side of the line, I can picture the bubbly water flowing in the hot tub. “Are you in her jacuzzi right now?”

“Yep, it’s pretty relaxing.”

“Please, be careful,” I repeat, my nerves rising up. “Don’t give the paparazzi what they want.”

“Oh, jeez, I know,” she answers in annoyance. “We'll speak tomorrow, alright?”

I heave a long sigh, both displeased and disappointed at her behavior. “Fine. See you tomorrow.”

After we hang up, I go to bed, my mind ruminating non-stop. I must say, I never thought it’d be so damn hard to separate those two.

CHAPTER 10

St. Moritz, January 29, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

“When are you going to stop being pissed at me?” Emma asks, elbowing me.

I blow out a breath, pulling my coat tighter around my body as I try to fight the cold wind chilling my bones. “I’m not pissed.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Emma insists. “I know you better than that.”

I look at the member of the staff who is trying to fix the heater that stopped working a few minutes ago and then at Emma again. “I just hate that you couldn’t even hold off a single night before going to stay with her.”

“Come on!” she snaps, feigning outrage. "You knew the whole reason I was coming was to see her. You can’t be mad that I spent time with her.”

“I know. I’m just worried,” I confess, and Emma gives me a quick side-hug, even when I try to brush her off.

“I know you are,” she says in a whisper, squeezing me. “But you don’t have to worry about me so much.”

That’s where you’re wrong, I think, but keep silent, just untangling myself from Emma’s embrace.

“The heater is all fixed,” the man announces proudly.

“Ah, thank you so much!” I stand up from my seat and put my hands as close to the fire as possible. Despite being in the VIP section of the stands, we aren’t much more protected from the cold, but at least we have a heater right beside us.

The second game of the day has just ended, and it’s becoming clear to everyone at the tournament that Yara’s team is going to be the winner of the competition. As much as I hate seeing Yara succeed, her constant victories mean she has been kept busy most of the day with interviewers and sponsors, so Emma has stuck with me instead of watching the games from Yara’s private viewing box alone.

Emma did a walk of shame early this morning, and when I woke up, I found the door between our rooms shut. When I cracked it open for a peek, I saw her buried under the covers of her bed, snoozing in the early light. She must have had a busy night. Yuck.

A few hours later, she had knocked quietly on our connecting door before letting herself in, her arms full of a bag of bagels and a drink holder full of coffees. “Good morning,” she had said in a guilty voice, begging me with her eyes not to ask further questions.

I had been dying to know what exactly had happened last night, but from her face and body language, I knew she didn’t want to talk to me about it. I let it slide, and we had a tense breakfast in my room before going to the first game.

Now, it’s getting dark, and we have very little time to get ready for the cocktail party being held at the ballroom of the opulent Kulm Hotel. Despite the fact that Yara has her final match tomorrow afternoon, all the polo players including herself will be present, so obviously, Emma doesn’t want to miss out on the social event.

And frankly, neither do I.

I’m swiftly running out of time to persuade Emma to separate from Yara on her own accord. All I can hope is that Yara will snub Emma tonight, afraid of the paparazzi taking pictures of the two of them together and exposing their affair. No red flags had gone up in the media yet, but the closer Yara gets to the championship cup, the more popular she is with all the reporters and photographers. As of right now, she’s the media darling of the Snow Polo World Cup, and any little thing she does or says is reported on.

Once we get back to the hotel room, we help each other get ready for the cocktail party, just like old times. I slick my hair back from my face, letting it hang stick-straight down my back while Emma fluffs her signature bob. I’ve gone with a taupe wrap dress and Emma is wearing a more modern black and silver designer suit.

After an all-too-brief FaceTime conversation with my husband and the twins, Emma and I are finally ready to go. The swift change from talking to my children to falling right back into the mold of a socialite feels strange, like I shouldn’t be here tonight but in Manhattan, home with my family. Emma, on the other hand, seems to be perfectly fine and even excited for tonight.

As we cross the lobby area of the hotel, I notice her one piece ensemble clings to the curves of her body almost scandalously and her heels are so high that she’s almost two full inches taller than I am. We both look ready for the red carpet, but I know it will be her that the cameras will truly adore.

Unlike the night before, there’s no assigned seating, but there is a red-carpet entry way where the media is camped out to talk to players and other famous attendees. We exit the car, my heart already racing, and as we walk towards the entrance, some photographers shout for us to stop and strike a pose. We put on our best behavior and let them have our photo taken, whether or not we wanted to.

If the energy at the games was frenzied, it is pulsing in an entirely different way here at the cocktail party. The strict rules of the games had disappeared, and players were now mingling with models and influencers, all of them posing for pictures with wide smiles and sultry pouts on their faces. The lounge music is not too loud, allowing people to form groups and strike conversations. It reminds me of the dinner parties my dad used to host, and as I take in my surroundings, guests seem to have only three things in mind: look good, make conversation, and drink a lot.

After smiling and greeting all the faces I recognize, I immediately head to the bar to order a drink. To my surprise, Emma excuses herself while I do so, and by the time I have my glass in hand, she is long gone. I tap my nails against my glass of bubbly, scanning the room for her.

“Are you looking for someone?”

I turn to my left side, following the female voice, and my gaze alights on Fiona, a Martini in hand, a beautiful smile gracing her glossy lips.

I decide to be honest with her, so I reply accordingly. “Actually, yes, Emma, my best friend who came here with me.”

“Oh, with the amount of beautiful men here, I’m sure she’s already busy.”

I wet my lips with the champagne, left totally speechless at her comment. I’m at least relieved to know Fiona hasn’t a clue as to who Emma is.

“Are you enjoying the games?” I decide to ask in order to change the subject.

For some reason, her smile turns into a smirk, and after taking a sip from her Martini, she says, “I didn’t come here for the games, Petra.”

“Oh, okay,” I utter, trying to hide my discomfort. If Fiona came here to find out if her sister-in-law is having an affair, then I should make sure Emma spends the evening on her best behavior. I survey again across the room, my attention landing on the flashes and noises coming from the entrance.

Yara makes her way in, sporting her polo uniform, and is immediately swamped by cameras and reporters wanting to know how she is feeling the night before the championships. She ignores them, and crosses the room to join the rest of her team, passing through Emma as she does so, who recognizes her instantly. Yara, on the other hand, ignores her like she’s part of the media, not even bothering to acknowledge her presence. I notice how crushed Emma looks, even if she does her best to keep her composure and a poker face while she walks back towards the bar to get a drink of her own. To my surprise, she doesn’t stop by my side. Instead, she goes all the way to the end of the bar and sits on a stool, alone. Damn. She must feel terrible inside.

“We haven’t spoken since I arrived,” Fiona discloses, her eyes on Yara, who is now opening a bottle of Dom Perignon with her team and her sponsors. Fiona’s tone is unusually serious, filled with a sadness that wasn’t there a minute ago.

“Don’t worry,” I answer, giving a soft pat on her arm. “If it helps, Yara hasn’t said a word to me either.”

Fiona is talking to me when she suddenly looks over my shoulder, stopping her sentence mid syllable. “Holy shit,” she says, her eyes pinned behind me. “Is that who I think it is?”

Curious, I turn to see who had entered, right as the crowd explodes in excited chatter, camera flashes lighting up the room.

Flanked once more by her enormous bodyguard and her personal assistant, Shiori Takahashi enters the cocktail party, wearing a floor length red sheath dress with black vine designs climbing up the front, and a pair of small-lensed sunglasses.

Everyone in the room suddenly looks at her, people exclaiming in surprise at her entrance. No one in this room seems to be a stranger to the young Japanese painter who had just sold a fifteen million dollar portrait back in New York, and it wasn’t lost on anyone either that the person who had purchased said painting was also in attendance.

I can’t hide my smile, pushing past the stuttering Fiona to find Emma.

Yet her stool at the bar is empty, and as I turn around, I find her standing motionless halfway between where I am and where Shiori is standing. I can see her eyes are wide, locked on Shi, who is looking right back at her, a lazy smile on her red-painted mouth.

I shove onlookers out of the way until I reach Emma, grabbing her arm. “Oh my God! I had no idea she was coming!” I lie straight through my teeth.

Emma shoots me a quick glance and swallows. “Yeah, me neither,” she says, just loud enough to be heard over all the other voices. “What are the fucking chances…”

“Emma!” I exclaim. “She’s looking right at you! Why are you just standing there?”

Emma looks behind us, and I follow her gaze, seeing what has made her hesitate to go to Shiori. Yara is standing, tall and proud, with her arms crossed, glaring directly at Shiori. Her eyes are shooting daggers, and if looks could kill, Shiori would be in trouble.

“Emma,” I say again. “Who cares? Go. See. Shi.” I give her a not-so-gentle push towards the entryway, and after a stuttering step, she turns her head away from Yara and walks almost mechanically to Shiori.

I follow in her wake, not wanting to miss whatever is going to happen between the two of them. Shi pushes her glasses up as Emma approaches before she holds both her hands out. Emma reaches her hands out too until Shiori is gently holding both of Emma’s hands and smiling at her with surprising softness.

“Emma,” Shiori purrs. “It seems like the universe has brought us together once again. What luck.”

The press is going insane, cameras snapping so rapidly I can barely hear myself think. From my peripheral, I can see Yara pushing through the crowd towards us, but no one seems to want to move for her. Everyone is too fixated on this new turn of events.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Emma breathes, and I see her smile reach her eyes for the first time since we’ve landed in Switzerland.

“Come, show me around. I’ve only just landed and came straight here,” Shi says, waving her hand around the party. Emma seems ready to agree, but at that moment, Yara has finally made her way towards us.

Yara is taller than both Shiori and Emma, and she looks down at them disdainfully, a slight sneer pulling at her lips. She, just like the rest of the polo players, is still in uniform, and she radiates power. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” she tells Shiori with mock interest. “I’m Yara Van Lawick, captain of the Badrutt's Palace Hotel team. And you are?”

People around us murmur in disbelief that Yara doesn’t know who Shi is, wondering why the captain of the winning team would be rude to such a famous artist visiting her team's hometown for the first time. Shiori is no stranger to shady comments though, and fires right back.

She lets go of Emma’s hands and approaches Yara until they are standing just a few inches apart. She looks up at the older woman fearlessly, only mild curiosity in her expression. “Shiori Takahashi. Yes, I think I’ve heard of you. You’re Elliot Van Lawick’s wife, right?” I can see Yara’s jaw working at the mention of her husband, but Shiori isn’t quite finished. “Oh, and Petra’s sister-in-law, correct? Yes, yes, I recognize the name. I’ll soon have work on display at Petra’s gallery. I’m sure you’ve heard.”

Shiori’s response might seem innocuous, but in just a few words she has relegated Yara, the captain of the current winning team, to a wife and my sister-in-law, not mentioning any of Yara’s own achievements. Yara is the media’s focus at the Snow Polo World Cup, and this sudden shift of attention to Shiori, plus Shiori’s nonchalance at not recognizing Yara, has a flush of anger creeping up her neck.

“Seems strange that an artist who was just in New York would show up to a snow polo tournament when she’s shown no interest in the sport before,” Yara ripostes through a clenched jaw. “Some people may think you’re just here for clout.”

Shiori is unbothered, shrugging one pale, bare shoulder. “No. Just for the scenery, and I thought my good friend Emma could explain the game to me. Plus, the tournament directors seemed so adamant that I came to St. Moritz. I would have hated to disappoint them.”

Yara stands up even straighter, and I can almost see the scathing retorts she wants to spit out. “Emma won’t be showing you shit,” or “Enjoy the attention while you can, because this is my show and you’ll be forgotten soon enough,” but the media is all around us, and as the captain of team Badrutt’s Palace Hotel, she can’t be her usual disrespectful self.

Instead, she just gives Shiori a tight nod. “I hope you enjoy the tournament, then. Don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything while you are here.”

Shi, in a show of unbothered confidence, runs the back of her hand down Emma’s arm, causing Emma to startle and Yara’s eyelid to twitch. “Oh, I’m sure my dear friends Emma and Petra can help me with anything I’ll need. Good luck tomorrow, Mrs. Van Lawick.”

Yara whips herself around, returning to where her team is standing, watching the exchange in silence, just like the rest of the party.

Shi’s personal assistant comes over and leans towards her, murmuring something in her ear. After a quick talk, Shiori excuses herself from us, saying that she’s going to answer a few of the media’s questions before joining us again. Emma, a goofy grin on her face, loops her arm over my shoulders, and she says under her breath so only I can hear, “What the fuck is happening right now?”

I pat her on the cheek, responding, “Well, Cinderella, looks like you’re the belle of the ball tonight and all the queens want to dance with you.”

Emma looks down at her heels, raising one foot up to examine the shining silver metal stiletto. “Do you think if I run and drop a shoe outside, my soulmate will scour the town for me?”

I laugh. “No such luck. You’re just going to have to stick it out with me and all the other commoners.”

“Well, shit.” Emma sighs, closing her eyes. “I hate balls.”

To my immense satisfaction, Emma comes back to Badrutt’s with me after the party, slipping through the throngs of people to covertly get into the car I had called to pick me up, looking both happy and weary.

“I can’t bounce between the two of them anymore,” she says, sliding down the leather seat in exhaustion. “They’re like two lions and I’m the gazelle.”

I chuckle, grateful to be alone again. “You know, I always thought you would be the lion, not the other way around.”

“Yeah, me too,” she admits. “I even surprise myself sometimes.”

“So,” I ask conspiratorially, “what are you going to do tomorrow?”

Emma rubs her face with her hands, groaning. “I don’t fucking know. Yara said she expects me in her viewing box during the final game, but Shiori invited us both to hers. She says she wants me to explain polo to her.” Emma snorts. “I barely understand it myself.”

“Maybe it’s a euphemism,” I say with a giggle.

“Pervert,” she retorts, giving me a quick slap on the arm.

We both dissolve into real, relieved laughter, much of the tension of the last twenty-four hours fading away. I’m so glad to have her with me, and she seems more relaxed out of Yara’s sphere of influence.

“Well, I’m going to Shiori’s tent. I don’t know about you,” I say once we settle down. “I won’t try to influence you one way or the other, but I will say that Shiori is much less likely to throw a tantrum if Yara’s team loses.”

“I know you’re joking,” Emma replies. “But she will not lose. She’s full of so much fire right now. I don’t think anyone could take her team down.” I can see her eyes glittering as Emma speaks about Yara. “She leads them with an iron fist, but they all seem to flourish under her.” She then nods pensively, a small smile emerging at the corner of her lips. “Yeah, Yara is gonna take the championship cup, I guarantee it.” The enthusiasm and determination in her voice brings me back to the ugly reality—Emma is still very much attached and loyal to Yara, no matter how badly she treated her at the party.

“We’ll never hear the end of it from Margaret if she does,” I say, trying to compose a smile. “Just another unreachable standard for me.”

“Eh, I don’t think anyone expects you to be a sports star, Petra,” she answers.

“No, but Margaret will take any opportunity to prove that her own flesh and blood are superior to me.” I shrug. “I’m used to it by now.”

Once we’re back at the hotel in the elevator, Emma seems lost in thought, finally announcing, “I’m at least going to go with Shiori for the first game. I don’t think I can sit through six hours’ worth of polo by myself in the cold.”

“Yara’s going to be pissed,” I mention to tease her.

“Yeah, well, when isn’t she?” Emma says with a tired look in her eyes. “I’m used to it by now too.”

She unlocks the door to her room, and I follow her inside, planning to just access my room from our adjoining door. Her curtains are wide open, and the bright moonlight illuminates the area just enough that we both see the single potted orchid on Emma’s bedside table with a note attached.

I don’t have to ask who it’s from. Emma picks up the note gingerly, as if it might disintegrate the second she touches it, and reads it slowly. I see her throat bob as she swallows, and she blinks rapidly, as if clearing her eyes.

“It’s a haiku,” she says simply, holding the card out for me to read.

I want to see

And to meet you

Stepping on the thin ice.

-Mayuzumi Madoka

“That’s so romantic,” I breathe, watching as she strokes the orchid’s soft white petals. “What are you going to do?”

Emma exhales slowly. “I’m going to go to bed.”

I don’t really believe her, but I wish her goodnight anyway, clicking the door between our rooms shut behind me. I take another long bath, reading to distract myself from the eventful day. After tomorrow, I will finally go home, and thanks to tonight, there should be enough pictures out there of Emma and Shiori holding hands to convince Margaret that Emma is finally moving on. I might not have actually separated Yara and Emma for sure yet, but Margaret didn’t need to know that.

I call Alex as I climb beneath the sheets, filling him in on the day's events and happenings. He’s clearly not as invested as I am, but I appreciate being able to tell someone else anyway. We talk about what the twins ate today, some potential candidates for my new personal assistant, and the idea of a graffiti wall at the gallery. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend Alex is here next to me, and it’s a comforting thought.

A subtle clicking noise can be heard from the other room which wakes me up just enough to process what the sound could be. Following the click, I hear the quiet footsteps of Emma leaving her hotel room and walking down the carpeted hallway. If I were a betting woman, I’d put good money on Shiori having a room here too.

The thought makes me smile as I drift back to sleep. Stepping on thin ice, indeed.

CHAPTER 11

St. Moritz, January 30, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

There’s nothing better than waking up in the morning with a new text message from Alex. I click eagerly on the notification and read his SMS: Looks like it’s getting heated in St. Moritz…

Below his text, there are a few links sending me to articles in several online publications.

I click on the first one and a few seconds later, a new window opens and I land on a big picture of Emma and Shiori holding hands at the cocktail party yesterday night. Well, it seems like the reporters didn’t waste time. A smile spreads up to my ears as I read the headline, “Shi & Emma, the beginning of a new romance?”

I scroll down the article which talks in great detail about the cocktail party, including Yara’s weird interference, but fortunately nothing that seems too alarming except the following question, “Why was Yara Van Lawick, captain of team Badrutt’s Palace Hotel, so rude towards Japanese painter Shi?” Along with a video of the four of us as we listen to Yara’s bitchy comments. A huge weight slips off my shoulders as I realize the noise in the background is too loud to hear what Yara is saying. Not surprisingly, the article is signed by nonetheless but Kenneth himself. I click on the other articles and all of them have very similar text and pictures. Well, at least the main focus of the story is not Yara and Emma, but Shiori. As I come to think of it, Emma hasn’t spent one single moment alone with Yara at any social event, so it’d have been impossible for the media to snap a picture of the two alone doing anything affectionate—except of course at Yara’s villa, but so far nothing has emerged in the media about it.

Well, at least today we will spend the morning at Shi’s tent so the media will be able to write even more about the romance between the two, which is absolutely perfect! The more articles about Shi and Emma, the better! I decide to call Alex and thank him for his thoughtful message.

“Good morning, wife.” His voice is warm and delicious, melting me to the core. “Did you enjoy the party yesterday? I know someone who looked clearly pissed off.”

A quick snort rolls off my mouth. “Yep, I know that one too.” With a wistful smile, I glance to my left at the empty pillow and lowering my voice, I say, “What a pity you aren’t here. I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too,” he answers, his voice so caring that it makes me smile. “I can’t wait for you to come back home tomorrow.”

“I feel so tempted to come back tonight, seriously.”

“It’s best you make sure Emma comes back all in one piece,” he says, his tone shifting from warm to rather serious. “The last thing you need is for her to stay in St. Moritz with my sister after the tournament is over.”

Holy shit! I didn’t even think about it! “Wait. Do you think Yara will do that?”

“Well, that’s what she usually does,” Alex tells me. “And that’s how she got caught last time.”

I remain silent for a moment, considering his words. “It was Kenneth who caught her and published that story, wasn’t it?”

“Yep, he’s always behind my family digging for some scandal whenever he can.”

“Fiona was at the party yesterday,” I disclose, since I had already told Alex why she had come here. “But so far I don’t think she knows anything.”

“Be careful with her,” he warns. “Fiona has never been fond of my sister. If she can persuade Elliot to get a divorce, all the better for her.”

“I know, I know.”

I’m about to bid farewell to Alex, when my ringtone startles me announcing a new SMS. Checking it out, I notice it’s from an unknown number. Well, that’s odd, but as curious as I am, I open and read it… Crap! Speaking of the devil! “You won’t believe who just texted me asking if I already got breakfast.”

“Fiona?” he says, a slight worry in his tone.

“It’s insane! Why does she want to meet me?” My voice nearly quivers at the end of my sentence, matching with my rising heartbeat. “Should I just ignore her text?”

He takes a few seconds to answer, most likely assessing several options. “I think it’s best you go. Who knows what she wants? Maybe it’s nothing to worry about. Either way, getting to know Fiona can be an advantage.”

I nod, agreeing to his advice. I don’t need more enemies, and if I don’t go, Fiona might even get suspicious.

“Alright, I will reply to her, then,” I tell him as I get myself ready to text her back.

“That’s my girl,” Alex says with his usual humor. “Let me know how it goes.”

“I will,” I answer promptly, leaping out of bed. “Well, I’m gonna go get ready. Love you.”

“Love you too, little Petra. Be careful.”

My empty stomach is already grueling to the point of being uncomfortable when I reach the breakfast hall. My eyes start zooming at the buffet, salivating at the delicious, warm pastries in display. From the chocolate croissant to the one filled with almonds, I feel like trying them all. But before I can even take a plate and serve myself, I notice from the corner of my eye, a tall woman with short brown hair who stands from her table, a wide smile on her lips.

“Petra,” she greets enthusiastically as she walks towards me.

“Oh, Fiona, good morning,” I reply, mentally kicking myself for not reaching that croissant I so desperately need.

“Thank you for coming so quickly.” She points to the empty chair in front of hers, and says, “Please have a seat.”

“Uh…” I glance at the pastries for a moment and then at her. “I will just pick a few things at the buffet first.”

“Oh, you can just ask the server to do it for you,” she replies, waving a hand to one of them, and she sits back at her table. “Come have a seat.”

Noticing the waitress approaching our table, I decide to sit and order the pastries directly from her along with a tea, while trying my best to tame my grueling stomach.

“So,” she begins, once our order has been taken and we are both finally alone at our table. “How was yesterday night? It looks like Shi and Emma are, um, a thing?”

My eyes widen in surprise at her blunt question. Wow. She doesn’t waste time to get to the point. “Oh, eh, well, that’s what the media says but who knows.” I try to remain as vague as possible. “They can always make up stories for the sake of it.”

“I see…” She nods pensively, before asking, “But is your friend… I mean, into women?”

Why on earth does she want to know that? I shift in my seat, wondering what she’s up to.

“Here’s the chocolate croissant you ordered and your tea,” the waiter announces as she stops at our table.

I clap my hands, looking languorously at my croissant with its little chocolate chips on top, while she pours some tea into my cup.

Once the server leaves, I attack my defenseless croissant, giving a monster bite. I close my eyes, savoring the pastry and forgetting for a moment that Fiona is in front of me posing extremely personal questions about my best friend. Then as I realize something, I look at my croissant and say, “How strange there’s no chocolate inside.”

Fiona snorts at my observation, leaning closer. “You know what I find strange?” she asks, a malicious smile rising at the corner of her lips.

My heart skips a beat as I watch her gaze fixated on me. I shake my head in response, waiting for her to say the rest.

“The fact your friend Emma went to our sister-in-law’s place and spent her first night there.” I swallow dry at her comment, most likely unable to hide my embarrassment.

My cheeks must’ve turned red at her unveiling the truth. I dip my lips on my cup of tea, trying to hide myself behind it. Since Fiona is still sitting in front of me, her eyes observing my every move, I put down the cup, and try to sound as confident as possible. “I understand it can look very suspicious or even weird for you, but I can assure you that whatever she went there for, they are just friends. Emma has known Yara for a few years now, since she’s my best friend.”

Fiona leans back on her chair, as if she’s assessing my answer. “Yet it’s quite strange your friend arrived at her place one hour before Yara did.” I raise an eyebrow at her statement and decide to mimic her position—leaning back on my chair. “It feels like they were trying not to be caught leaving the hotel together.”

Fuck… Tension fills the air between us, and it becomes hard to breathe. “And?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest, unimpressed. “The media makes up stories based on anything as I just said, they just wanted to avoid any useless gossip.” I bring myself forward, and resume eating my croissant which turned out to be very deceptive when it comes to it’s lack of chocolate. Then to make sure she stops ruminating about Emma spending the night at Yara’s, I add, “Honestly, I understand your frustration about our sister-in-law, but Yara and Emma are just friends. That’s it. You’re just running scenarios in your head.”

“Very well,” Fiona says as she tries to hide her discontent with a smile, but it’s just too obvious. “I’m gonna have to go.” She then stands up and takes her purse, putting it across her shoulder. “Thank you for your time.” And she finally starts walking away. Suddenly, though, she stops in her tracks, turning around. “Oh, by the way...” She comes a bit closer to me and then asks, “This little chat stays between us, right?”

“Of course,” I mechanically answer. “Have a great rest of your day.”

She gives me a quick pat on the back before she finally leaves. I heave a sigh of relief, but I’m more than happy to be able to go to that wonderful buffet by myself and find the perfect croissant filled with chocolate.

“Why are you yawning?” I ask Emma when she comes through our shared door late in the morning, dressed for the day but yawning so hugely that her jaw cracks.

“Because it’s early,” she responds.

Despite grinning at the sour look she gives, I glance at my watch before saying, “It’s eleven a.m. and we’re already late for the first game.”

“Yara’s only playing in the afternoon,” she informs me.

“Yes, but Shiori is waiting for us.”

“Alright, let’s go then.” Emma is already passing through me when I stop her in her tracks. She shoots me an arched brow.

“We have to talk first,” I say.

Emma heaves a sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. “What is it?”

“Be discreet,” I remind her once more with a stern voice. “I mean, regarding Yara.”

“I know!” she snaps in annoyance, and before I can add something more, she grabs my arm, and rushes us out of my bedroom. “C’mon, let’s go!”

As we cross the hallway, my mind starts ruminating about the likelihood of Yara staying in St. Moritz for a few more days after the tournament, and I can’t help but wonder if Emma is thinking of staying too. Once we get into the lift, it becomes oddly silent while I assess whether or not I should ask her about it. Decided, I arm myself with some courage and turn to Emma. “Can I ask you something else?”

She exhales loudly, her irritation growing. “Sure.”

Yet the doors of the elevator open right afterwards, so we cross the lobby, and get out of the hotel. We find our car parked outside and once we finally get in and sit, I ask, “You are coming back with me to Manhattan tomorrow morning, right?” My gaze is on her, but she simply turns her face to the window, avoiding mine. “Emma?”

She heaves a long sigh, remaining silent for a few seconds. “Yara’s staying for a few more days…”

“You’re kidding, right?” I snap, totally shocked at her reasoning. “After everything she did to you, you are thinking of staying with her?”

“I don’t know yet,” she says, her voice small. “I don’t know.”

A gush of air rolls off my lips at her undecided nature. If Emma stays here with Yara, she’s gonna be completely under her influence and will never get rid of her.

I feel the urge to lecture her about how manipulative and controlling Yara is, but what for? Emma already knows that.

“Here we are,” she announces when the driver stops in front of the entrance to the tournament. She exits the car just as fast, trying to avoid the subject of her staying longer in St. Moritz.

I try to catch up and resume the conversation, but Emma’s already talking to the staff member who was waiting for us to take us to Shi’s tent. I exhale the freezing air, and follow them in silence. All I hope is that after spending the day with Shi, Emma understands that it’s in her own interest going back to Manhattan once the tournament is over.

Shiori’s tent is not only heated, but she has a small spread of food and a glass carafe of hot green tea that might be the most welcoming sight so far this morning for me. I gratefully pour myself a cup and shed my heavy outer faux fur coat. The tent is warm enough for just my fleece jacket.

Shiori is positively radiant, dressed in a matching black tracksuit and her shimmering hair loose around her heart-shaped face. The look she gives Emma when she walks in behind me says a thousand words, and Emma blushes, quickly shuffling to the refreshment table to busy herself until the redness in her cheeks subsides.

I lean down while Emma is distracted, whispering to Shiori, “I’m so glad you came.”

Shi shakes her head, hair dancing in glimmering waves. “It’s good for me to step outside of my comfort zone. Think nothing of it.”

We both know why she really came here, and it has nothing to do with comfort zones and everything to do with the woman standing behind us filling a small plate with fruit. I take a seat in one of the cushioned lounge chairs, leaving an empty seat between Shiori and me for Emma. We had arrived during one of the minor breaks in the game, and it was getting ready to resume. Whichever team wins this round will go on to face Yara’s team in the championships later today. Tension in the air around the teams is palpable and everyone cheers when the players finally come back to the field.

On the sidelines, paparazzi switch between taking pictures of the game and taking pictures of Shiori’s tent, no matter how many times her bodyguard shoos them away. They aren’t the only ones snapping photos though—phones in the crowd are turned in our direction constantly, trying to get their own picture of the mysterious artist and her confidants.

Emma and Shiori talk softly throughout the match, and midway through I see Shi pull out a sketchbook, drawing absentmindedly as the game goes on. The stands are crowded but not completely filled. Many people are resting up for the championship game later this afternoon.

The one person who is not resting up though, is Yara.

Emma’s phone goes off again and again, to the point where it’s noticeable to everyone in the tent. We all know who it is, but we all politely ignore it. Yara can’t be with Emma, even if Emma wasn’t here. She’s off preparing her team for their final match, meaning she’s only pissed she can’t keep tabs on Emma.

Finally, Emma excuses herself to make a phone call at the back of the tent, and I can’t help but leave my seat too and go spend an extended amount of time at the refreshment table listening in to the conversation.

“Yara, it’s not like that. Yes, I know what it looks like, but isn't it a good thing?”

I can’t hear what Yara is saying on the other line, but Emma looks stricken. “It’s a good thing because it helps as a cover up! You know what? Whatever. I’m hanging up now.”

I try to bolt back to my seat, but Emma catches me, and while I think she’s going to scold me for eavesdropping, she waves me over out of earshot of Shiori.

“I don’t know what to do,” she gushes. “Yara wants the truth, but if I tell her what Shiori and I did last night, she’ll never speak to me again.”

I’m silent for a moment. “That isn’t exactly a bad thing.”

“Petra, I’m not ready to let her go.” Emma’s voice is small, and she looks over at Shiori, who is sketching quietly while the match rages on. “But I don’t want to stop seeing Shi, either.”

“You already know what I’m gonna say. Shiori is single, unproblematic, and exactly your type. More so, she’s actually interested in you, not just making you follow her arbitrary rules like Yara is.”

Emma covers her face with her hands. “I need more time to think,” she says, muffled by her fingers. “This is all too sudden.”

“For right now, just come back and watch the match with us. Nothing is going to get solved in the next few hours, so why not enjoy yourself and stop beating yourself up?”

She still looks uncertain, but after a moment's hesitation, she follows me back to the seats at the front of the tent. Shiori smiles at her as she sits, welcoming her back by taking Emma’s hand in her own and lacing their fingers together. Photographers capture the moment like their lives depend on it. And I bet that one of those pictures will be published all over the gossip mags in a few hours. The distressed look on Emma’s face melts away, and we all go back to watching the tail end of the semi-final game.

The final game is scheduled for two hours after the end of the semi-finals to give the team that just played a chance to rest.

“I’m going back to the hotel,” Shi announces. “Can I give you a ride?”

“Yes, please,” I answer, and I watch Emma with amusement as Shiori confirms that she’s staying at the same hotel as us.

“Okay, I’ll see you both later on, then,” Emma says, after checking something on her phone.

My eyes squint slightly in surprise. “You aren’t coming with us?”

“No, I’ve got to go to Yara’s place and gather the things I left there,” she discloses. “I’m hoping there’s no one there except her butler since she should be out preparing with her team.”

“Alright, be careful, okay?”

I give Emma a quick hug before watching her walk away and get into her black sedan. Then I follow Shi and we get into hers.

We sit beside each other on the back seat and once our doors shut close behind us, the driver turns on the engine and Shi heaves a long sigh. “We haven’t had a chance to talk privately,” she begins. “How is the setup of the extra pieces I sent you coming along?”

“Oh, amazing, thank you so much to have sent them,” I tell her. “We weren’t ready for such a large array of pieces, so I’ve had to do some rearranging.” I pull out my phone to show her some photos I had taken of the set of her paintings already set up in the gallery.

“You have a good eye for color, but I’d expect nothing less from a fellow painter,” Shiori says as she flips through the pictures. “I hope my works can give your gallery the exposure it needs to thrive.”

We talk about the gallery, and Shi gives me some suggestions on how to present her digital pieces to get the best reactions from guests. When the conversation winds down though, the topic shifts to my best friend.

“I’m going to invite her to an exhibition I am having back in Japan,” she announces just like that. “I know it’s a big step for something so casual, but I think we have a special connection. I feel it in the spaces between her and I.” Shiori’s voice is wistful.

“I hope she accepts,” I tell her. “I think you came into her life both at the right time and the wrong time. She needed you to jolt her out of the fugue she was in regarding Yara, but it isn’t fair to you to be interested in someone who has to split their affections.”

“Monogamy is not as important to me as honesty and love,” Shiori says, and I make a conscious effort to remain as unimpressed as possible. “For the right person, I could be monogamous, but I could never share a lover with someone as toxic as Yara for very long. If Emma can set herself free, I will be there to remind her how to fly.”

Wow. She certainly has a way with words. “You’re a pretty special person, Shiori.”

She smiles, gazing out the window at the towering Alps. “So I’ve been told.”

More news stories about Shi and Emma have emerged across the web and I couldn’t be happier about it. The fact that they held hands while watching the morning game seemed to have led every reporter present to believe they are dating, which is exactly what I needed! If the whole world starts thinking they are a couple, then Margaret might also start believing it too. But not everyone seems pleased with the attention the duo has drawn upon themselves. Yara enters the field, looking more serious and aggressive than what she usually is and my lips twist into a smirk as I imagine her finding those articles right before her game. Plus, the fact Emma and I are watching the final match from Shi’s private box, instead of Yara’s, seems to be the cherry on top for my lovely sister-in-law.

I have a lot of negative things to say about Yara, but I won’t ever deny that she’s one hell of an athlete.

I couldn’t care less who won the tournament, besides the fact that the winning captain would host the afterparty, but even Shiori and I were on our feet for the final minutes of the championship game, cheering loudly.

Yara, hair streaming behind her like a banner as she stands in the stirrups, leaning low over her horse, led her team to triumphant victory to the cheers of thousands. Throwing her fists into the air, she accepts the love of her adoring fans. Emma is hypnotized, but who can blame her? Everyone else is riding the wave of her win too.

If Yara had lost, I’d have taken a flight home immediately after the game ended, with or without Emma. But thanks to the media frenzy surrounding Yara, Emma, and Shiori, everyone knows that Yara’s sister-in-law is in attendance, and what sort of sister wouldn’t come to celebrate her victory?

So here I am, stuck, changing once again in the hotel room into my last piece of evening wear. The silky cornflower blue is a one piece, cinched at the waist with a flowing bottom half that could easily be mistaken for a skirt. It brings out the sapphire of my eyes, and despite how over the entire weekend I am, I look the part of a supportive socialite sister. Expensive and put together, but not so flashy that I would outshine Yara.

Just this last event. Just this last event, I keep repeating to myself as I smooth my lipstick over my mouth. It has been a successful trip, even if the split between Yara and Emma hasn’t progressed as far as I would have liked, but I’m more than ready to be done. I have homework before my class on Tuesday, and I miss my twins like mad.

I’m surprised when I receive an SMS from Shiori that contains a picture of an invitation she had received for Yara’s afterparty, telling me she’s going to go even though she knows the invite is just to save face. Yara probably doesn’t expect Shiori to show up, considering their spat at the last gathering, but Shi clearly seems to have her own agenda.

We are going to carpool again so Emma and Shi can make an entrance together. In Emma’s mind, it’s a win-win situation. Showing up with Shiori will ensure that the media never caught wind of her affair with Yara, and at the same time, she can keep up the excuse with Yara that Shiori is simply a coverup. But I know that’s not the only reason, even if Emma had fooled herself into thinking otherwise. She wants to spend time with the Japanese artist, and as far as I’m concerned, the more they hang out, the better.

Even more surprising than Shiori’s text is the call I receive from Margaret mere minutes before I go to get Emma from her room.

“Hello?” I answer cautiously.

“Well, well, well. It seems you actually pulled it off.”

“Hi, Margaret,” I say simply.

“The pictures of Emma and her new flame, Shiori, are everywhere, and they look positively smitten with each other. I take it I can rest easy knowing that my daughter's awful affair is finally over?”

Not quite yet, I think, but instead I tell her, “Exactly. It’s done. Now there is no animosity between you and me, right?” I don’t come right out and mention the sex tape, since Margaret still hasn’t admitted to owning a copy, but I’m sure she’ll catch my drift.

“Correct. Thank you, Petra. I hope we don’t have to speak again for a long while.”

“The feeling is mutual,” I grumble. “Goodbye, Margaret.”

I hang up the phone, feeling both relieved and disingenuous all at once. Emma and Yara are well on the way to being out of each other's lives, but I haven’t sealed the deal yet. But what else could I do? I would never admit failure and risk the embarrassment of Margaret releasing that tape.

Hopefully, within the next week or so, my little white lie would become a reality.

Okay, I’ll also admit that Yara throws one hell of a party too. It seems like somehow she has fit everyone in St. Moritz onto her patio, and everyone seems to practically glow with happiness as they drink, eat, and celebrate the monumental win. Even the losing teams seem to be in good spirits, all the players gathered together in combined pockets and laughing.

Shiori and Emma look like the most attractive couple in the world walking into Yara’s party together, arm in arm. Shiori is wearing an emerald-green kimono and Emma has on a beige, form fitting dress that is covered in black tulle, creating a nude illusion.

Yara has on a clean, pressed version of her team’s uniform, and is standing next to the golden St. Moritz Snow Polo World Cup trophy, which is placed on a pedestal. She’s posing for pictures, both alone and with her entire team, and fielding questions left and right from the press. It seems her victory was enough to bring everyone’s attention back to her.

The party has a distinct air of celebration, but everyone is subdued after the long weekend, especially the other polo players. I suspect under Yara’s makeup, she’s probably sporting some dark circles too.

I let Emma and Shi go to mingle on their own, having a seat at one of the many tables and observing the area. Just as I suspected, Yara’s afterparty is being hosted on her enormous patio overlooking the valley and all the mountains behind it. It’s a breathtaking view, and the perfect end to three full days of competitions. I didn’t play, and even I’ve had enough.

Yara seems to have noticed Shi and Emma upon their arrival, but she didn’t abandon her post near her prize, content for the moment to be the center of attention. Shiori has been drawing gazes from others in the crowd, but the media is remaining solely focused on Yara.

It can’t last forever, though. As the night wears on, and drinks flow more freely, Yara makes her way through the party, eventually finding Emma. I’m talking with some of the other guests from New York when I notice the commotion, and I hurry over to intervene.

“I was only congratulating you on your victory,” Shiori says, looking unflappable and unbothered.

“Like hell you were,” Yara hisses. “You showed up here to feed the rumor mill and get some more news coverage, don’t try to tell me otherwise.”

“Yara,” Emma tries to interject. “Enough.”

But Yara doesn’t pay any attention to Emma’s request and proceeds. “Was it Petra who invited you to St. Moritz?” Yara isn’t deterred though, but when Shiori’s bodyguard appears, seemingly from thin air, she deflates a bit. Yara seems to realize that she has everyone’s attention, but not for the right reasons, and surely she doesn't want to tarnish her very recent victory with a squabble at her own afterparty.

My sister-in-law has everything at the tips of her fingers right now, but she seems to be driven crazy by the one thing she can’t control: Emma.

Emma looks torn, but she remains next to Shiori, looking at once embarrassed and tired from the back and forth between her two lovers. Shiori has put up with so much since arriving, and I hate she is once again at the mercy of Yara’s sharp tongue.

I reach out to Emma, bringing her close to me, telling her, “We can go back to the hotel right now, if you want. Our flight is at nine in the morning. Maybe it’s better we go and get some sleep.”

Emma considers the escape plan, and we are both all too aware that Yara and Shiori are waiting for our decision too.

“We don’t have to be at this party, and we don’t have to be around Yara any longer either,” I tell her, my voice just above a whisper.

“Okay,” Emma says finally. “I have a lot of thinking to do. I’m ready to leave.”

“Emma!” Yara exclaims, trying to keep her voice quiet. “This is not what we discussed.”

Emma looks exhausted, shaking her head at Yara. “I’m cancelling the plans. Congratulations on the win Yara, but I’m leaving.”

Yara sputters, but Shiori takes it all in stride, watching Emma patiently. Emma turns from Yara to Shi, an apologetic note in her voice.

“I’m sorry to you too, Shi.”

“I understand. This is not a simple decision for you.” Shi’s voice is calm and serene. “But I have to ask you something before you leave.”

Uh-oh. I remember Shi telling me she wanted to invite Emma to Japan, and I’m sure that’s what she’s about to do. Even if this is the most inappropriate time possible. I try to say as much, but Shiori continues, cutting me off.

“I have a large exhibition in Tokyo coming up in a few days, and I want you to accompany me, Emma. I’d love to show you my home if you’d allow me.” Shi’s expression is hopeful but guarded. She knows well that Yara is still standing right there.

Emma, on the other hand, looks devastated. I know that look. It means that she has completely shut down, and there is nothing else that either of these women is going to get from her tonight. I don’t want this to become a huge public scene that Emma will regret later, so I have to get her out of here.

“I–” Emma starts. “Shiori, I don’t–”

Shi holds a hand up, stopping Emma. “You don’t have to answer me right now. You have time to choose. I just wanted you to know, and to allow you all the time you need to think.”

Emma nods, exhaling, happy to not have to answer. She’s still on the edge though, and Yara is looking more pissed by the second, both by Emma paying her no mind and Shiori’s invitation. I really need to get her out of this party and away from Yara’s house before she regrets it.

“Let’s go,” I coax, simultaneously texting the driver to be waiting for us outside.

Emma looks at Yara one more time before letting me lead her out.

“This isn’t over,” Yara snaps before turning her back on us and disappearing among the crowd. I’m not sure if Emma will have it in her to follow me instead of Yara, so I hustle her to the car as fast as I can. Fortunately, neither Yara nor Shiori retain us and we make our way outside and to the car.

We get in the back seat just as fast, and as soon as we’re behind closed doors, Emma finally relaxes, and the curses start flowing.

“What the fuck is wrong with me!” she yells, punching the seat in front of her. “How could I just fucking… shut down in front of everyone like a coward.” She clutches her head in her hands, leaning over. “I almost outed Yara and I. I was so close to yelling at her. Shit. Fuck.”

“Hey, hey,” I rub small circles on her back, letting her rant. “It’s fine. We’re out of there. It’s over.”

“Did Shiori really just invite me to Japan?” Emma asks, her voice small once she’s calmed down a few notches.

“She did,” I confirm. “How does that make you feel?”

“Happy. Confused. And pissed off.”

“Why pissed off?”

“Because.” Emma leans back in her seat and closes her eyes. “I’m sure you’ve gathered that I’ve caught feelings for Yara, and despite her being a bitch all weekend, they’re still there. When she won that game, I wanted to kiss her on her stupid mouth so badly, and Shiori was sitting right there next to me.” She looks at me with pleading eyes. “Petra, what do I do? Should I go?”

I take the time to consider it. I know Emma’s feelings for Yara are still present, and raw, and they haven’t even called things off permanently yet. On the other hand, Emma loves to travel, and some time far away from Yara would give her the clarity to think.

“Go to Japan,” I say firmly. “Don’t stay at Shiori’s place but go. Let her take you around, show you her exhibit. But explore on your own too.” I nod, pretty confidant at my advice. “Go to Japan, Em. You need to get away, even if it’s just for a little while.”

Emma releases a shuddering breath, and laughs shakily, nodding. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I have never been to Tokyo before anyway. It’s gonna be dope for sure.”

“I agree, it’s gonna be amazing.” I give her a one arm embrace, squeezing her tight against me. “And it’s gonna be great for you to ponder your relationship with Yara.”

“Thanks, babe.”

She hugs me back, and I feel like I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel with getting Yara away from my best friend, who I love so dearly. “You’re so welcome, Emma.”

CHAPTER 12

St. Moritz, January 31, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

While I slept pretty well through the night, especially knowing today I’m gonna fly back to Manhattan, the same can’t be said of Emma as I make my way inside her room in the early morning.

Even though we waited to have breakfast on the plane, to catch a few more minutes of sleep, Emma looks tired and a bundle of nerves. One of the hotel’s butlers finishes getting her luggage ready, while Emma is sipping an espresso made from her coffee machine. I notice she isn’t wearing any makeup, and the big dark circles under her eyes give me the impression she didn’t sleep much with everything that happened last night.

I walk in her direction, and once I stand beside her, I lean in, and greet her with a kiss on the head. “Did you get some sleep at least?” I ask in a low voice.

She shakes her head as she finishes her espresso, her face emotionless and unreadable. Then heaving a long sigh, she says, “Not at all.”

“I know it’s a hard decision,” I comment, knowing flying back with me today wasn’t in her plans at all. “But you are doing the right thing.”

“I know, Yara really crossed the line yesterday.”

My hearts squeezes tight as I watch Emma trying her best to keep her composure as she processes all the disrespect Yara infringed on her and Shi. I rub her back to give her some strength, knowing how hard this moment must be—the moment she finally realizes how nasty she’d been letting someone treat her and her beloved ones. The fact Yara treated Shi like crap in front of everyone without any bother seems to have been the last straw for Emma.

“I’m very proud of you,” I tell her from the bottom of my heart. Before it gets too awkward, I ask the butler to take our luggage down while I go and give a last check around our rooms to make sure we don’t leave anything behind.

Once Emma is ready, we finish checking out and leave the Badrutt’s Palace Hotel one last time. Before we get into the car though, I ask the doorman to take a picture of my best friend and I standing in front of the hotel’s beautiful entrance and wooden revolving doors. After he snatches a few pictures, I show them to Emma, managing to pull from her a trace of a smile. At the very least, we will have a few memories from our weekend in St. Moritz.

The drive to the airport is disturbingly quiet as Emma remains looking out of the window, totally engrossed in her thoughts.

Her big black sunglasses hide nearly half of her face, and I imagine she put them on in order to hide the pain she’s going through in silence. When our plane finally gets into view, I lay my hand on hers, reminding her I’m here. “Once we take off, you’ll feel much better.”

She sniffles in reply, never turning away from the window.

“What the fuck?” Emma spits out as she points a finger on the glass, her face turning to me to catch my attention.

I follow her gaze and look out of the window, only to be smashed with the worst kind of view possible.

“Holy shit,” I snap, unable to say anything else.

“What is Yara doing here?” Emma asks me, totally taken aback that the staff let her go to the tarmac and stand in front of our plane. I imagine they thought she wanted to tell us goodbye, but she’s the last person we wanted to see here!

The car parks not too far away from the plane, and I feel anxious. Damn, I can’t believe that snake is here. My heartbeat is already bouncing hard inside my chest as I watch Emma taking longer than usual to leave the car.

“I’m here, alright?” I say, giving her a little squeeze on the hand. “Just go first, and don’t stop until you are inside the plane.”

She nods at me while taking a deep breath in. After mentally getting herself ready, Emma leaves the car and I follow suit.

I walk towards the staircase with my heart in my throat, while Yara’s gaze is pinned on Emma, who is closer to her.

“Are you really leaving?” Yara snaps, her arms folded over her chest.

“I am, yeah,” Emma answers, her big black frames hiding the dark circles under her eyes from the heartache. “The tournament is over.”

“I’m gonna stay a few more days,” Yara announces, her tone deeply serious. “I thought you might do the same.”

Seeing how Yara is trying to dissuade Emma, I step in and take over. “She already said she’s leaving, Yara.”

“You better stay out of this, snake!” Yara snarls, her gaze nearly shooting diggers at me, and it really does feel like a threat. Her gaze returns to Emma, and her features deepen. “So? Are you really gonna leave me here alone in St. Moritz, Emma?”

“Yara, the plane is waiting,” I interpose. I put my hand on Emma’s back, pushing her slightly to get to the stairs. “Em, let’s go.”

“Let Emma speak for God’s sake!”

I know exactly what Yara is trying to do: if she persuades Emma to stay, her influence will win her over, and Emma will never go to Tokyo afterwards.

“I am,” Emma manages to spit out. I shut my eyes tight, barely believing what Emma just said. I know how damn hard this must be for her. “I have to go. Goodbye, Yara.”

But Yara reaches out and grabs Emma’s arm right away, halting her in her tracks. Emma becomes immediately confused at Yara’s aggression, but before she can even say a word, Yara takes over. “I’m gonna be very clear with you: if you go to Tokyo with Shi, we are done.”

I remain silent, totally taken aback by her statement, but at the end of the day, I knew an ultimatum would happen. It was inevitable.

“Get your hand off of me!” Emma pulls her arm away with enough strength that Yara releases her, and without further ado, she keeps walking up the stairs until she finally gets inside the plane.

I do the same, ignoring my sister-in-law as much as I can, but as soon as I step a foot on the staircase, Yara bars the way, extending her arm in front of me. My first reaction is to call security to step in, but before I can even open my mouth, she leans towards me and says, “One day or another, you’re gonna regret what you did. It might take time, but you will regret it.”

Here we are, one more threat from my lovely sister-in-law. “Are you done?” I ask, never letting my guard down.

Yara finally drops her arm and without saying anything further, marches back to her car, taking her annoyance with her.

I heave a long sigh in relief as I watch her getting inside her black sedan.

“Is everything alright, Miss?” one of the airport staff asks.

“Yes,” I answer, putting on a smile as I finish to climb the stairs.

I never thought Yara would continue to threaten me without scruples, but right now all I want is to go and check how my best friend is doing.

Reaching inside, my gaze lands on Emma who’s already on her seat, sipping some alcoholic drink, her big sunglasses still on.

It hurts to see her like this, but words can’t describe how proud I am of her to have stood up against Yara.

All I can hope is that Yara will finally leave her alone.

TO BE CONTINUED…

HAPPILY EVER AFTER

MELANIE MARTINS

BOOK FOUR

Melanie Martins, LLC

www.blossominwinter.com

Copyright © Melanie Martins 2022

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrial system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of its publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar conditions being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

First published in the United States by Melanie Martins, LLC in 2022.

ISBN (ebook) 979-8-9852380-7-5

ISBN (paperback) 979-8-9852380-3-7

CHAPTER 1

Manhattan, January 31, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

“You aren’t supposed to have your phone on until the plane lands,” I hiss.

Emma just rolls her eyes as she continues typing. “It’s a jet. We can have our phones on.” She then looks out the window and adds, “Plus, the plane hasn’t started its descent yet so it’s fine.”

Truthfully, all I want is for Emma to stop checking her phone every two minutes in the hopes that she’d receive an apology from Yara—I know deep inside that she’s longing for it.

We haven’t spoken much since the plane took off. Emma spent most of her time either listening to music or sleeping and didn’t seem too willing to open up. I know she needs time alone to heal, but that also means she needs to stay away from Yara—and not just in the physical sense.

“Emma, Yara doesn’t love you,” I remind her once more. “She just wants to control you like a toy.” Before Emma can step in and take offense, I decide to disclose what I found out about my sister-in-law in the hopes it’ll help her to move on. “She never stopped having sex with Elliot, by the way. What she told you was a lie.”

Her mouth gapes in shock and her eyes remain fixed on me like she just froze at the news.

It hurts me to see her like that, but this is something she needed to hear.

“How would you know that?” she finally asks.

“I found an archived article about her and Elliot leaving a fertility clinic, dating back not even a year ago.”

“Fuck,” she blurts out, her eyes drifting down to her lap as she processes everything. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“I just found out when we were in St. Moritz,” I disclose. “And I didn’t want to tell you while Yara was around.”

She nods, clearly considering me before asking, “You were scared I’d confront Yara about it and tell her it was you, huh?”

I exhale a bit slower, pondering her question. “Yeah, God knows what she’s capable of. I’d rather not piss her off anymore than I have.”

The jet is finally circling Teterboro, about to land, and I’m more than ready to be home. The trip to St. Moritz had only been a few days long, but it felt closer to weeks that I’d been away from my husband and children. Not to mention the insane tension I’d endured our last day there. New York, previously the center of all the drama in my life, was starting to look like a calm and peaceful paradise.

Emma’s phone pings, and I watch her face carefully. Her expression is soft, but there’s a line of worry between her perfectly arched brows. “What’s up?” I ask.

“Just look,” she says, handing the phone over to me.

Fortunately, it’s a message from Shiori, who Emma had in her phone simply as “Shi” followed by a black heart emoji.

I really enjoyed seeing you in St. Moritz. I’m about to fly to Tokyo. The exhibition starts this Sunday. If you want to come, I’ll have a plane waiting for you on Friday, at 10 AM. No pressure.

I can’t help the smile that pulls at the corner of my mouth. Shiori had been the perfect candidate to drag Emma away from Yara, but I hadn’t expected to like her so much as a person too. Thoughts of couples’ trips with Shiori and Emma and Alex and I, flit through my mind. It’s such a departure from Emma chasing Yara across the globe for a scrap of her attention.

I try to hide my emotions though, as I don’t want Emma thinking that I’m pressuring her one way or the other. She has to be free to make her own choices; all I can do is gently nudge her in the right direction.

“So,” I start. “Are you going to go or not?”

Emma sinks into the leather plane seat, groaning as she scrubs her hands over her face. “I don’t know yet. I want to, but I know if I do, it’ll be the last nail in the coffin for Yara and me. You know I love her despite everything.”

“I know you do,” I respond gently. “But that’s a dead-end road, and we both know it.”

“I’ve got a few days to think about it,” she hedges, taking her phone back when I offer it to her and pocketing it.

“Just don’t base your decision off of any loyalty you have for Yara or fear of hurting her. Remember that she’s still with her husband, so it’s not like she’s being loyal to you.”

“Obviously,” she snaps, but there is sadness in her voice. “I didn’t forget she’s still a married woman, and I know perfectly well she isn’t gonna divorce him anytime soon. I’m just…” she lets her words trail off as she thinks something through. “I thought I could play without getting myself burned, but I was wrong. And now I'm fucked.”

Despite her language, I don’t take offense at her attitude. I know that she’s hurting, and I don’t want to make her feel any worse. I’m just desperate for her to make the decision that will make her happy in the long run. “I won’t push anymore,” I tell her, reclining back in my seat. “We can drop it for now.”

She sighs before nodding. “Yes, please, I want to talk about something other than my love life, for once.”

We talk about anything else we can as the plane descends; what Emma plans on doing when she isn’t torn between two women, my schoolwork, the twins, and the gallery. I’ve been considering hiring a teacher for a children’s art class in the gallery, so parents could browse and enjoy all the artwork while their kids learned for an hour or two. It’s something the twins could enjoy as they got older, too.

We’re discussing what portion of the gallery would be best suited to be changed into a classroom when we finally touch down at Teterboro. I’ve never been so excited about returning home from a vacation than I am currently. We could’ve been at literally the closest thing to heaven on earth, and it still wouldn’t have felt right without my family.

Looking out of the window, I notice there are two sleek, black cars waiting for us as the plane taxis around. My heart jumps in excitement as I find Alex leaning against one car with his arms full of flowers. The day is overcast, cold, and dreary, but seeing him is like looking upon the sun itself. Jeez, I’m so happy to be back in New York!

When the front door is finally open and we receive the okay to go, I come running out of the plane while Alex sits the bouquet on top of the car, catching me in his arms as I come flying down the stairs. He grabs me around the waist and spins me, and it seems as if all the tension flows away like water in his arms. It’s only been a few days, but it was still too long.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks into my hair, kissing me on the top of the head.

“Not really,” I whisper back, not wanting Emma to hear. Alex laughs and sits me back on my feet before pressing a chaste kiss on my lips. I hum in approval, leaning into him, but he separates earlier than I’d prefer.

“Later,” he promises. “Right now, let’s get you out of the cold and back home.”

“Emma?” I call over to her, where she’s directing her driver to load her luggage into her ride. “Are you okay if I go, or do you want me to wait with you?”

She waves her hand dismissively. “You’re fine. I’m sure you’re dying to get back to your wife life.”

I wrinkle my nose, and she laughs. I’m glad to see her looking more relaxed. St. Moritz had gotten her closer than ever to Shiori, but it’d also been a tense and fraught few days.

“Call me later,” I demand, hustling over to hug her close before leaving. “I know you’ll make the right decision, Em. You know I just want what’s best for you.”

“Me and my self-destructive tendencies,” she says, giving me a last squeeze before pushing me back toward my husband. “I’ll talk to you later.”

This time, I let Alex hand me the flowers instead of immediately jumping on him. It’s a sunny mix of roses and wildflowers that makes me think of spring and how much I miss the warmth and greenery. Despite loving winter, I feel like I’ve had enough snow to last me a lifetime. I lower my face into the arrangement until the petals tickle my nose and inhale deeply.

“I love them,” I assure Alex, kissing his stubbled cheek.

He opens the car door for me, and I climb into the back. Alex usually drives us himself whenever he can, but this time he’s brought a driver. Smart move, considering I wanted all his attention on me and nowhere else.

He slides in beside me, and I immediately scoot to the middle seat, setting my bouquet carefully in the vacant seat. The inside of the car is warm and smells like peppermint and Alex’s cologne, and I exhale hugely in relief. He raises his arm over the headrest of the seat, and I immediately snuggle up next to him, resting my head on his shoulder.

When the car starts driving us away, Alex pulls me close to him and we sit in silence for a while, just soaking in each other’s company. It’d only been a short time apart, but it was sweet to realize he missed me just as much as I had missed him.

“So, was it really all that bad?” he asks finally.

“Well, let’s see. Where do I start?” I inhale, pondering my next set of words. “It was cold like everywhere else I’ve been lately, Emma was on edge, your sister was planning my untimely death the entire time, and I had to be in the middle of a love triangle between my best friend, an artist I’m working with, and my sister-in-law.” I blow out an exhausted breath. “It wasn’t really a great time, but it was absolutely gorgeous. I’d love to go back the four of us.”

“We can probably arrange that,” he agrees. “In the off-season, it’s particularly peaceful. And not quite as cold.”

“Sounds perfect,” I answer.

“How did your secret mission go though?” he jokes. “Did you manage to get your wayward friend set up with the world-famous artist?”

“I’d say we’re about eighty percent there, give or take,” I tell him honestly. “Yara has her claws into Emma deep, but since Shiori is letting Emma come to her and not the other way around, Emma should be able to break away on her own.”

Alex chuckles. “I’m sure my sister was apoplectic.”

I think about how close Yara had come to physical violence when I had met with her alone at her villa, and cringe. “I don’t know what the obsession is with her. Yara is married, has kids, money, a family, and a high-profile polo career. Why does she hang onto Emma so tightly?”

“Honestly? I think Emma cracked something open in my sister’s frozen heart.” Alex’s tone is only half-amused. “All of us siblings have a hard time admitting what we really want, especially if it doesn’t follow the exact path Mother sat out for us.” He rests his chin on my hair, and I’m sure he must be thinking about how hard it had been for him and me to come together.

“I wish I’d known I’d be playing relationship therapist for so many people once you and I got married.”

“Hopefully it’s only a onetime thing,” he says, before looking me in the eye again. “Speaking of my family, though… Did anyone call you while you were in St. Moritz?”

I consider lying to Alex about his mom’s call. As of right now, if Emma flew out to meet Shiori in Japan, I was free and clear of Margaret’s drama, and we could live in peace. But I wouldn’t want Alex to lie to me in the same situation, so I tell him the truth. “Your mom called actually.”

I explain the phone call to him, and when he seems worried that the Yara and Emma thing might not be completely settled, I assure him that we are on the right track. The sooner I can get Margaret off our shoulders, the better. Alex still seems pensive after that, looking down at me a few times as if he wants to speak before turning away. He sighs heavily, and I worry that something is going unsaid.

“Love,” I say, sitting up so I can look him in the eye. “Is everything okay? You’re acting fidgety. Do you want to talk about something?”

He takes a second to answer, but shakes his head, giving an unconvincing grin before kissing me gently. “I just missed you, that’s all,” he says when he pulls back. I purse my lips, searching his face, but he doesn’t budge. Fine. He’d come clean soon enough, whatever it is.

But it doesn’t matter for now, anyway. We are minutes away from home, and I’m almost vibrating with excitement about seeing the kids. I had schooled myself on the plane to not be too over the top when I get my hands on them again. I don’t want to scare them, or for them to pick up on my emotions and become upset too. The unfortunate fact is that there would be times we’d have to be apart over the years, hopefully never for long, but they and I both have to learn to live with the absences and only take joy in coming home.

“We’ll have lunch at home with the kids, just the four of us,” he informs me, as if he can sense how excited I am to see them again.

There is a list as long as my arms of things I need to do now that I’m back in Manhattan, including schoolwork and everything with the gallery, but there’s only one thing on my agenda today, and that is to kiss my babies.

Thankfully, Alex doesn’t try to drag me into any more conversations that would require my full attention, because I wouldn’t be able to focus, anyway. Once we pull up to the curb, I realize I’m just a few minutes away from my kids, and I mentally force myself to stay calm.

I step out of the car and wait for Alex before making my way inside the building. I’d been having a touch of anxiety about this moment if I was being honest with myself. Were the twins old enough to realize that I had left? And if so, had it hurt their feelings for me to leave them here? Not that they could understand why I had left, but certainly they had noticed I was gone.

I shouldn’t have worried though. When I crack the door to the condo open, trying to be quiet in case the twins are down for a nap, I see Lily is sitting with them in the living room, reading them a children's book while they watch her raptly, eyes and mouths open wide. If there had ever been someone made for a job with children, it was Lily.

Everyone turns to me, and the change in the babies is immediate. They are all gummy smiles and giggles as I hustle over to kneel down with them, sweeping both of their chubby bodies into my arms for a squeeze.

I’d get better at being apart from them. I had to, with the life we lived, but for now, I was going to bask in this moment. No one was going to tell me my reactions were over the top.

Jasmine and Jasper are warm and soft, their hair smelling of the lavender baby shampoo they love so much. They babble to me as I kiss their round cheeks, almost as if they are telling me a story, while busy hands pull at my collar and hair, and I love every second of it.

“Have they behaved?” I ask Lily, spitting out a chunk of my hair where Jasmine had dragged it over my mouth.

“Oh no, they’ve been terrible,” Lily teases, shutting the children's book and standing. “They were perfect as always, Petra. Did you enjoy yourself?”

“No. Yes. It’s a long story,” I blurt out amid a quick laugh.

“At least the family is reunited,” she says cheerily. “I’ll leave you four to your lunch now that you’re home. Call me if you need me.”

I want to spend some more time with the twins before we sit down to eat, and after shrugging off his winter coat, Alex joins me. Both Jasmine and Jasper have been getting stronger every day, and it’s a joy to watch them thrive. Jasmine is still behind Jasper in weight and physical milestones, but mentally she’s proved time and time again that she’s just as capable as her heftier brother.

Jasper raises himself to his hands and knees and rocks back and forth, eventually showing us his shaky crawling talents, to which Alex and I both cheer and clap––much to his delight. His sister is not one to be shown up, and while she can’t support herself fully on her hands and knees yet, she drags herself in an army crawl across the carpet, huffing with the effort. Of course, we congratulate her just as much, and by the time they’re finished, we’re all laughing. It’s good to be home.

Lunch isn’t over the top, thankfully. I’m a bit burnt out on the extravagant food from the polo tournament, and the chickpea salad Maria has whipped up for us is perfectly light and refreshing. Alex and I have become pros at feeding the twins in tandem with ourselves now, and our conversation flows naturally as we enjoy our meal together.

Except… I can still see some sort of apprehension on Alex’s face. I’m sure something must’ve happened while I was gone that he doesn’t want to share, but I can’t imagine what it can be. I highly doubt his mom has been bothering him––considering how satisfied she had sounded on the phone with me––but she’s the only member of Alex’s family, aside from Yara, that I can imagine actively trying to cause any sort of chaos in our lives. I decide to go off that hunch and see how he reacts.

“Your mother was very brusque when I talked to her,” I comment between bites. “Did she say anything else to you, or are we truly done with her for the time being?”

Alex shakes his head, the wariness on his face growing. “I haven’t spoken to her since you’ve been gone.”

“Oh.” I push my salad around my plate casually as I think of a new approach. “None of your other sisters were at Yara’s polo tournament, which surprised me a little. When’s the last time you heard from them?”

Alex sets his fork down with a sigh and rubs one hand over his face. Jasmine squawks in protest, and he quickly feeds her another bite of her sweet potato puree while he collects his thoughts.

“Did Julia call you?” Alex asks simply.

I raise my eyebrows, genuinely surprised. Is every member of the Van Dieren family going to poke their fingers into my day-to-day life this year? It’s only January!

“Definitely not,” I respond. “I haven’t spoken to her since the the twins’ baptism. You know that. Why would she call me?”

A few moments of silence goes by before he finally says, “She called me, but I got the impression it was you she wanted to speak to.”

“Wow.” I take a long sip of my water, contemplating what all this could mean. “After everything she did to me—to us—she’s still trying to be in your life?” I can’t keep the indignation out of my tone.

Alex grimaces. “It’s weird, yeah….”

I know my husband well enough to see that he isn’t telling me the entire story. “You seem worried,” I comment gently, trying to let him know that this wasn’t an interrogation. “Did she tell you something in particular?”

He takes a sip of his water, his posture stiffer than usual. “She just wanted to fill me in about some news going on in their lives. The conversation kind of fizzled out when she figured out you weren’t around to talk.”

I shoot him an arched eyebrow. “Is something wrong with her or her family?” As much as the Van Dieren clan grated on my last nerves, I’d never wish ill on any of them––especially not his nieces and nephews.

“They’re all fine, from what I can tell.”

Alex’s mouth is tight, and he ignores his meal now, focusing solely on our daughter, who obediently opens her mouth like a baby bird for each bite he gives her. I watch him closely while I feed Jasper until my spoon scrapes the bottom of his bowl. Full of sweet potatoes, his eyes are droopy, and he yawns hugely.

“Maria?” I call out. “Can you and Lily take the twins up for a nap?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Maria pipes up from the other room, and I hear her talking to Lily through the intercom in her basement apartment.

Alex must know that I’m about to grill him for information, because my no-nonsense, scared of nothing husband looks decidedly uncomfortable. I wipe the twins’ faces and give them quick kisses before Lily arrives to sweep them off for a midday nap, and then Alex and I are alone.

This conversation would probably be better held in the living room or somewhere more comfortable, but I don’t want to wait. Most of all, I want to wipe that worried expression from his handsome face. I stand and saunter over to my husband, and he looks surprised when I lower myself into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“What’s wrong, Alex?” I ask in a whisper, leaning forward so my forehead rests against his. He sighs deeply, running his hands up and down my back. “You can trust me in this.”

“It’s just…” he lets his words trail off, clearly thinking something through. “It’s such a shame they did what they did to us.”

It’s a vague statement, but it’s at least something. “She’s trying to reconnect with you, huh?”

“Yeah,” he blurts out, an exasperated breath rolling off his mouth. “I know she doesn’t deserve it. But I was very close to my sisters, especially Julia and Sebastian, so it’s hard to simply forget they exist.”

I think of Alex as a much younger man, laughing with his siblings, all of them light and free from the shackles their lives would force upon them. Since I was raised as an only child, I can’t imagine how hard it must be for him to let all of those relationships fade away as all the scheming and underhanded plans have replaced the simple love between brothers and sisters. It isn’t fair for Alex… but on the other hand; I’m not comfortable with putting myself right back into the snake pit with his siblings for the sake of it.

“Do you miss them?” I ask gently, already knowing the answer. He needs to say it out loud, though; he needs to vent before it destroys him inside.

“Sometimes,” he confesses, his voice low. “It’s Sebastian’s fifty-fifth birthday in about three weeks, and I know she wanted me to be present, but I declined her invitation.” His grip on me tightens, and I let him bury his face in my neck, breathing deeply. “I hate this, Petra. What they did to us, how hard it has been on you… I wish I could fix it for us all. Jasmine and Jasper make me realize every single day how much I wish I could watch my nieces and nephews grow up.”

“You did well,” I tell him, tilting his face to mine with a finger under his chin. His ocean-blue eyes are tired, the lines at the corners of them strained. I kiss those corners, and then the sloping bones of his cheeks and jaw, and finally his mouth. “It might not have been easy, but it was the right choice for where we are right now. Things can change in the future maybe, but you did the right thing for our family right now. Thank you, Alex.”

He kisses me back, his lips soft and warm. “It’s so good to hear you say that. Until now, I was still full of doubts on whether I had made the right call.” He hesitates, as if reluctant to ask the next question. “Petra? Would you be…” he stops mid-sentence, as if hesitating whether or not to say the rest. His eyes drift up to meet mine, and amid the silence, I give a quick nod for him to go ahead. “Open to repairing these relationships, as long as they worked to make it up to us?”

“Alex!” I snap, totally taken aback by his question. Should I tell him no? Of course I should! And a part of me wants to, but it feels harder than I thought, so I try to come up with a more diplomatic and mature answer, an answer that wouldn’t hurt either of us. “I’d never deny you your family, even if it’s hard for me,” I find myself saying. “The time in Aspen with your mom should prove that to you. As long as it doesn’t hurt our marriage or our children, then I guess I’m open to it. But you have to promise me you’ll put the twins and I first.” It sounds vague enough, open but not too much.

“Always,” he says in a low voice.

“And you have to realize that I won’t simply forgive and forget. As far as I’m concerned, they’re all in the wrong, and don’t deserve any empathy from me.”

Alex chuckles. “I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, my stubborn wife.”

I can feel the relief in his body at having it all out in the open. I knew now that Julia wanted something from me, but neither Alex nor I know what exactly. I’ll have to talk to her sometime this week. I’m relieved he didn’t give her my new number, as I don’t know what I would have done having to deal with one more sister in St. Moritz. Back on my home turf, I feel more confident in facing her.

“Now that that’s settled…” I brush my nose along the side of his. “I could really use a shower, and maybe someone to wash my back for me.”

“Is that an invitation?” Alex rumbles, nipping at my jaw.

“It could be,” I tease. “Maybe more of a request.” I’m more than ready to wash away the stress of the weekend and all the drama that had come with it. I was ready to slip back into the equally complex, but much more peaceful, home life here in Manhattan. What better place to start than reminding my husband just why he missed me so much?

“Invite accepted.” Alex stands quickly, and I squeal as he shifts me into a fireman carry over his shoulder before I dissolve into helpless giggles. With a hand planted firmly on my backside, he carries me up the stairs and into our bedroom.

He drops me on our bed and helps me strip out of my clothes, and I do the same for him, scooting to the edge of the mattress and pulling him forward by the waistband of his pants. He lets me undo the button and zipper, pushing them down his legs, and I can tell he’s happy to have me home. I run my fingers along the band of his briefs and look up at him, a mischievous grin on my face.

“Did you miss me?”

He takes one of my hands and lays it over the bulge of his erection, raising one eyebrow. “What do you think?”

I know I told him I wanted to go for a shower, but right now, all I do is tug his briefs down and watch as his manhood pops out, hard and ready for me. He hisses when I wrap a hand around him and stroke. Heat starts rolling off of his body as he threads his fingers in my hair and draws my face forward until my lips brush the tip of him. I snake my tongue out and drag it over the tip, and I feel his whole body shudder.

“Fuck…” he rasps, pulling me in further. I oblige, every little noise and sigh he makes feeding my need for him.

I take his cock as deep as I can into my mouth until he is bumping the back of my throat before pulling me away again. With my hands free, I run them over the taut muscles of his legs and thighs, never able to get enough even as I’m swallowing him.

I hum against his skin and his grip in my hair gets tighter, right on that delicious edge of pain and pleasure. I want him to finish like this, but I know he isn’t going to allow it, and when I circle my tongue around the head each time he pulls back, I know he’s reaching the end of his rope.

Finally, he pulls me completely away, his hand moving from my scalp to cup my jaw, chest heaving as if he had run a marathon.

“Shower. Now,” he demands.

I shed the last of my clothes as I stumble behind him to the bathroom, where he has turned on the shower and steam is already filling the room. The heat of it feels wonderful on my skin after the chill of the bedroom and I sigh as Alex, now fully nude, takes my hand and pulls me beneath the falling water.

The marble shower with the rainfall showerhead makes it almost seem like another world when Alex closes the glass door, shutting us away from reality. I immediately lean into his body, and he lets me, sliding his hands up and down my back to my butt. Between his touch and the water, I shiver from the sensations, feeling at once both content and needy.

After a few moments, his wandering hands make their way between my legs, one hand wrapping my leg around his waist while the other parts my folds, one of his fingers pushing deep to test my readiness. He must like what he finds because he pulls out and pushes two fingers in next. The feeling of him stretching me is intoxicating, and all the nerves in my body seem to come alive.

“Lean against the wall,” he says, voice raspy.

I let myself lean backward until my back is flush to the cold marble, one leg still wrapped around Alex’s waist. He slowly pulls his fingers out of me and grasps his cock in his hand, guiding himself to my entrance.

“We’ll go slower later,” he tells me through clenched teeth. “But right now, I’ve got to have you.”

All I can muster is a thready, “Please.”

He doesn’t leave me waiting, thrusting deep, and it’s so sudden I almost feel like my body is protesting the invasion. Having him fill me up so suddenly teeters right on the edge of being too much, but he stays still long enough for me to adjust before repeating the movement again. This time, it’s nothing but pleasure.

His eyes search my face for any lingering signs of distress, and when he finds none, he fucks me in earnest, the movements of his body sharp and steady, meant to bring us both to the edge. No teasing or drawn-out seductions today. Just his body, mine, and the falling cascade of water we stand beneath.

I try to brace myself on the wall, but when I continue to slide, I give up and put all my trust in Alex, holding onto him as he continues to piston into me, the sound of our flesh slapping together echoing in the stone room. It’s all I can do to keep my own cries quieted to just whimpers.

As we make our way to the peak of our climaxes together, he captures my mouth in a searing kiss, giving me no mercy as he nips my bottom lip with his teeth before his tongue explores me. With the onslaught of his cock moving in and out of me, and our mouths locked together, I feel like I’ve lost myself in him. Like I don’t know where I end, and he begins.

We reach a shuddering orgasm within seconds of each other, and I’m thankful for his hand cupping the back of my head before I can throw it back on the hard marble. He’s basically holding all of my weight at this point, while pleasure courses over every inch of me, even as I feel his hips still against me while he comes.

Eventually, though, even Alex’s strength starts to wane. “You’re going to have to stand, love,” he whispers, brushing my slicked back hair from my shoulder.

“Fine,” I groan, lowering my shaking leg from around his waist onto the tile floor. His cum is running down my thighs, somehow hotter than the shower water. I still don’t feel steady, but I couldn’t expect him to hold me forever.

We wash each other with languid strokes, and I shiver with pleasure when Alex shampoos my hair for me, his fingertips strong on my scalp. I return the favor by rubbing his tense shoulders when I wash his back, peppering kisses on his neck and shoulder blades as I do so.

“I love you,” I say simply once we are done, relaxing and wasting a copious amount of water, I’m sure.

“I’d hope so, at this point,” he quips. “I have a little work to do, wife, once we’re done here. I hate leaving when you just got home, but––”

“I understand,” I assure him. “I’ve got to get organized for the week anyway and with this much distraction…” I run my hands over his sculpted chest. “I won’t get anything done.”

He tweaks one of my nipples in response and I yelp before he thumbs it soothingly, repeating the action with my other nipple once he’s finished.

Heat spreads from my chest to my core, and before I know it we’re making out again, my hands clenched on his firm arms while he kisses me bruisingly.

“No.” Alex pulls back suddenly, but my sadness is cooled when he laughs sardonically. “You’re too tempting, you little siren. Let’s get out of here before I have you up against this wall again.”

I pout but end up laughing too as he pulls me out of the shower with his hand in mine. He immediately wraps me in a huge fluffy towel as if it was almost painful for him to look at me naked anymore.

After we dress, Alex kisses me once more, chastely this time, I notice with amusement. We both dress, stealing little caresses as I brush my wet hair out and apply lotion on my skin.

Just as I’m pulling on my jeans after Alex walks out the bedroom door, the baby monitor crackles, and when I turn to look at the screen, both twins have woken up, Jasper blearily staring at his mobile while Jasmine stretches hugely.

I wonder if Maria or Lily are around, but I don’t see anyone as I walk out of the bedroom and make my way down to the nursery.

My workload for the day is bigger than I thought, and after getting Jasmine and Jasper up from their naps, changed, and giving them a snack, I’m now hours behind the schedule I had planned for today. Mostly because of my interlude with Alex, but that was neither here nor there.

Luckily, nothing is pressing, and I have no deadlines for today, but I really need to get everything lined up for the upcoming week. So reluctantly, I turn the babies back over to Lily when she arrives and head up to my makeshift office.

It isn’t an office, really, but a corner of the atelier I had set aside for studying and when I needed to work on my laptop without being disturbed by the hustle and bustle of the house. Here it’s quieter, and I’m surrounded by my own artwork, making it my special little space in the condo. String lights and pictures of my friends and family, along with a few small pots of succulents complete the cozy picture.

Being winter, the sun set early, and I’m just packing my things back into my backpack when my phone pings on the desk. Curious to who would be messaging me, I stop what I’m doing to check it right away.

It’s from Emma, which surprises me. I thought she’d need some time away from her phone and social media to decompress after St. Moritz, considering how she and Shiori’s pictures were plastered over every feed and gossip rag. I cringe internally, knowing how it feels to have your romantic affairs out for all the world to see. It isn’t pleasant, to say the least.

I lower myself back into my chair and open the message. It’s a picture of three different paintings—the first one is uncomfortably familiar; the second one I’d only seen once before; and the last one is brand new and I’m immediately jealous of my friend for now owning it. Nevertheless, it’s a very interesting picture displaying two portraits of Shiori, and one of Yara in the middle.

The first portrait I recognized is, of course, the nude piece I painted for my sister-in-law. It's, by far, the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever done, and it made me feel even worse when I found out who received it. Yara is stunning, no doubt, with the lines of her muscular body arched and on display, but it’s also garish, just like the woman herself. In my opinion, it feels like a piece to remind Emma of how superior Yara thought herself to be, and how grateful Emma should feel.

Next is the portrait Emma bought from the auction and agreed to display at my gallery for a period of time. As I come to think of it, I’m more than thrilled to be able to display a portrait of such a world-famous artist. Shi’s portrait is calculated, serious, and represents the secretive woman that only showed a carefully crafted image of herself to the public. The third portrait that Emma received, though, is something different. Not as polished, but more intimate, and oh so much more vulnerable.

The canvas is similarly sized, but it isn’t filled to every corner with color like Yara’s. It’s of Shiori, from the shoulders up, laying in what appears to be soft green grass scattered with cherry blossom petals. Shi’s face is turned away, looking slightly to the side as if she’s looking at a lover lying next to her. One delicate hand is positioned in the grass above her head, and the portrait is so detailed I can see the flecks of paint on her fingers.

The portrait is quiet, gentle, and it fades out at the edges as if in a dream. Unlike the digital paintings Shiori is so famous for, this one is done in oils, one of my preferred mediums, meaning Shiori had painted this painstakingly for Emma. I hadn’t heard of Shi doing traditional art in years. I knew in my bones that this portrait would never be in my gallery––It was something secret for Emma, something crafted for her from the heart.

Jeez, I spent so much time combing over Shi’s portrait that I almost forgot to read Emma’s message.

Why do I have to choose between the two? Why can’t I have both?

It’s simple, but I can sense the pain in it, nonetheless. I flip back and forth between the portraits again; one a trophy, the other a gift from a lover, before responding.

Because one is liberating you while the other is destroying you.

CHAPTER 2

Manhattan, February 1, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

My first morning back at home is perfectly normal and domestic, just how I like it. The only downside is not getting to stay home after breakfast. I can usually get away with doing my homework on my laptop with the twins in their bouncers or playpens next to me––or even on a huge blanket spread out on the floor so they can roll and crawl around to their heart's content––but today I have to conduct a few interviews for a personal assistant position to help me handle the gallery’s workload while I’m going to school full time. A PA would also be the perfect buffer to give me space to focus on my studies while also helping me to make the right professional decisions when it comes to the gallery.

So, after breakfast I wiggle myself into a comfortable pair of black jeans and a dusky rose blouse and grab the folder of resumes that Alex had sat out for me before leaving. He’s so organized that it makes me just a touch envious. I hope I can get to that point one day.

After a bunch of kisses, I leave the twins with Lily. In the car's backseat, I switch on the heated leather seat and leaf through the stack of papers, thinking about what I really wanted out of a personal assistant. Someone to take all the calls and make all the appointments for all of my meetings with artists, dealers, and press so I can focus on school is a must, but I also want someone that can act as my stand-in when I’m not able to be there in person. I want to be as hands on as possible, but I don’t want to wear myself thin if I can’t help it.

My PA will also have to be someone that understands I’m in the public eye quite a bit and that there might be times the media becomes pushy with everyone in my social circle. So whoever I hire will have to have a good backbone for those sorts of things, and be someone who doesn’t frighten easily.

“We’re here,” Zach informs me politely, and I realize he had pulled up to the curb a few minutes ago while I had been lost in thought.

“Sorry!” I chirp, grabbing my things and buttoning my coat.

“Do you want me to park and wait on you to finish, ma’am?”

“That’s unnecessary, Zach, but thank you. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

He turns to look at me, apprehension on his face, but he doesn’t argue. “If you’re sure. I’ll see you later this afternoon.”

Emma, being in the public eye so much, must have Alex’s people on edge, but I have been nothing but a background character in all that. The tabloids that ran news about Shiori and Emma were, for the most part, using pictures of the two of them alone. Only a few featured me standing awkwardly in the background.

The gallery is closed to the public today while I hold my interviews, so there’s no one inside except for Tilly—the gallery supervisor—who’s talking with a few people in professional attire. They must be some of my candidates. I square my shoulders and give everyone a polite smile.

“Good morning, Petra,” Tilly says, nodding her head at me. “When shall I send up your first candidate?”

I give a quick wave to the interviewees. “Give me ten minutes to get settled in.”

Tilly walks with me as I head up the grand staircase to the upstairs offices, her hands clasped behind her back as she talks. “I wanted to inform you I had a call early this morning from Columbia’s newspaper asking to take some pictures of the gallery for a piece they’re doing. I told them we were closed to the public today, but they’d still like to stop in if you’re alright with it.”

I mull the idea over, but knowing that these journalists are studying at the same university as me makes me feel more at ease about letting them in.

“As long as they aren’t underfoot and don’t overstay their welcome, that’s fine with me.”

“Wonderful. I’ll give them a call back.”

Now that we’re out of earshot of the PA candidates, I pause at the top of the stairs and ask, “Do you have any early impressions of them?”

Tilly purses her lips in thought. “I have an idea of which one would be my pick, but I don’t want to put my bias on your decision, so how about I give you my opinion once you’re done interviewing them?”

“That’s fair,” I say with a smile. “You can send the first one up in a few minutes.”

I watch Tilly descend to the first floor again, her tall, rail-thin frame, dressed in her trademark black, looking perfectly at ease and in control of the gallery. She’s been such a perfect fit that I was afraid none of the personal assistant candidates would stack up. The PA that Alex had lent me did an admirable job of keeping everything organized, but like all Alex’s employees, he has absolutely no understanding of the current art market. In contrast, all of my candidates have some experience with the art world—from a previous contemporary art teacher to an art business major that had just graduated. But being educated in art is only half the battle. I need a middle ground between Alex’s PA and my own.

While my home office is cozy and a bit fantastical with its fairy lights and hand-painted flowerpots, my office at the gallery had been coming together to look professional yet artistic with plenty of personal touches to make it feel like my very own. After looking over the schedule for the interviews and arranging the resumes in the correct order, all I have to do is wait for the first candidate to come in.

At first, it feels strange interviewing people much older than I am and I have to reference the sheet of questions Alex had included for me a few times, but after a while, I fall into a rhythm. There are four people I’m scheduled to speak with today, and two tomorrow. If no one turns out to be a good fit, we’d have to set up another round of interviews, but I’m confident I’ll find the right person.

The first two candidates are young women. The former art teacher is first and then an art major with a minor in management is second. Both are very qualified, polite, and seem capable, but the first woman seemed too gentle and her overly cheerful nature from teaching seemed to bleed over in how she spoke to me. I don’t think she meant to be, but her tone felt condescending in a way I didn’t love.

Candidate number two is more serious, but she seemed fixated on the gallery itself and not on the work I would need her to do as my personal assistant. Still, it might just have been her trying to connect with me on a personal level over our shared interests in art, so I wasn’t ruling her out completely. She’s clearly incredibly knowledgeable, so that’s a big plus.

The third candidate is a young man, taller than me but shorter than my husband. He’s dressed in a Tiffany blue button-up and charcoal gray slacks, every ounce of his outfit is perfectly tailored, with an impeccably clean haircut and thin-rimmed glasses perched on his nose to round it all off. He introduces himself as Mason Palmer with a quick handshake before settling in the taupe chair across the desk from me. I can’t help but notice the thin, black wedding band he’s wearing, which complements his deeply tanned complexion and dark hair.

“How did you hear about this position, Mason?” I ask, flipping through his resume. Mason has a bachelor's degree in business science and communication—not exactly what I was expecting.

“My aunt, actually. She’s a curator at the Guggenheim and always has her fingers on the pulse of what’s going on in the art scene of New York.” Mason is soft-spoken but firm, with a kind smile that put me at ease.

I raise my eyebrows. “That’s a prestigious position.”

Mason nods. “She raised me, actually, and it’s where I gained my appreciation for art. I worked alongside her as her assistant for a few years but she’s ready to retire soon. I know I don’t have the educational background some of the other candidates have, but I assure you my real-world experience more than makes up for it, and as you can see my degree does lend itself toward business and a more organizational mindset.”

I perk up, reading over his qualifications and job history. He might not be the obvious choice, but so far he’s the first one not to talk my ear off about why he’s perfect for the position and how he’d be the smart choice.

“Do you live in Manhattan?” I ask conversationally, gathering my thoughts.

“Lenox Hill,” he confirms. “My husband and I just moved there late last year. The housing market is atrocious right now, as I’m sure you know, and we were very blessed to find the space that we did.”

I dive into all the normal interview questions then, and Mason is sweet and easy to talk to. If anything, I’d be concerned that he wouldn’t have the hard edge that would be needed to deal with the more persistent, annoying clients I may have to deal with. Towards the end of the interview, I ask Mason if he has questions for me, which he declines, but instead opens his leather messenger bag and hands me a binder to look over. Intrigued, I sit forward and take it from him.

“If you decide I’m the right candidate for your job, I’ve compiled this schedule and the few things I’d need from you to start forwarding your calls to my business cell. If you look closely, you can see where I’ve set aside time for us to talk each morning and each evening to go over expectations for the day and then to summarize who I’ve spoken to throughout. Of course, I’ll inform you of any pressing matters, but I know you are currently a student and it’s hard for you to answer a call anytime during the day.”

“Interesting,” I comment, leafing through the binder, at once impressed and overwhelmed by this amount of organization.

“We can use a scheduling platform where we can exchange notes, potential appointments, and anything else you may need without even having to pick up your phone to call. That way, if you think of something in the middle of a lecture, or late at night, you can plug it into the scheduling app, and I’ll be informed.”

“This is… amazing,” I tell him with a nervous laugh. “You really prepared for this interview.”

Mason shrugs one shoulder self-consciously. “I’ve done my own research on you and your gallery, and I have a huge amount of respect for what you’re doing for local, emerging artists. As an art lover myself, I’d love to be able to help you thrive. New York needs more fresh blood out there.”

The next candidate is going to have to pull a rabbit out of his hat to beat this guy, I think to myself, carefully closing Mason’s binder and handing it back to him. “This is very impressive, Mason. I’m sure you’ll be hearing back from me. I just have a few more interviews to conduct and then–”

Before I can finish, there is a quiet knock on the door, and without waiting for an answer, Tilly pops her head in. “The reporters are downstairs, but Petra…” she hesitates. “I think they have misled us. They both look to be in their forties, not university journalists at all.”

I exchange a confused glance with Mason before standing, straightening myself. “Mr. Palmer, I’ll be in touch, I promise,” I tell him before following Tilly.

Something about her warning is making apprehension crawl up my spine, and I want to get to the bottom of who exactly is in my gallery as quickly as I can.

Halfway down the grand staircase, I can see that Tilly was right, and both reporters are much too old to be working for a university paper. One is tall and chunky with an oily ponytail pulled back from his head, holding a camera, and recording the portion of the gallery that had been set aside for Shiori’s paintings. The other looks more put together, with a close-cropped beard and wide-rimmed glasses, and he’s whispering to his partner, pointing at some of her artwork.

I can see the last interview candidate standing off to the side looking unsure, as if she can sense something strange in the air, just like I can. I hear Mason a few steps behind me on the stairs, but I’m too weirded out by whatever is going on here to take the time to reassure my potential employees. I need to handle this now.

It just doesn’t make sense why they would lie about who they worked for. We weren’t currently allowing press in, but every time some reporter called we would let them know press tours would commence in a few weeks. There’s nothing at the gallery now that wouldn’t be available for viewing then.

The two journalists must have heard the click of my heels on the stairs, because they turn to me as soon as I reach the bottom, like wolves converging on a doe. They give me the creeps immediately, but I have to remind myself I’m the face of this gallery, and if they, by some stretch of the imagination, do work for my college’s newspaper, I don’t want to appear like I’m alienating anyone.

Tilly’s long-fingered hand settles on my upper arm, and I give her a quick glance. Her gaze is flinty as she watches the men, and I’m given the impression of a hawk keeping a keen eye on a threat. “Just give me the word and I’ll phone the police,” she tells me under her breath, and I nod curtly. Her hand falls away and I go to confront the journalists.

“Good morning. I see you’ve found our collection of Shi’s paintings. It’s our newest installment.”

The shorter man with glasses smiles politely, motioning to the wing of the gallery. “It really is an incredible collection for an independently owned gallery. You must be Petra Van Gatt, right?”

I ignore the question. “What paper did you say you were with?”

The man’s smile becomes sharper. “Oh, we’re freelancers.”

I tilt my chin up stubbornly. “Then I’m going to have to ask you to leave. As I’m sure you’ve heard, we’ll be doing press tours in the upcoming weeks. We’re only accepting educational tours at the moment.”

“Sure, sure,” he seems to brush me off, turning back to the art installation and making a discreet motion to his colleague, who hands him a tablet. After a second of flipping, he pulls up a picture on the screen and holds it out for me to see. I bristle when I see that it’s a picture from the art auction of Shi and Emma, arm in arm, with me slightly in the background. “Is this you with Emma Hasenfratz at Shi’s auction a few weeks ago? It is, right?”

I have to resist the urge to slap the tablet out of the man's hand, but it’s then I realize the other man has his camera held up in front of me, seemingly recording us. A chill runs through my spine as I figure what this is all about. “I said you two need to leave. We aren’t open to the public today.”

The reporter ignores me completely, taking a step forward, while the other man keeps the camera on. I don’t step back like I think he expected, but he seems unperturbed. “Why don’t you just answer a few questions for me, and I’ll be on my way? Where is Emma today? Is she here?”

I try to step past the reporter to his colleague to force him to put the camera down, my heart racing, but the reporter steps in front of me again. “Why won’t you answer the questions, Ms. Van Gatt? Is it true you managed to acquire this collection because your friend is sleeping with the artist Shi? This is the biggest collection of her work in the U.S. currently.”

“Now, Tilly,” I say before turning my attention back to the two men. “I’m gonna need the two of you to get the hell out of my gallery before law enforcement arrives.”

Both men laugh. “Such harsh language. Just so you know, we’re streaming live, so you might want to watch your mouth.”

I cross my arms, trying to look more confident than I’m feeling. I’m all too aware that there is no one in the gallery but Tilly and the two interviewees, but before I can finish the thought, I hear the front door of the gallery opening and the last woman I hadn’t gotten a chance to interview slipping out, apparently unwilling to deal with this upheaval. I don’t blame her, honestly.

This moment seems unreal. Neither of these men would be intimidating out on the streets, but here, with just myself, my gallery supervisor, and someone I had just interviewed, I feel overwhelmed by them. The fact that they are streaming makes it even worse, as I have no idea how wide their audience is or how many people are watching me try to keep the fear off my face right in this second.

“Just answer a few questions for us, Petra, and we’ll be on our way.” The reporter’s voice is slimy as he moves forward to try and crowd me again. “That, or maybe you could get us an interview with your friend Emma.”

“I’m not telling you anything, sir, and my gallery supervisor has just called law enforcement, so I’d suggest you be on your way.”

He snorts. “You think the police in Manhattan are going to make two reporters in an art gallery a priority? It’s New York, sweetie. This entire city is crawling with reporters.”

A shudder runs through me, thinking about the paparazzi back in Aspen, and how what he’s saying just might be true. I’m sorely regretting telling Zach to go home and wait on my call, because he’d have been able to muster some of Alex’s security team in minutes. Right now, I’m cursing myself for leaving my cell phone upstairs, and my patience with these two is running thin.

The reporter takes my silence as an invitation to continue speaking, and his colleague holds the camera closer to me. “We’ve got insider information saying that Shi is holding a private exhibit in Tokyo Sunday and there’s a jet out of Teterboro to Tokyo booked on Friday. Is Emma Hasenfratz going to the exhibit in Tokyo with Shi? Is she going as a friend, collector, or maybe lover? What can you tell us about that, Petra?”

“Absolutely nothing,” I grit out. “Now get out of my gallery!”

Both men laugh again, and I can feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Speaking of gallery, why did your husband decide to gift it to you? Was it to make up for you spending most of your pregnancy alone, is that so?”

I’m rocked by the sudden shift in the questioning, moving to focus on me, and I’m suddenly awash in memories of all the press during Alex’s court case and how miserable we had all been. For the first time, I take a nervous step backward, shaking my head. I’m ready to flee, but I can’t.

Like the bird of prey I had compared her to earlier, Tilly swoops past me and locks her hands on the upper arm of the reporter, causing him to startle. “That’s enough now!” Tilly hisses. “Both of you lowlifes get out of this gallery right this second.”

I watch, terrified, as the cameraman moves quickly as if he’s going to bat Tilly off his friend. Before he can, though, Mason steps in and grabs his arm just as Tilly did to the reporter. The cameraman is taller and stouter, but Mason is strong enough to hold his ground, and both men stop in their tracks when he enters their space.

“I’d suggest you leave,” Mason says evenly. “Ms. Petra here was conducting some business before you so rudely interrupted. Lying to get into the gallery was a dirty move, don’t you think? As if the two of you could ever pass for college students.”

All while making this speech, Mason is hauling the cameraman toward the door, who seems shocked enough to stumble along behind him. The reporter, on the other hand, tries to shake Tilly off, but her nails are dug firmly into his arm and her face is like a storm cloud, stubborn and unmovable. She’s at least five inches taller than the man in her heels, and despite him trying to pull away, she manages to walk him to the door too.

Mason pushes the door open with his hip and all but throws the cameraman out, and Tilly follows suit, pushing the reporter between the shoulder blades and slamming the lock into place as the door shuts behind them. The gallery is suddenly silent.

I let out a shaking breath, and then a nervous laugh, laying my hand over my galloping heart. “Thank you both,” I tell them sincerely.

“I know this is your gallery, Petra, but it’s mine to supervise, and I’ll be damned if some skeezy beat reporters are going to intimidate you or disrespect the artwork that these artists poured their hearts and souls into,” Tilly huffs, and although she looks cooly confidant, I see a flicker of unease on her face.

I turn to Mason, planning to offer an even more heartfelt apology to this young man I had just met and who came to the defense of me and my precious gallery, but he holds up a hand as soon as I open my mouth. “No thanks necessary. Growing up, I had to deal with my fair share of bullies, and I have no tolerance for them now. They meant to intimidate you, and I’m glad I was here to help. I’d have done it no matter who you were.” He levels a serious gaze at me. “It wasn’t some ploy to guarantee myself the job. I hope you know.”

“Absolutely,” I tell him. “But you have to know you’ve shot to the top of the pack.”

He grins and shrugs a single shoulder. “I’ll take any positive karma that comes my way.”

I escort Mason upstairs so he can get the bag he had brought with him, and I grab my phone as he gets his things together.

Mason is ready to leave, but right before he reaches his hand toward the front door handle, Tilly stops him. “Wait a second,” she cautions. “The police still aren’t here, and I have a bad feeling they might still be outside.”

She pulls up the security camera app on her phone, and when she brings up the feed for the front door camera, both the reporter and the cameraman are in fact still standing on the stairs, arms crossed and waiting patiently for one of us to come out. No doubt to harangue us with more questions, but it still gives me a shudder to see them waiting.

Thankfully, though, just a few minutes later, we watch on the tiny screen as a lone police car pulls up. At the sight of it, both men casually descend the steps of the gallery to leave, hands shoved in their pockets as if they are nothing more than sight seers walking the streets of Manhattan. The officer pays them no mind, coming to the gallery door and knocking.

Tilly lets the officer in, and bidding Mason goodbye, we give the officer a rundown of everything that happened. The moment he takes out his pad of paper to make the report, though, the gallery phone begins to ring. Followed by my cellphone. And then Tilly’s cellphone.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I see in place of the number just the word “private.” Tilly holds hers up, and it reads the same. All three phones stop ringing, and then immediately start again.

“Answer it, on speaker,” the officer instructs.

With a gulp, I do as he says, and a voice rings in the empty gallery among the sounds of the other ringing phones.

“Hello, is this Petra Van Gatt? I’m calling from Page Eight media–”

I hang up immediately, pinching the bridge of my nose and uttering an uncharacteristic curse.

“Shit.”

CHAPTER 3

Petra Van Gatt

We field calls for hours. I didn’t even know there were so many ways to say “no comment” or so many newspaper and press companies in New York City. By the time the calls stopped coming in, and Tilly and I had managed to block as many as we could from our personal phones, it’s nearly 5 pm, and we are both beyond over it. At least my office had gotten its first full day of use.

Tilly, exhausted, goes to do her evening walkthrough of the gallery to make sure nothing is amiss, and I take the opportunity to check the gallery’s social media pages, which I immediately regret. I have over one hundred message requests, probably more, but the app seems to stop counting after a hundred. I don’t even glance through them, just hold my finger down and let the screen scroll and scroll, selecting all the messages and deleting them en masse. I don’t care if it’s Queen Elizabeth herself messaging me on Instagram. There is not a single person outside of my small social circle I’m interested in talking with.

Once Tilly confirms everything is where it should be, I call Zach to come and pick me up, instructing him to come to the front door, and he and I would walk Tilly to her cab before leaving.

Of course, there is one person I shouldn’t keep ignoring—my husband. He tried to call me twice earlier and sent a text afterwards. I know with each passing minute that it sits unanswered in my inbox is another level of worry that’ll encompass Alex. I just don’t have it in me to go over the entire ordeal through a phone call, and honestly, I want to be with him when I explain everything. He might already be furious about the whole ordeal, so I think it’ll be better if he can see with his own two eyes that I am safe and sound.

In the car's backseat, with my familiar driver at the wheel and the doors locked, I can take my first deep breath in over six hours. I’m so twisted up inside from everything. Guilt weighs heavily on me, knowing that I had subjected my only employee to this nonsense today, and that my favorite pick for my new personal assistant might have been spooked away. There are so many things I could have done to prevent that disaster from happening, so many tiny things like telling Zach to stay waiting for me outside, or even taking my phone with me downstairs.

Jeez! What if the twins had been there with me? There are plenty of days I had brought them to work with me, letting them bounce in their bouncers, or having one strapped to my chest in their sling while Emma or Alex carted the other around. I had wanted the gallery to be their home away from home, and I had been seriously considering children's art classes, or even mommy and me classes… but what if it wasn’t safe for children to be in my gallery, because there were crazy, relentless people like the reporters today always around?

I shiver, wrapping my arms tightly around my body and screwing my eyes shut. Today had sent so many cracks through all of my carefully laid plans for the gallery, and I’m not yet sure how to fix it. And all that was because of Emma and Shi? It isn’t even my relationship or my drama to talk about for Pete’s sake! I laugh sardonically to myself, thinking about how, in some way, this was all my fault. If I hadn’t told Margaret about her daughter’s affair, she’d have never commanded me to deal with the Yara and Emma debacle, and none of this would have happened.

Still, though. I can’t say I’m not happy for Emma and the way she is breaking the chains of her toxic relationship, or for my personal and professional friendship with Shi. There are upsides and downsides to it all. It’s just complicated.

Complicated, and so scary.

Zach doesn’t say a word once we arrive at the condo. He simply steps out of the car, opens my door, and escorts me to the front door. It’s an unusual gesture but I appreciate the security his presence gives me, even if he’s just my driver. As I come to think of it, Zach is Alex’s employee, and if I know my husband at all, he probably has a gun tucked somewhere on his person and extensive training with it, just in case.

Lily is doing flashcards with the twins when I walk in, and she gives me an understanding look. Great. I guess everyone already knows my business, including my kids' nurse. Jasmine and Jasper immediately ignore Lily’s cards when they catch sight of me, and it’s a relief to hold them both in my arms and bury my face in their little necks, feeling how warm and soft and blessedly safe they are. It brings a lump to my throat.

“Alex is in his office,” Lily says gently, plucking Jasmine from my grasp. “He wanted to talk to you when you got home.”

I give her an annoyed look and sink down onto the couch instead. Jasper pulls himself up, his hands clutching the couch fabric, and looks at me with eyes the same color as his father’s, huffing and puffing with the effort of holding himself up.

“Great job, buddy,” I tell him, pulling him up into my lap, ignoring Lily, who continues to stare at me.

“Petra,” she starts.

“I know,” I blurt out in a whisper. “I know he wants to see me, and from the look on your face, you know what it’s about. Just give me a second, please.”

Lily lowers herself down next to me and lays a gentle hand on my knee. She always radiates calm, quiet energy, and even I, as an adult, am not immune to it. I finally relent, sliding my gaze over to her.

“I’m going to tell you what I know, so you don’t have to hear it from your very distressed husband. The video that the reporters live streamed was all over Twitter, and right before you came in, they played it on TMZ Live. Alex has seen the entire thing, and he’s setting up a security force for you, at least that’s from what I can tell.”

I blanch, simultaneously pulling my earring out of Jasper’s searching hand. “Their livestream was played on cable television?”

Lily winces in sympathy. “At least you looked absolutely radiant.” She tugs on the edge of my blouse. “This color is incredible with your complexion.”

With a heavy sigh, I hand the other woman my wiggling son, and stand. “I guess I should go speak to him and see how exactly he plans on changing my life to fit his parameters.”

“He’s just trying to keep you and the kids safe, Petra,” Lily chides. “Whatever security measures he insists on can only be beneficial. This will all die down soon enough.”

I’m unconvinced, but she doesn’t need to know that, so instead I give her a small smile and say, “I hope you’re right.”

Alex is in his office, just like Lily said, leaning back in his chair with his tie loosened and top shirt buttons undone. He’s on a phone call when I enter, and he holds up a finger to let me know he’ll be with me in just a second. I take a seat on the leather loveseat against the wall and wait.

It’s clear Alex has been dragging his fingers through his hair ceaselessly because it’s sticking up in all different directions, and he looks like he’s been pushed to his limits. He has been so hands off with my mission to get Emma away from Yara that it’s almost shocking considering how protective he is, but I know this would be different. Even Yara and her vague threats of violence are a known factor. Strangers are a different story.

Alex hangs up his phone and scrubs his hands over his face with a groan. I bet he’s been at this since the moment he got home. I open my mouth to ask him what he wanted to talk about, but instead he stands and walks over to the couch to sit next to me, pulling me into his embrace without a word.

Until that very second, I didn’t know quite how much I needed him, and I feel tears gathering at the corner of my eyes. I take a ragged breath and push myself as close to him as I can get, letting him run his hands up and down my back comfortingly as I fight back tears.

After a few long moments, I sit up a little straighter and wipe my eyes. “Sorry. I shouldn't be crying. Nothing bad really happened.”

Alex sighs. “It was bad, Petra. Have you seen the video?” I shake my head, and he pulls out his iPhone. I start to protest but he interrupts me. “I need you to watch it before I ask you the questions I need to ask. I want you to know exactly what we are dealing with.”

“I was literally there,” I tell him. “I don’t need to relive it.”

“You need to see what the rest of the world is seeing if you’re going to make the right decisions.”

The thought of watching the video makes me nauseous, but finally I nod, and Alex pulls it up.

It’s as horrible as I thought, watching myself get more and more flustered by the reporters, and how it was Tilly and Mason who finally had to throw them out, not me, the owner of the freaking gallery! From the perspective of the reporters, they appeared to be thrown out almost violently, instead of the barely won struggle it had actually been, and it made me go cold. They were obviously trying to change the narrative to make themselves into the victims and me as someone unreasonable and unhinged.

I shudder against Alex once he closes the video, and I let out a shaking exhale. “That was awful.”

“You did well, all things considered,” Alex reassures me. “You didn’t give them a single scrap of information.”

“It didn’t seem to deter them.”

“They were trying to rattle you enough that you let something slip,” he explains.

I don’t answer, choosing instead to just snuggle with my husband, hoping we can let the subject go for the moment. I should’ve known better though. It’s Alex, after all.

He untangles himself from me and goes to his desk, coming back with a stack of papers.

“First,” he asks. “Who was the other man at the gallery that helped your supervisor?”

There’s the slightest edge to his voice, nothing that anyone but me would have noticed. Despite everything, a tiny smile pulls at the corner of my mouth. “Jealous?”

Alex just looks at me, unamused.

“Fine,” I say. “His name is Mason, and he was one of the candidates for the PA job I interviewed today.”

Alex shuffles through his pile of papers and pulls out a copy of Mason’s resume. I’m not surprised since he had been the one to print out my copies and organize the interviews for me.

“This one?” he asks, and I nod.

After reading the resume carefully, Alex hums to himself, tucking the sheet of paper back into the pile. “I’m impressed with his tenacity and his willingness to go to bat for you. Did you like him?”

“Actually,” I pull at the edge of my blouse nervously, wondering if Alex is going to think I’m being too hasty. “I have more interviews scheduled tomorrow, but I honestly just want to hire Mason. He has everything I’m looking for in a PA, and he even recommended a few apps we can use to keep everything organized.”

Alex shrugs. “Hire him, then. His first task can be canceling your interviews for tomorrow.”

I giggle unexpectedly. “Alex! I can’t have my personal assistant cancel my other personal assistant interviews!”

“Why not?” he asks, his voice even. “Sometimes, as a business owner, you just have employees that click into place naturally. This Mason seems like that for you, so let’s put him on the payroll. In fact…” Alex pulls something else out of his massive paper pile, and I realize it’s a check. “I had this written out for whoever it was that helped you as a tip. You can tell him to consider it a hire-on bonus.”

I take the check gingerly from between his fingers, folding it and tucking it into my jeans pocket. “Okay… I guess I will when we’re done?”

“Great. Now, this is serious, Petra, so pay attention.”

“I am,” I say, with a hint of annoyance. Did he think I was off in space or something?

“Good, and don’t argue with what I’m about to tell you.” Alex clears his throat. “We’re going to sue the fuck out of those reporters.”

I sort of knew this was coming, but I still pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers and groan.

“Alex, no. I just want this to go away, not chase it down.”

“You don’t understand,” he starts, “if we let this slide, it will set a precedent for other people like them to harass you without consequences. Do you want them following you to work every day? School? Out for a walk with the kids?”

“Of course not!” I fight the urge to jump up and pace the floor. “But there’s also an argument for giving the situation more attention and energy drawing in more reporters.”

Alex doesn’t seem deterred though. “I’ve already spoken to my lawyers about everything, and it’s a slam dunk case for defamation and harassment. You won’t even have to be very involved, just give your statement and they can take care of the rest.”

“We don’t even know who they are, though. They told me they were freelancers.”

He shakes his head. “Well, they are and they aren’t. They publish their own stories, but they do it under the umbrella of a shady media corporation. We have names of the reporter, the cameraman, and the company who buys their stories. We’ve already done all the work. Like I said, all you have to do is agree and I’ll take it from here.”

I want to argue more, because I want so badly to put all of this behind me, but a large part of me knows that Alex is right. If we let this go away without consequences for them, it might be seen as an invitation for other reporters to do the same.

“Fine,” I acquiesce. “I don’t like it, but if you insist…”

“I do.” Alex drops his stack of papers on the desk and goes back to sit beside me, putting two fingers under my chin and tilting my gaze up to his. “You know I wouldn’t do anything to make you uncomfortable unless I really thought it was necessary. Everything I do is to protect you, Jasmine, and Jasper.”

“I know,” I tell him, shoulders sagging. “I’m just so tired of all of this. I want to go back to our peaceful, drama-free existence.”

“It won’t be like this forever. You just have the unfortunate honor of being best friends with the girlfriend of the media’s current darling artist. They’ll find someone else to fawn over soon enough, especially if Emma and Shi get into a serious relationship. They want upheaval, not the average, happy couple.”

“If you say so.” I’m unconvinced, but all I want right now is to put this whole story behind me.

“I do.” He cups my face, affection clear in his gaze. “I promise I won’t lead you astray.”

“Now that that’s settled–” I say hopefully, but Alex shakes his head. “More?”

“Yes, more. We need to talk about your security.”

“Then let me lay down, at least. I’m exhausted.”

We shuffle around on the couch, and I kick off my heels, calves dangling over the arm of the leather loveseat and my head pillowed in Alex’s lap. He cards his fingers through my hair soothingly, and I wonder if he will notice if I fall asleep. There’s no such luck, though.

“I’ve got my normal security personnel, but I’ve also got a small squad still on retainer from the court case last year that I plan on activating to guard the gallery when it’s open, even if you aren’t there. It will be their only job, so you won’t have to worry about them splitting up their attention and getting distracted.”

“Good,” I murmur, my eyes fluttering closed.

“For your own personal security, I’m going to reassign some of my personal guards. I have a great guy, Pascal, who will be the head of your personal team. I’ll introduce you to him tomorrow.”

“Lovely,” I mutter, nearly dozing off.

I can feel Alex focus his attention on me again. “Petra, you need to pay attention.”

“I am, I am,” I insist, not opening my eyes. “I’m just resting.”

“Uh-huh….” Alex doesn’t argue, though, continuing on, “Listen, I know you’re upset about all of this, but I don’t want you to downplay how serious it all is. Do you know how many views their original video got?”

“A couple thousand?” I ask, an ounce of humor trailing on my lips.

His hand stills in my hair. “Baby… It was a couple million.”

My eyes shoot open, meeting Alex’s sympathetic cerulean gaze. “Million? Holy moly.”

“Holy moly is right,” he sighs, before starting to thread his fingers against my scalp again. It’s a comforting touch, and it takes the sting out of everything he’s revealing to me. “That’s why it’s so much more likely you’ll be recognized out on the streets. You’re going to have a constant security detail until I feel like this has died down enough that you aren’t endangered anymore. The detail will be doubled when you’re out with the kids.”

“By a constant detail, you don’t mean at school, right? Columbia has their own security, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Constant means constant, love. Even at Columbia.” Despite his tone being sympathetic, I’m not sold on the idea.

I suppress an outright complaint, instead just telling him, “Alex, you don’t know how humiliating that will be. School is the only time I feel like a normal woman my age, around my peers. I don’t want a constant reminder hanging around that I’m different.”

“I promise you they’ll be as discreet as possible. You won’t even notice they are there unless you want to. I suggest making them a little more obvious when you’re out in public, but we can have them be almost invisible at Columbia, if that’s what you want. Reluctantly, I do trust Columbia’s security enough to believe they won’t let reporters and paparazzi on the grounds.”

“Hmm,” I peek up at him again. “You already called them, didn’t you?”

He chuckles. “You know me too well.”

Alex lets the conversation die off, knowing that he’s gotten the agreement out of me that he wanted. I’m too emotionally drained, and too fed up with the whole situation to really argue, and it was sort of a weight off of my shoulders to let Alex take control of everything. And as I know all too well, Alex loves to be in control.

I know I have two children downstairs I should go and be with, and a media firestorm to address, but for the moment I don’t want to do anything but fall into that half-sleep state with my head on my husband’s lap. His office smells of paper, ink, and his cologne, and being with each other has obviously eased both of our anxieties over the past eight or so hours. My limbs feel loose and relaxed, and here with Alex, I can shut out the real world for a minute.

He lets me, for a time, anyway, lost in his own thoughts. I understand how he feels. The stakes are so much higher now than they were before, and the situations are so much more nuanced. This moment alone is a reprieve before a storm of chaos, and I think we both know it.

I’ve drifted off just enough to shut everything else out when my phone rings. My first instinct is to ignore it, but Alex has other ideas, picking it up from where I had left it on the floor by my shoes. I’m positive it’s another paper or reporter that slipped through the number blocking cracks from earlier, but to my surprise, it’s a contact I already have saved on my phone.

When he shows me the screen and I see it’s Shiori, I know exactly why she’s calling me. The gossip mill in Tokyo might not be as interested in what had happened to me today, but Shiori lives half her life in Manhattan, so she had to have her finger on the pulse of the goings on around here. I reluctantly push myself to a sitting position and answer the phone.

“Petra,” Shiori says immediately, sounding subdued. “My PR team has just informed me of what happened today at your gallery, and I wanted to call and personally apologize.”

Shiori is a secretive woman, and over our time in St. Moritz, I slowly discovered her anonymity was to protect a gentle, kind heart. Of course she’d feel some sort of responsibility over what happened.

“It’s not even vaguely your fault, Shi. You’re in Tokyo! You don’t need to apologize.”

“I do, though,” Shiori replies. “If it wasn’t for how high-profile Emma and I have been over the past few weeks, you would never have been bothered like that.”

“That’s not true,” I assure her. “Either way, I have your paintings in the gallery, and I’ve got the only real collection of your work in the city right now.”

“You and I both know that those reporters weren’t interested in my work. They were interested in my love life.” She scoffs, sounding hurt, “All of my career I’ve tried to hide away, so I’d be judged only by my work. As soon as I show my face, all anyone wants to talk to me about is my identity, and who I’m seeing. I feel like no one even cares about my art anymore.”

I’m silent for a second, worried that Shi is regretting everything with Emma already, especially knowing that the attention that is currently being heaped on me will switch over to her if she returns to Manhattan. “I’m sure Emma didn’t–”

“You misunderstand,” Shiori interrupts. “I willingly go through this because I want her. I want Emma, as bizarre as it sounds after only knowing her for such a short time, and I always strive for what I want. No amount of media attention is going to change my mind, but I never expected that media attention would affect my friends like it has affected you today. And for that, I apologize, whether you accept my apology or not.”

Shiori is wavering between indignation and vulnerability, and I’m touched that she considers me a friend. “Shi,” I say gently. “Of course I accept your apology, even if I think it's unnecessary.”

She exhales and sounds lighter, as if she’s unburdened herself of something. “Thank you. Petra?”

“Yes?”

“Have… have you talked to Emma today?”

“No,” I admit. “She’s texted me, but I’ve just been too busy to reply.”

“Understandable,” Shiori says.

“Has she accepted your invitation yet?” I ask hopefully.

Her voice is sad as she responds. “No, not yet. I thought she had cut her ties from your sister-in-law, but I guess her claws are in Emma deeper than I expected.” Shiori is quiet for a second, as if she’s thinking something over. “Why does she stay with her? Emma has an open heart that is waiting for love, but she’s also so intelligent. I’d have never expected her to be so attached to someone as toxic as Yara.”

I laugh, and it’s tinged with frustration. “I totally agree. It’s gonna take time, but I’m sure she’ll move on.”

“She will come,” Shiori says confidently, any uncertainty that was in her voice earlier dissipating. “I am sure of it.”

“I really hope you’re right….”

“I have everything planned out. I want to show her how good a relationship based not just on chemistry, but on mutual respect can be.” Shiori sighs, but the sound is laced with hope. “She will come.”

We talk a little longer while Alex straightens up his desk and shoots out a few emails. Shi tells me that if there’s anything she can do to take some of the pressure off me, to just let her know. I’m reluctant to ask for her help, knowing how private she is, but having the option is a small comfort.

After I hang up, I consider calling Emma and grilling her. Not about the events of today, but whether she’s going to take up Shiori’s invitation. In the end, I decided not to. She has to be the one to decide, or it won’t mean as much.

Well, if Emma goes, and she and Shiori become official, all this nonsense will have been worth it.

After dinner, I’m well and done with the day, but I’ve still got one last task to do before going to bed—calling Mason to let him know he got the job.

A few minutes later, I find myself on a long video call with my new personal assistant, going over the details of the plan for the next days. I must have looked frazzled, because Mason, who I’m still on a video call with, leans toward the camera and blinks.

“No offense boss, but you look like you’re about to fall asleep on the keyboard.”

I roll my neck, stretching the stiff muscles. “I don’t think I’m that far gone yet.”

“Mmhm…” He doesn’t seem to believe me but continues. “Can I ask a question?”

I look up from the pile of documents in front of me, where I had been filling out his basic information to finalize the hiring process. “Of course.”

“You’re not just hiring me because I got involved at the gallery today, are you? If you’re worried about me expecting something from you and your husband, monetarily or whatever else, I––”

“Well, it certainly sealed the deal for you, but you were my favorite candidate prior to that incident,” I assure him. “It’s not a guilt thing, though. Promise. But are you sure you want to work for me, knowing how insane everything can be around here?”

Mason gives me a small smile and looks over his shoulder as if he’s confirming he’s alone. “I don’t mind kicking a few reporters out. It makes for a fun drama story to tell my husband back home.”

I snort. “Maybe a few years ago I’d have agreed, but I think my drama tolerance meter has run out.”

“Well, I’ll soak it all up for you and enjoy every minute of it.” Mason smiles wider, his brilliantly white teeth flashing. “While remaining unflinchingly professional, of course.”

Jeez, I might have my hands full with this one. But honestly, I needed a big personality. Someone who wouldn’t pull the punches when dealing with my clients, but who would also be completely real with me when I’m being indecisive.

I pick the papers up, tapping the pile on the desk and setting them aside. “We can hammer out a decision on your salary and I’ll have you on the payroll tomorrow. How do you feel about starting tonight, though? Remotely, of course.” I check the time, and it’s somehow only 8 pm. Not too late to call off my other interviews tomorrow.

“As long as I can log the hours, I’m more than happy to. What do you need?”

I give him the rundown of the three candidates I need him to call and cancel, and Mason seems to lighten up as he takes his own notes. Either he really did love drama, or he was truly excited to get the job… My bet is on a little bit of both.

“Tell them that we’ll be hiring other positions as the year goes on. Art dealers, tour guides, etcetera, so if they want to be the first ones called when we do, we’re more than happy to do so. For the inconvenience of canceling on such short notice, of course.”

“Sure, sure.” Mason closes his notebook, putting the pencil he was using behind his ear. “I’ll get right on it. Are you sure you won’t need me tomorrow morning?”

“I don’t even know what I would have you do, honestly. It’s going to be damage control for the next few days, but I’ll get a hold of you when I figure myself out.”

He chuckles, seeming to understand how stretched thin I was. “Get some rest, boss. I’ll talk to you soon.”

I check the baby monitor app on my phone as soon as we hang up, watching Alex tuck the twins into their cribs despite their wiggly, loud protests. He had promised me he’d get them to bed, and that I didn’t need to worry about anything else tonight, but seeing him being the amazing father he has always been makes something squeeze in my chest.

I stand, stretching my arms high over my head until the stiff muscles in my back give way, relaxing at last. With that, I go to join my husband in the nursery, knowing that despite everything that happened today, I don’t want to miss a single second with my family.

CHAPTER 4

Manhattan, February 2, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

Alex rolls over as the first light from the sunrise streams through the glass of our windows, bathing the room in warm, yellow light despite the time of the year. Logically, I know the streets would be slushy, and the air would be frigid, but here, stories above the city, it’s easy to pretend that everything in the city is as beautiful as the morning sun.

He pulls me into the cradle of his body, his warm breath stirring my hair where it lay over my neck. We are skin-to-skin, always sleeping with as few clothes on as possible, especially now that the twins mostly slept through the night. Even in sleep, we crave the feeling of each other’s skin.

“Good morning, wife,” he rumbles, and I huff in protest. Maybe if he doesn’t acknowledge it’s daytime, we can stay in bed a little longer. “Let’s go shower, both of us,” he tries, which gets a response out of me, albeit still a wordless one. I hum in agreement, scooching my body even further into the curve of his.

“Lazy,” he jokes, nibbling the sleep-warm skin of my nape, causing me to squeal and try to push him away. He holds me tight, laughing, until I settle.

“Fine, I’m awake!”

“Good,” he purrs. “Let’s have a long and luxurious shower, and maybe a detour back between the sheets once we’re clean….”

“That sounds like it will take all day,” I tease.

“I can be quick if I need to be. But don’t worry,” he nips at my neck again, and this time, I shiver. “I’m always thorough, wife.”

Alex is, indeed, thorough, and by the time he has carried me from beneath the steaming shower, panting and needy, I’m more than ready to do whatever it is he desires. He tosses me, my long hair still dripping water, unceremoniously on the bed, causing the air to blow out of my lungs in a laugh.

“How much longer do we have?” he growls, jumping onto the bed and grabbing me around my bare waist.

I have no idea. Five minutes? An hour? Who cares? I had forever for him. “As long as we need,” I respond, my voice thick and sultry, and Alex’s smile is both triumphant and just a bit dangerous.

We do have breakfast together later than is probably appropriate for two working parents, but both of us had worked up a considerable appetite. I don’t have class today, but I need to meet Tilly at the gallery to go over the new security protocols before we open for the public. I have no doubt that we will be busier than ever, both with Shi’s exhibit and the media mess yesterday.

Thankfully, Tilly doesn’t seem bothered when I message her, letting her know I’d be late. After all, she had opened the gallery on her own plenty of times before. So I try to enjoy my breakfast, oatmeal with fresh berries, dodging Jasmine’s grabbing hands when I waited too long to give her a bite. At one point I’m distracted, talking to Maria as she putters around the kitchen about what dinners sounded good for the week, and Jasmine takes the opportunity to yank the spoon from my hand with all of her strength, cramming it immediately into her mouth to gum on.

“Enough out of you, little miss, you need to be patien–oh my goodness! Alex!” I yell, gently prying the spoon from her fingers before pulling her bottom lip down for a quick look. I had only glimpsed the little white spot on her gums before, but now I am sure—my little girl is getting her first tooth! No wonder she’s been extra fussy.

Alex hustles over, and I show him my discovery. We’re both giddy, me probably a little more so, and I snap approximately one hundred pictures to send to my dad, Emma, and everyone else I even vaguely care about in my contact list.

Jasper is less than thrilled when I try to peek in his mouth, but I’m able to slide a quick finger over his bottom gums when he opens his mouth for a bite of oatmeal, looking for all the world like a baby bird. He doesn’t have any visible teeth yet, but the hard bumps on his otherwise soft gums are unmistakable.

“We need to make a trip to the baby shop and get some teething supplies,” I warn. “None of this alcohol on the gums like my dad keeps telling me to do.”

“We’ll make a list tonight, as long as nothing else crazy happens today,” Alex says distractedly, responding to something on his phone. I know he had to leave work early yesterday after his PR people sent him the video of me, and he’s already later going in than he usually is. It’s not like he really has anyone to answer to, but he’s an integral part of the company, and I’m sure his presence is sorely missed when he isn’t around.

Selfishly, though, I’m not ready for either of us to leave for the day. Once we walk out the front door, the consequences of yesterday's mess would begin. I’m sure to have a full day of fielding calls and making sure anyone entering the gallery is simply a guest, and not an undercover journalist or someone trying to take advantage of the situation for social media clout.

I’m just contemplating calling Tilly and telling her we will remain closed to the public for the rest of the week when my phone screen lights up. Coincidentally, it’s my gallery supervisor herself calling. I expect her to tell me she’s able to open the gallery without an issue, but when I answer, I can hear a cacophony of voices.

“Petra!” Tilly seems to yell over a crowd. “We’ve got a problem! The front of the gallery and the surrounding sidewalks are completely filled with news agencies and reporters! I can’t even get up the steps to unlock the door. What do you want me to do?”

Alex must have been able to see the alarm on my face because he is immediately standing next to me, asking me in a whisper about what is going on. I gesture at him to wait.

“Have you called the police yet?”

“Yes. They’re on their way, but they can’t stay here forever. We both know that. What are we going to do?” Tilly keeps asking, her concerns rising.

“Just sit tight and let me talk to Alex. Where are you right now?”

“I’m heading back to my Uber, parked on the curb. The driver is fine running up the meter while we wait here, but if I don’t get to go in soon, then I’ll either have to brave the streets or go home.” She sounds perturbed, and frightened.

“We’ll be there soon. Please stay in the car.” I make her promise that she won’t try to enter the gallery without some sort of escort. It’d be almost nothing for someone to push themselves inside with her, and once the dam is broken, everyone could get inside.

I tell Alex what is going on and show him the picture of the horde of reporters that Tilly sent me. Alex purses his lips, his eyes narrowing. He looks pissed off and dangerous. “We’ll handle it,” he tells me simply, and before I can ask any questions he’s walked away, already dialing someone on the phone. He pauses long enough to tell me to get ready to leave, and then he’s gone, making plans that would allow us to make it through the day. I’m curious what exactly he has up his sleeve.

Arriving at the gallery feels more like arriving at a movie premiere, except in the middle of the street at ten in the morning, Alex is already tense beside me, but I keep reminding myself that we just have to get inside, and everything will settle down.

We’ve taken two blacked out SUVs, the second one loaded with Alex’s security force. At first the crowds don’t seem to want to move enough for us to pull up to the curb, but after the drivers lay on the horns and inch their way forward, the tide of people move aside enough for us to park.

We watch out the tinted windows as two of the security guards approach the car that Tilly is in, and once they have made it there, Alex and I get out of our car. The questions and yelling are instantaneous, and I instinctively lower my head as we walk, flanked by the guards. The short distance from the curb to the door of the gallery seems like miles. Our pace is slow, with our guards having to physically move people as we go, but after what seems like forever, we finally make it inside.

Tilly, being the less interesting target, had been able to get inside before Alex and me. She lets out one shaky breath with her shoulders hunched before ditching any nerves from the experience and donning her usual haughty persona.

“That was certainly something,” she comments. “I’m assuming we will not be opening for business today?”

“Not as long as they are all out there,” I confirm, sadly. “What else can I do?”

“Don’t fret,” Tilly replies. “I’ll head to my office and field phone calls for the day. Would you like me to post a message on the gallery’s social media accounts letting the public know we won’t be opening?”

“Uh, sure. Can you let me know if any calls you take seem particularly out of the ordinary?”

“Absolutely. I’ll use the same message for pushy journalists, too. It can be our official statement about the entire ordeal.”

“Perfect.”

Now, though, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with myself. The gallery has been sitting, waiting to open to the public for days now, and our spotty open/closed schedule definitely didn’t look good if we wanted to appear as a serious and professional business.

I’m left standing in the foyer, with Alex at my side and eight guards scattered around us. “Are you going in to work now?”

“Later. First, I’m going to walk through the place with the security people and work out the best plan of action for keeping everyone here safe, including visitors.”

I frown. “I don’t want you to mess up your work schedule for me.”

“Nonsense. If Roy can’t run the ship without me for an hour or two, then maybe it’s time for him to retire.” Alex’s tone is light, and I know he’s trying not to bog me down with negativity.

“Okay,” I say reluctantly. “So, um… what do you think I should do?”

Alex considers it for a moment, taking off his blazer and rolling up his sleeves to prepare for the walkthrough as he does so. “I know you will not like this, but I think you need to call in a favor.”

Not sure what he means, I cross my arms. “What favor? With whom?”

“I overheard you and Shiori talking last night, and she told you she would do anything you needed her to do if it would take the heat off of you. I think you should ask her to make a public statement to draw everyone's eyes to her, instead of you.”

I don’t like the idea, and I rub my temples as I consider it. “Alex… you know she’s one of the most private people I know. Asking her to do that would go completely against the grain and make her uncomfortable.”

Alex waves his arms toward the crowd outside. “And this isn’t making us uncomfortable?”

Scowling, I reply, “It’s apples and oranges, Alex. You can’t really compare the two.”

“I can, and I will. Her making a statement, no matter how private she is, is nothing compared to you being harassed day in and day out. Make the call, Petra.”

I really don’t want to. Shi had offered to help, but upsetting her risked our professional relationship and her budding romance with Emma. Deep down, though, I know Alex is right. What kind of professional relationship could I have with any artist if I couldn’t even open the doors of my gallery?

“Okay, okay. I’ll go call her,” I relent, and Alex’s face softens.

He draws me into him and lays his lips on my forehead in a gentle, comforting kiss. “Thank you. I know I don’t know her, but I think she’ll be more open to the idea than you think.”

I skim my fingers up the lines of his bare forearms before he pulls away. Alright, I get it, time to go and make the phone call.

As I head upstairs, I notice the lights are already on in my office, and to my great pleasure, there’s a steaming cup of green tea in a cardboard cup resting on my desk. Bless Tilly. It seemed silly for a workplace with only two employees, but our little break room nook had one very important item: a Keurig, and Tilly and I both put it to good use.

Settling into my chair, I cross my ankles and roll forward, opening my laptop carefully. Almost as if there is a snake hiding inside. I’m really not looking forward to what I will find in my email. But then, I have a thought. I don’t need to parse through these emails, do I? I have a personal assistant for that now.

I’m not so naïve that I don’t even have a business email set up that’s separate from my personal and school addresses, but I’d still need to set up automatic forwarding for Mason. For now, though, I simply selected the 247 emails I had received since yesterday morning on my Gatt-Dieren Galley address and forwarded them manually to my PA.

I send him a text that simply says, Start logging hours and then check your email. Thanks!

He replies almost instantly. You’ve got it. Need me to come into the gallery?

Only if you can’t do it remotely. I think for a second before adding, our “official statement” to the press is on our social media pages. You can use it for any communications if you need to. Don’t deviate from the official statement much if you can help it.

Got it.

All the notification bubbles disappearing definitely takes a load off of my shoulders. Curious, I search the gallery name on Instagram so I can read whatever statement has been released. There are only a handful of other pictures, and while they are pleasant to look at with polite, albeit generic, captions, I realize I need to hire another position: a social media manager. I sip my tea, making a note in my endless to-do list to interview for that position before checking out our statement. It’s short and straight to the point, and thankfully free of any flowery language that could be easily misconstrued.

Please note that the Gatt-Dieren Gallery will be temporarily closed for an indeterminate amount of time. This will allow us to set up proper measures to address an influx of new guests and implement security protocols to keep our valued visitors safe.

We apologize for the inconveniences caused and appreciate your understanding.

If you have any other questions, please check our website for more information.

I’ve stalled long enough, though. After flipping through the gallery’s Instagram a few more times and jotting down a few ideas to make the engagement better online, I realize I’m really going to have to call Shiori. I do some quick math, cringing when I conclude that it’s nearly midnight in Tokyo. I send her a text first to make sure she’s awake. Half of me is hoping she doesn’t answer.

Much to my chagrin, she calls me almost immediately and seems perfectly awake and cheery. “Oh, you know us artists. We keep strange hours,” she tells me when I apologize for the late time. “What do you need?”

Well, there’s no turning back now. “So, I actually think I do need your help with this whole media blowout. We arrived at the gallery this morning and we couldn’t even get in without security.”

Shiori sighs delicately. “I knew it could go one or two ways. This could have been a onetime occurrence, and when they realized you weren’t an easy target, they would move on. But I guess your tight-lipped display only made them more desperate to talk to you. I’m sorry it has come to this.”

“Me too,” I breathe.

“How can I help?” I had been afraid she’d be reluctant, or at least annoyed, but she seems more than willing to assist me.

“I’m not sure exactly, but Alex seems to think if you can draw the attention back to yourself, let the media know that you’ll answer questions,” I begin cautiously. “Maybe they’ll leave me alone because I won’t be necessary anymore.”

Shi hums quietly while she thinks it over. “You must know I never have public press conferences, and I certainly never talk to the paparazzi.”

I wince, hearing her bring my fears out in the open. “I know. That’s why I was hesitant to call.”

She continues to hum, and I can hear the click-clack of laptop keys on the other end of the line. “Let me talk to my PR agent and see what I can do while still not appearing in person. That’s a hard no for me, unfortunately. I don’t want to set a precedent for making a statement about every little bit of excitement that goes on in my life. I think I have an idea, but I want to make sure it’s worthwhile and will accomplish what we need it to.”

Relief floods me, so much that tears prick at the corner of my eyes. There might be a way out of this, after all. “Thank you so–”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she interrupts, before sighing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off. I just don’t want to disappoint you, is all.”

A thought crosses my mind. “Shi… you don’t think I’ll mention this to Emma in a negative light if you can’t help me, do you?”

She’s silent on the other side of the call, which is all the answer that I need.

“I would never,” I tell her in a whisper, trying to get my sincerity across. “Ever, Shiori. I know we don’t know each other all that well, but I want you to be certain that I don’t play those manipulative games. I won’t even tell her I asked for your help if you don’t want me to.”

She remains quiet for a short time more, before letting out a huge breath. “It’s rare to find people that aren’t constantly playing games and trying to play everyone against each other for their own personal gain. I can’t tell you how much of a relief it is to know you’re not one of those people, but being Emma’s best friend, I should’ve known.” She gathers her composure before speaking again. “I’ll do this task for you, not as a bargaining chip, but as a favor from one friend to another. Do you agree?”

I can’t help but think how lucky Emma is. I had originally banked on Emma being attracted to Shiori’s sharp mind and glossy, bright persona, but I’d have never guessed how warm her heart was. I recall her going toe to toe with Yara, and for a brief second, I think of Glinda the Good Witch and the Wicked Witch of the West from Wizard of Oz and fight back an absurd laugh. It has definitely been a long few days.

“I agree,” I tell her. “A favor between friends.”

“Perfect. Now, let me go wake up my PR agent and I’ll get back to you once I have an answer.” I’m about to hang up when she speaks up again. “And Petra? Emma messaged me asking about the best hotels in Tokyo…” Her tone is conspiratorial, as if we are high schoolers sharing secrets behind the bleachers at a football game.

I giggle. “She’s hooked then.”

“I hope so. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Bereft of anything else to do besides obsessively search up articles about my debacle yesterday, I decide to see how Alex and his security team are doing. Before I can open my office door, though, my phone rings. I’m surprised, and I can't help wondering why Shi would call back so quickly, but it’s actually my dad calling. And somehow, I have a sinking feeling that this isn’t a call to check in on me.

“Hi, Dad,” I say as I answer.

“Hi, darling. Before anything else, are you okay? It’s alarming how quickly Alex left yesterday, and the video I saw about you was distressing.” He sounds exasperated, but some of my anxiety dissipates, knowing that he’s just worried about me.

“We’re handling it.” I don't want to tell him I’m fine because, really, I’ve had better days. “Everything is under control.”

Dad chuckles. “Well, I have no doubt of that. Alex is not one to take something like that sitting down. Which brings me to why I really called… where is my business partner? We were supposed to have a sit down with some important investors today, but I had to reschedule because he won’t even answer my calls.”

Ah, here we are. “He’s busy, Dad.”

“Busy micromanaging things that he could’ve employees do independently?” Dad guesses. I hate that he’s right, because that is exactly what Alex is doing. What I don’t say, though, is how happy I am that Alex is micromanaging. It makes me feel safer, and more confident, knowing he is just a staircase away.

“I’m not sure,” I tell him. It isn’t really a lie… it’s not like I can see what Alex is doing right this second.

“You’re as vague and forthcoming as always,” Dad grumbles. “Do me a favor, darling daughter, tell your husband to please call me the hell back, because I’m certainly not his assistant to be moving his appointments around.”

Ugh! Some things never change. “I’m not your assistant either, Dad. Nor am I your messenger.”

“Just tell him for me, Petra.” His annoyed tone of voice makes me think of how he would scold me as a child, and I really don’t like recalling such memories.

“Fine,” I snipe back. “Bye.”

Dad’s call managed to throw me right off of the high I had been on from my successful talk with Shiori, and I’m sure it seems like a rain cloud is hovering over my head when I find Alex in a quiet discussion with a few members of his security team and two police officers.

Nice for them to finally show up, I think sarcastically, but bite my tongue.

Alex turns, and I crook a finger at him, motioning him away from the gaggle of guards and officers so I can have a private word with him.

“How’s it going?” I ask in a low voice.

“Hmm. Well enough. Despite having cameras already installed, we need to set up glass break and motion detectors as well as door contacts, but the biggest problem we’re running into is with the windows. They’re absolutely ancient, and the stained-glass ones are hopeless. They suggested changing them to a more resistant glass, but I’m sure you’d wring my neck if my team would do so.”

“Don’t you dare touch my stained glass!” I gasp, momentarily distracted from what I had come to talk to him about.

He holds up his hands in a “slow down” motion. “Alright, alright, we’ll only do glass break and motion detectors, then.” He turns to look back at the men he had been talking to briefly, before his attention returns to me. “Do you need something? I was talking to the police about paying a little more attention to the gallery.”

“Actually, yes. Can I see your phone?”

He looks bewildered, but hands it to me without preamble. It’s immediately obvious he had silenced it, because as soon as I touch the screen, it lights up with notifications. I hold it up, pointing at the notification of eight missed calls from Roy.

“Love, I appreciate everything you’re doing for me, but avoiding my dad just means he’s going to bother me instead. Which he is… Can you just call him?”

Alex looks like he wants to argue, but he just gives me a curt nod, taking his phone back. “I’ll wrap up this conversation and call him. I just knew he was going to blow up on me and I didn’t want to waste my time.”

“It isn’t a waste of time to talk to your business partner, who is also your father-in-law, may I remind you,” I tell him with a smirk creasing across my lips.

“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point. Did you call Shiori?”

“Yes,” I answer proudly. “She’s going to get back to me once she has an answer.” I reach forward and link our fingers together in a quick gesture of affection. “You were right, though. She wasn’t angry or bothered at all. How did you know?”

Alex smiles knowingly. “You don’t see it yet, wife, but you’re building a social circle of your very own, completely separate from the people your dad and I know. And this–” He reaches forward to tap the area over my heart. “Pure heart attracts the same. If you liked this Shiori, I knew she had to be a good person.”

A thought flows through my mind, more like a vision. Everyone I’ve met, befriended and loved, all in one place. There’s Emma, Matt, Sarah, Shiori, and other people I’ve only briefly met but felt a connection with. A shiver of what seems almost like prophecy races through me.

“Trust your judgment,” Alex tells me, raising our interlocked fingers to his lips before letting go. “I don’t think it’s as likely to lead you astray as you think it is.”

My vision fades from my mind, and I’m left with a feeling of excitement and joy for what is yet to come. “I’ll try.”

At 1 pm, Alex finally leaves for work, and I don’t envy the conversation he’s inevitably going to have to have with my dad. I’m sad to see him go, especially when there are still a decent throng of paparazzi outside, but I know he can’t hold my hand all day.

From my side, I’ve given my statement to the police for the second time in two days, and while they seem pretty much unbothered, they promise to keep a better eye on the gallery during their patrols. They caution that as long as the paparazzi stay on the public sidewalks, there isn’t much they can do unless they see them actively harassing someone. I’m more than perturbed at their words, but I tell them I understand. Manhattan is a big place, covered in glamor but with a dark and seedy underbelly. I’m sure these officers had imagined their careers would be kicking down doors for drug busts and arresting murderers, not escorting a timid art gallery owner every morning.

The only thing I enjoyed was watching Alex’s security guards clash with the police. Alex had briefly introduced me to Pascal, the head of my brand-new security detail, and while he was barely taller than him, he seemed to love going toe to toe with the cocky police officers.

It’s also clear that Pascal has been dying for a leadership position because he’s jumped into the role with gusto, letting the officers know, in no uncertain terms, that he’ll take no nonsense from any journalist or paparazzi. I had to cover my mouth when he told them he would “taze the balls off of anyone that came at my client.” So, at least I’m in excellent hands there.

I have to give it to my husband, too. He may have royally pissed off my dad, but he hasn’t wasted his time here at the gallery. Within an hour of him departing, an unmarked van arrives out front. It makes me nervous at first, watching the workers get out and start unloading gear from the back of the van, but Pascal is quick to let me know they are there to install the security measures that Alex had asked for. It must have cost a small fortune and taken some serious negotiating skills to get them out here on such short notice, but it’s wonderful knowing that there would be no time wasted on properly securing my gallery. I could sleep easily tonight.

Of course, Alex had hired the best, and they didn’t even turn their heads as the now thinned out crowd of journalists tried to ask them what they were here for. Once inside, I squander no time in letting them know I’ll be observing all the installations, because everything in this building, down to the last brick, is worth something. Even the building is a piece of art, and I don’t like the idea of anyone drilling holes into the antique stone or beautifully aged wooden windowsills.

I’m watching them install an impossibly small motion detector in the corner of Shiori’s exhibit, when the artist herself calls me back. It’s a FaceTime request, which surprises me, so I excuse myself to take it in my office.

When I answer, I can immediately see that Shiori is having makeup applied by someone, while someone else is combing a serum through her perfectly glossy, midnight hair. “Sorry for the video call. I can’t exactly hold the phone up to my ear.”

“No problem,” I say slowly, taking it all in. “What’s going on? Isn’t it like, two am there?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter since I’m going to be talking to predominantly American media,” Shi clarifies, closing her eyes while her makeup artist expertly applies a sweep of eyeliner.

I lean forward in my chair, heart racing. “What do you mean?”

Shiori’s smile is graceful and knowing. “My own PR team was able to contact a large majority of the outlets that have been bothering you. They have signed contracts that guarantee that they will leave you and your family alone, and in return, they’ll have private press access to the online conference I am holding in forty-five minutes.”

My jaw drops. “Shiori! That’s amazing! I–I…” I stutter. “Can I thank you now?”

She laughs, and it reminds me of tinkling bells. “Yes, go ahead.”

I thank her profusely. I don’t fail to notice that in less than two months I have had two potential media problems, first in Aspen, and now here. When Margaret offered to help, it was at the enormously high price of breaking up Yara and Emma. When Shiori offered, though, she asked for nothing. And that fills my chest with a warm, glowing feeling.

Shiori takes my thanks gracefully but lets me know she only had little time to talk. Before we disconnect, I watch one of her makeup artists lower a jeweled, emerald-green half mask over her face. It only covers her eyes, but it gives me pause.

“You’re still wearing masks even though you’ve revealed your face?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Of course,” Shiori says airily. “If there is anything that the public loves, it's a show. They love the mystique of it all. I have to keep them guessing, you know?”

I lean back in my chair, thinking about how much I still have to learn about manipulating the media to work in my favor. “Yeah, I know. Well, have a good conference. Call me if anything comes up.”

CHAPTER 5

Manhattan, February 7, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

A few days have passed since Shi’s press conference, and blessedly, her plan seems to have worked. The next morning I had stopped by the gallery before heading to my classes, and there had been a scant five reporters milling around. The day after, just two. And today? Not a single reporter seems to be around.

Shi had sent me the whole video of the conference, where she had spoken, without naming names, about her exhibit in Tokyo and a potential new relationship, but warned her fans that if people continued to be harassed to find out bits and pieces of gossip about her, she’d go completely underground again and would make no further public appearances.

After taking a large amount of questions, Shiori had ended the digital press conference, but not before instructing the reporters to go through her PR agency for questions rather than trying to speak to anyone else about it. That had seemed to fix the issue for the most part, and I was happy to pretend the chaotic few days had just been an anomaly.

Alex hasn’t budged on the security issue, though, and even now that I’m studying in the library, I know one of Alex’s guards is somewhere not too far so they can monitor me. I have to admit, I don’t love having someone shadowing my every step, but in an effort to keep the peace, I’ve sucked it up and allowed it for now.

One of the best parts about being able to continue living my normal life is the reunion of my study group. After spending so much time with older, established adults all the time, getting to hang out with people my own age feels like a breath of fresh air. Of course, being able to study for my courses is a boon too.

Getting together today in Columbia’s library feels just like my freshman year again, back when everything was so much less complicated. Matt and Sarah are sitting on one side of the long table, close enough that their legs touch, and I’m on the other side, next to David and Kate. We talk in low voices, comparing notes and filling in the blanks for parts we had missed or hadn’t understood from lectures. It’s always a shock to see how much different everyone's notes for the same class are, but seeing it through someone else’s eyes make some of the more difficult ideas easier to understand.

I appreciate that I’m still invited, even though I’m taking fewer classes this year than everyone else. Thankfully, everyone has been treating me the same too regardless of the fact that I’m now a wife and a mother. It’s such a departure from the conspiratorial, underhanded world I had immersed myself in lately that it makes my head spin, but in a good way.

“I miss winter break already,” Matt grumbles, tapping his pencil on the worn wooden tabletop. His class load is three times the size of mine, and I get the feeling that Matt is ready to graduate at the earliest opportunity.

“Matt, just stick to YouTube, I’m sure you’ll have more success in that than in becoming a prof,” David replies, laughing under his breath.

Matt scowls, crumples a piece of paper in his hand, and launches it at David.

“Knock it off!” Sarah hisses, slapping Matt’s arm. “How old are you exactly?”

I hide my laugh behind my hands, trying to keep the volume down before we catch anyone’s attention. The other two girls roll their eyes, burying their attention back in their notes while the boys continue to glare and make faces at each other. I try to imagine Alex behaving like this, when he was younger and carefree, and the thought of it makes me smile.

I’ve been at school for the majority of the day, so when a text pops up on my phone, I assume it’s from my husband asking if I’d be home for dinner. Instead, it’s from Emma, and I take a deep, calming breath before opening it. If she was going to meet Shi in Tokyo, Emma would have left last Friday, but so far she hadn’t mentioned anything to me. I’d pushed it to the back of my mind, refusing to believe that Emma would squander this chance. I’d get proof from either her or Shi sooner or later.

Now that I had my potential proof in my hands, though, I feel reluctant to see. But I have to know! Slowly, I turn my phone over, flicking past the home screen to Emma’s message. To my biggest surprise, it’s a picture, and thank goodness, my friend still had enough sense in her head to make the right choice.

The shot is of her and Shi at Shi’s exhibit in Tokyo, both of them dressed impeccably and smiling, as if they weren’t the center of attention for the entire city. I gasp from excitement, earning looks of suspicion not just from my friend group, but some of the other tables around us.

Emma’s text read:

I wasn’t sure if I was actually going to go until I was boarding the plane! I was so nervous, but you were right. I’m so happy to be here. Thank you, babe. <3

I hold the phone close to my chest, ecstatic. If I wasn’t in a university library, I would jump out of my chair and do a little victory dance. I’ve done it! I can’t believe I’ve beaten Yara and helped Emma realize what she really wanted out of a partner. To top it all off, I wasn’t telling Margaret half-truths anymore either. Emma and Shi are well on their way to being a legit couple.

Mostly, though, I’m happy to have something that will piss off Yara, and there’s nothing she can do about it. That will show her to underestimate me.

I know I’m weirding out my study partners, but I don’t care. I want to savor this moment. I decide to forward the picture and send it to Catherine. She’s an unlikely hero for me, but she had really come through on this one. Her having tickets to Shiori’s auction was a one in a million chance, but somehow the older woman had known her setup was going to work.

Catherine texts back after a few minutes, and I ignore the raised eyebrows of the rest of the table that I’m texting again during the study group.

What an achievement! Well done! Can I invite you out for a glass to celebrate? I have a few other things I’d like to discuss with you if you have time.

According to the time on my phone, I still have two hours until our study session would officially be over, and Alex would expect me home. Since I have fewer classes than everyone else, I don’t have much more to study for today… Screw it, I deserve to celebrate my achievement, like Catherine said! I message Pascal to let him know we are leaving and break the news to the rest of the group that I’m finished for the day. There are frowns all around, and I’m sure that they’re annoyed that I won’t tell them why I’m leaving or why I was so distracted. Oh well. They’d see it on the news soon enough, I’m sure.

I gather my things and give everyone a quick goodbye. I promise them I will be there for the whole time next week, and I assume they think I’ve got something going on with the babies, so they don’t ask too many questions, even though I can see that they are all curious.

I’m at the grand salon at the Baccarat hotel next to the MoMA, Catherine tells me once I reach the car, and I give the location to the driver, sitting back to relax.

I wonder what she would want to talk to me about? As far as I know, nothing is going on between Dad and Catherine, and to my pleasant surprise, Catherine had yet to try and wheedle any information out of me regarding my dad’s business life. I’m willing to consider that I might have judged her too harshly when I first met her, but only time would tell.

The plush, platinum and champagne-hued grand salon is welcoming, bright, and clearly high class, with gleaming chandeliers hanging from its high ceiling and a soft jazz music playing in the background. Catherine is sitting at one of the low tables, her legs daintily crossed, enjoying an afternoon tea accompanied by cupcakes and a flute of champagne. She’s wearing a beige sheath dress and matching pumps, showing off her impressively long legs. I feel underdressed in my sweater, All Stars, and comfortable jeans, but then I realize Catherine is probably dressed up all the freaking time.

“Petra,” Catherine all but purrs, pulling me in for a European style kiss on both cheeks. “So lovely to see you. What will you be having?”

I rarely drink, but since this is a celebration after all… “Champagne, please.”

The bartender brings me a glass over after Catherine waves him down, and it’s deliciously dry and bubbly on my tongue.

“I’m so glad everything worked out for your friend,” Catherine says, a pleasant smile gracing her lips. “I thought Shiori might have been a long-shot, but it seems they fell for each other rather quickly.”

“Yes, you’re right. Honestly, the best I was hoping for was a fling that would knock some sense into Emma, but I think this might be something real between them. Who could have guessed?”

“Everyone loves a happy ending,” Catherine says, smiling behind her glass of champagne before taking a sip.

We talk about everything that had happened since the art auction––at least everything I was comfortable telling her––and she listens as if riveted. I’m well aware that Catherine has the potential to repeat all of my gossip back to Margaret, so she gets the very abbreviated version of events.

We’re on our second glass when Catherine’s phone rings. As she looks at the screen, her expression remains totally neutral and instead of excusing herself to take the call in private, she answers right there at the table. I know I shouldn’t, but I listen carefully. After all, she hadn’t felt the need to walk away.

“Julia!” Catherine exclaims. “So nice to hear your voice, darling. How have you been?”

I freeze, carefully setting my glass down on the glass table. Julia’s a common name… I try to assure myself. Surely I wouldn’t be unlucky enough to be sitting in on a call between Julia Van Den Bosch and Catherine? Alex has spoken to Julia recently, as he had told me, but we haven’t talked about her since.

But, of course, it’s me, and my fantastically bad luck when it comes to these sorts of things. It hits me that there is no way it’s anyone but Alex’s sister Julia. After all, it's Julia’s friendship with Catherine that had brought her into our social circle to begin with. I sit stiffly, glancing around the decoration of the salon while Catherine asks about Sebastian and the kids, and the two women embark in a round small talk. Unfortunately, I can only hear Catherine’s side of the conversation.

For a second, I wonder if the whole “meet up for drinks” thing was just a setup, but the way Catherine talks to Julia, with genuine, warm affection in her voice, makes me think otherwise. Either she’s a phenomenal actress, which is possible, or this really is just a case of bad luck.

“Oh, me? I’m just sitting here having a drink with Petra. Yes, silly, that Petra. Hm? Well, let me ask her.” Catherine lays her hand over her phone and turns to me, not an ounce of apology in her expression. She must not know how much I don’t want to talk to Julia until I cringe, taking the phone. Catherine mouths, “Sorry!” to me, but otherwise seems unbothered, picking up her glass to drink again.

“Hi, Julia,” I say, trying to keep my tone as neutral as possible.

“Petra!” she exclaims. “So nice to hear from you. I’m surprised to hear that you’re spending time with Catherine, but glad about it. She needs friends in Manhattan, surely.”

I do my best to keep a poker face, but Julia’s bubbly tone is already gritting on my nerves. “Yes, we’ve been getting on quite well.”

“Wow, how long has it been since we’ve spoken? Since Jasmine and Jasper’s baptism, right?” Julia asks, her voice always so sweet and friendly, just like the first time we met. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to fight off a headache. It’s just a phone conversation. All I need to do is make some polite small talk and then find a reason to get off the line.

“I think you’re correct. How have you been?”

We launch into inane chit chat, all fluff and no substance. This is the only type of safe conversation with most of Alex’s family. Julia keeps trying to press me with personal questions, but I manage to keep her from digging too deep into my life.

“Did Alex tell you I called?” she asks finally.

“Yes. I was in St. Moritz actually–” I catch myself and clamp my mouth shut. Talking about St. Moritz meant talking about Yara, and as far as I know, only me and Margaret know about Emma.

“I know,” Julia says nonchalantly. “It seems like you managed to solve that minor problem effectively. Well done,” she praises.

I’m taken aback, and it takes me a moment to answer. “Oh, you knew?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even so she doesn’t hear my shock.

“Of course!” she answers like it was obvious. “I’m actually surprised you were so efficient. Your friend Emma seemed very much in love with my sister. Although,” Julias clears her throat, “Yara is a hard one to love, including for herself, even, it seems. Hopefully, now that you’ve worked your magic, she’ll settle down with Elliot and stop stepping out.”

I think about the masquerade in Venice and everything Alex told me about her. Not likely, I think, but instead I say, “Well, I had little choice in the matter.”

“Indeed,” she drawls. “I don’t know the minute details, but I get the impression that Mother had a heavy hand when convincing you. But maybe you’ve discovered a new talent! Matchmaking!”

Yuck! “Actually, I think I’ve had enough matchmaking for the rest of my life.”

“Oh, nonsense. We must pursue what talents the universe graces us with, you know?” I don’t answer, glad she couldn’t see me rolling my eyes. Catherine, sitting next to me, seems to suppress a laugh.

Julia doesn’t seem to be deterred by my awkward silence, though. She has an agenda, so she pushes on. “Since you were so talented at finding a new flame for your friend, there’s someone else that needs your help.”

“What?” I utter, barely believing it. Who else could this family seriously want me to fix up? I’m so done with them! Done! “I’m not interested in repeating the experience,” I say firmly. “It was not an enjoyable time for me, and it took way too much time out of my life.”

“But you succeeded, lil sister. Brilliantly too. Emma and Shiori are a stunning couple, you must admit.”

“I know,” I huff. “I hooked them up, remember?”

Julia makes a noise of displeasure. “There’s no reason to be sarcastic. I’m not asking you for anything extraordinary.”

I bristle at her comment, but I bite my tongue. An argument will mean we have to talk on the phone even longer. “Julia, I have children to care for, a business to manage, and I’m still going to school. I don’t have time to be a matchmaker.”

She blows out a breath, and when she speaks again, she has evened out her voice and seems to be on the verge of pleading with me. “If you help me out, Petra, I promise you that Yara will never bother you ever again.”

“Why would she bother me? It’s not like bullying me will make Emma want to take her back.”

“Come on. You know Yara, she isn’t exactly reasonable. She seemed rather displeased with your little setup. Not sure what she’s got in mind, but knowing my sister as I do, it’s better to be careful.”

I heave a long sigh, already regretting having accepted to speak with her in the first place. Yet I can’t forget Yara’s threat when I was about to embark the plane. That woman is batshit crazy. And yeah, God knows what she's capable of, especially now that Emma is with Shi in Tokyo. “If I help you out,” I begin cautiously, “not only does Yara leave me alone, but you, your mom, and everyone else too.”

“I promise, dear. We’ll never bother you ever again.” Julia sounds almost giddy.

I close my eyes in exasperation. I hate this. I hate talking to Julia, I hated that she seemed to think that I was beholden to her, or that I had to do something for her in order for her to help me with Yara. If we were sisters like she just said, wouldn’t she help me because she cared about me? Like Shiori had just days ago?

But there is nothing to be done, and I know it. If there is anything that Alex’s family is good at, it’s being master manipulators, and Julia managed to back me into a corner over a ten-minute spontaneous phone conversation, all the while never becoming angry or nasty like Yara would have. She seems as perfectly controlled and reasonable as ever, but she’s given me no choice. The temptation of having Yara and Margaret out of my hair forever, with Julia to back me up, is too strong.

“Alright,” I sigh, defeated. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh Petra, I’m so excited that you’re going to help. I just know you’ll be the perfect person for the job, and this means I can keep it in the family without it leaking into the rumor mill.”

“Sure,” I mutter, unable to match her excitement. “But you still haven’t said what you need.”

“It’s easy, actually. I just need you to find the perfect woman for a young, helpless romantic.”

It sounds suspect. Maybe too easy. “For whom exactly?”

She takes a deep breath, as if she’s about to reveal some tremendous secret. “My son.”

“Which one?” I blurt out, startled. I really didn’t see this coming. Did Julia really trust me to find someone for one of her precious sons? I shift in my seat, my curiosity sparked.

“My oldest, Andries. He needs someone serious. Someone that is good for him.”

“Nonsense, Julia,” I rebuke. “Andries is my age. I’m settled down, sure, but most people my age aren’t and don’t want to be. Just let him date around and find someone himself. Be patient.”

“You don’t understand,” she insists. “He’s very much in love with a lady that is not right for him.”

“How can you even know that?” I ask, incredulous. “If he loves her, then she’s right for him, isn’t she? Don’t you trust his judgment?”

“Not when it comes to this.” She exhales heavily, as if she’s already thought over this situation dozens of times. “Trust me, I know.”

“I need more details than that,” I tell her, trying to keep my tone even, but it’s getting harder at every passing second. “I barely know him, and I need to know why you assume that his chosen partner is so completely wrong for him.”

“It’s a long story. A really, really long story. I’d rather talk about the details personally.” She says it so blithely that I almost don’t realize what she just suggested. When it hits me, I’m immediately angry.

“I’m not going to the Netherlands!” I snap straight away. “I just came from Europe.”

For the first time during this conversation, I hear a thread of the same ruthlessness I’ve heard in Yara’s and Margaret’s voices before. “Oh, don’t worry, my brother is coming too.”

“What?” I’m nearly gasping for air. Alex told me he had declined her invitation. I remember how he had railroaded me into going to Aspen, and I have a sinking feeling in my stomach at the idea he did it once more. “He told me the opposite. Did you speak to him again?”

“Sebastian did,” Julia tells me smugly. “After all, it’s his birthday in twelve days, so he invited my brother himself.”

If it had been my cell phone and not Catherine’s, I’d have launched it across the room. I have escalated from angry to royally pissed off. After everything they did to us, I can’t believe Alex had the audacity to accept Sebastian’s invitation without even consulting me! I know they were very close when growing up, but still. Or else Julia is bluffing. But I have a sneaking suspicion that she’s telling me the truth. It had been the trump card she was hiding up her sleeve.

Since I can’t throw the cell phone to the floor, I just grit my teeth and tell Julia, “I really, really don’t like you right now.”

Julia’s laugh is slightly self-deprecating. “I’m sorry to hear that, but I think it’s a good idea to meet up if we all want to turn the page.”

Well, I don’t. Despite her diplomatic tone, I don’t have what it takes to match it. “I guess I’ll go talk to my husband. I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure Julia, but it hasn’t.”

“You’re still so young and naive.” She chuckles. “I understand you’re still hurt, but I hope one day you’ll move on.”

“Good bye,” I say in return, right before I hang up.

I simply set Catherine’s phone on the low table and leave the couch, going to the women's restroom to splash cold water on my face.

“Are you alright?” I hear Catherine asking as I leave the table behind me. “Do you want another drink?”

But I’m already too far away from her to reply.

Alone in the silent bathroom, my hair hangs down around my face as I catch my breath, frigid water pebbling on my skin and running off while I examine my reflection. I still look like myself—healthy, youthful, and beautiful… so why do I feel so drained? I’m honestly so over being used. Just this afternoon, I was enjoying being a normal college student. Now I’m right back in the last place I wanted to be.

When I come back to the table, I notice a fresh glass of champagne on my side. I had planned to leave immediately, but I’m just too angry and annoyed at Alex right now. I need some time to decompress. I sit back down on the sofa immediately bringing the champagne to my lips.

“I guess I should apologize, but I swear I had no idea what she was going to ask you,” Catherine says, filling the strange silence between us.

“I believe you.” I sip again. “Well, I want to believe you. I’ll try, at least.”

She nods. “We don’t know each other all that well, so I’ll take whatever trust you want to give me.”

We finish up our drinks, any camaraderie built between us having fallen to the wayside. I’m almost regretting coming at all, but eventually I’d have to get to know my father’s girlfriend if they were going to be serious. I excuse myself once my glass is empty, and Catherine doesn’t argue. She embraces me quickly before I leave, but I respond with a lukewarm hug back, ready to be alone.

Pascal is my driver tonight, taking over for Zach, who didn’t have the careful training my head of security did. I notice he keeps glancing at me in the rearview mirror, a wrinkle of concern between his dark-brown eyes.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” he asks, sounding uncomfortable.

“Yes, thanks for asking. Just a lot on my mind,” I admit.

“Understandable. You have a lot on your plate. Maybe a vacation is in order?”

I laugh bitterly. “You know what? All of my vacations lately have seemed like work so much more than being home and actually working. They’re exhausting.”

Pascal shrugs, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “Sounds like you need to go alone next time, then.”

“That’s a lovely idea,” I say wistfully. I sink back into my seat, thinking about our honeymoon in North Island—crystal clear water and sugary white beach sand, with not a single thing around. I can almost feel the tropical sun on my skin, even as the real sun outside is completely obscured by dingy winter clouds.

I should be thinking about how I’m going to confront Alex, and what I’m going to do if he really insists we go to the Netherlands. We’re going to fight, I just know it, and I don’t want to even consider it at the moment. So for now, I ignore my problems, the three glasses of champagne making me feel flush and languid, fantasizing about the beach and endless days of no stress.

I usually love winter, but right now I’m utterly sick of snow, and rain, and cold, and the ever present grayness of the city. I want to be anywhere else, but it’s just a fantasy. Instead, I’ll go home and ask my husband why we’re going to a party I knew nothing about, and then do some homework.

But this summer break… I’m absolutely going to the beach.

CHAPTER 6

Petra Van Gatt

Why aren’t you eating?”

I look up at Alex, surprised, only to realize that he’s right. I’ve just been pushing my dinner around my plate, lost in thought. Maria had prepared a simple olive oil and garlic pasta, but my stomach had been in knots ever since I had gotten home.

My talk with Julia stands as the elephant in the room, even if I’m not sure if Alex knows it’s there. I’m amazed that he is able to just sit there and eat, making conversation with Jasmine held in his lap as if he hadn’t betrayed me yet again by making promises about us going to the Netherlands. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt and try to believe that he’s going to bring it up after the kids are in bed, but it’s hard. Julia had made it sound like it was a definite thing––one that Alex clearly didn’t feel the need to consult with me before agreeing.

There was another thought I had on the drive home too, though. Alex has my dad, but what other friends does he have around here? Emma and Matt are the godparents to our children, but they are my friends, not really his.

Maybe that’s why he was so eager to tell Sebastian that we would go to the Netherlands. He missed his friends, and he had already told me about how much the guilt of not seeing his nephews and nieces grow up was weighing on him. As I watch him cut noodles into tiny pieces for our daughter to pick up with her fat little hands, there’s a pang in my heart. Being a father has probably made him miss them even more.

It’s going to cause an argument between the two of us. Unless he agrees with me to stay here, it’s inevitable. But I swear to myself that I’ll be respectful toward him regardless of how things go down. Respectful and understanding, and I’ll give him time to bring it up on his own without an ambush. He deserves that much.

“Petra?” Alex asks again.

I lay my hand over my stomach, waving a hand dismissively. “Sorry. I stopped by the Baccarat to gloat about my success with Catherine and I don’t think the champagne is sitting well with me. It’s been so long since I’ve drank.”

Alex seems to buy it. “Well, even more reason for you to eat. It’ll soak up all the alcohol in your stomach. Maybe some bread to go with it?”

“Maybe,” I agree, plucking a piece of crusty bread from the center of the table. “Thank you, love.”

I force myself to eat as if nothing is bothering me. After all, if I’m going to give Alex the opportunity to start the conversation, then I shouldn’t tear myself up over it either. It’d happen in its own time.

Once the meal is over, I feel more centered, if a bit sleepy, and I go through the motions of bathing the kids for bed while yawning behind my hand often. This time of year has so few hours of daylight that my sleep schedule always seems to get messed up, and I know it will get worse the closer I get to finals.

Jasper is so peaceful in the bath, that getting him ready for bed is a breeze. He loves to clap the bubbles from the lavender-scented soap between his hands and squeeze the water from the washcloth. He mumbles and babbles to himself until his eyelids get heavy and we swap him out for his sister.

She doesn't enjoy bath time quite as much, wriggling like a salmon in my grasp, complaining in squeals and her nonsense baby language until the warmth of the water relaxes her at last. It doesn’t bother me that she protests so many things, oddly enough. Jasmine’s extremely opinionated, even without being able to talk, and I love to see the fire in her at this early age.

Even more, I love her little potbelly and the rolls on her legs and arms. She’s still a petite baby, but it’s so wonderful to see her putting on weight at pretty much the same rate as her brother. Jasmine is our little chunky miracle baby, and while I’m well aware that there are more struggles with her health likely in our future, so far everything has been going even better than we could have hoped.

I wrap her in a soft, fluffy towel and hand her off to Alex so I can wash my own face for the evening. I’ve piled my hair on top of my head and just finished removing my makeup in front of the sink when I feel eyes on me. I turn, and Alex is leaning against the door frame of the bathroom, his arms crossed and his gaze affectionate.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells me.

“Oh, hush.” I laugh.

“So, beautiful wife, do you want to talk?”

Oh. I guess we’re doing this now. “About what?” I ask as I apply my moisturizer.

“At dinner you mentioned you had been at the bar with Catherine. That, combined with your melancholy demeanor, started to make sense, so I messaged my sister to confirm. You talked to Julia, didn’t you?”

I sigh, shoulders sagging. I remind myself I don’t have any reason to feel guilty. “Yes, unwillingly.”

“Okay. If I know Julia, she was probably gushing about our visit as her way of springing the news on you and then acting innocent. Am I right?” Alex’s voice is even but I can tell that he’s on edge, waiting to see how I would respond.

“Actually, no. She asked me for a favor and then dropped the bomb that Sebastian managed to change your mind about going to his party.”

This makes him stand up a little bit straighter, confusion in his expression. “What favor could she possibly want from you?”

I shrug defeatedly, walking past Alex out into our bedroom to sit on the edge of the bed. I pat the space next to me, inviting him to sit down too, but he doesn’t budge, staying in the doorway of the bathroom.

“Something about finding a girlfriend for her oldest son, Andries, because he’s in love with some inappropriate woman. It seems your family is getting the idea that I’m ready and willing to find love for everyone,” I say, wrinkling my nose.

Alex’s expression clears, understanding coming over his features. “Ah, okay. Then her and Sebastian’s stories line up. At least they weren’t lying to us, like I half suspected they were.”

It’s my turn to be bewildered. “I was under the impression Sebastian simply invited you to his birthday party and that this love match ordeal was all Julia’s idea.”

“Andries pining over a woman is true,” he declares, his tone heavier than usual. “Sebastian mentioned the same thing, but he made it seem a lot more serious.” He heaves an exasperated breath, before adding, “Which is why I accepted his invitation.”

I lean forward, desperate to put the pieces of this mystery together. Were Julia and Sebastian working together to try and manipulate Alex and I, or was it really just two worried parents reaching out for help with their son?

“More serious? How so?” I ask, intrigued on how this could possibly play out.

“Sebastian said since the breakup, his son has been staying locked in his room, all day and all night, only occasionally eating and basically shutting out the entire world.” Alex sounds distressed, and he finally comes to sit next to me as he continues the story. “He told me there’s a history of depression that runs in his family, and–” He purses his mouth, and with a start, I realize whatever he’s trying to tell me is significant enough that it’s difficult for him to say.

“It’s okay,” I murmur, rubbing my hand up and down his leg for comfort.

“Sebastian had a half-brother that committed suicide. He was Andries’s age, and although he didn’t say it so plainly, I can tell the memory is still haunting him.”

I gasp, shocked. I was sure I was past the point of ever feeling sympathy toward anyone in Alex’s family, but this hits me like a ton of bricks. While I hate Sebastian and Julia, I can relate with that fear of the unimaginable pain of losing their child.

“Andries has refused therapists, and Julia tried to have him go to a healing retreat to work on his mental health, but he refused that too. I know he’s a grown man but Petra….” Alex swallows. “He’s still my nephew, and he’s only nineteen. I held him the day he was born, watched him blow out his birthday candles year after year… I love him. I love all the kids, and if I don’t do what I can do to help, how can I live with myself?”

I scoot close to him, wrapping my arms around his body and letting him lean his weight into my body. He’s so much heavier than I am, but I don’t mind.

I don’t answer his question right away, letting it hang in the air. Despite everything that Alex has said, I’m still not sure that we should go. Of course I wanted to help this poor Andries if I could, but how was seeing his uncle Alex and me, whom he had barely met, supposed to snap him out of whatever fugue he was in? I get that it might be a last-ditch effort by Sebastian and Julia, but I still have a hard time seeing the sense in it.

“I don’t want to go, Alex,” I say finally. “If you feel like you don’t have any choice except to go, I won’t stop you, but I’m tired of being manipulated by your family. I’m a complete stranger to Andries; he isn’t going to care if I’m there or not.”

“Sebastian seems to think the two of you might become friends,” he discloses, his tone even. “There isn’t anyone else his age in the family, and he might feel isolated.”

“Julia said something similar, but…” I consider my words carefully. “I don’t want us to be close to these people. I don’t want to repair the relationship, and I certainly don’t want to go to a birthday party in the Netherlands. If you feel like you have to go for your nephew, I will deal with it, but I’m not going.”

Alex stiffens and pulls out of my embrace. “You said you were open to repair our relationship with them,” he reminds me.

Crap! I do recall telling him that when I came back from my trip to St. Moritz. “Yes, but I never thought it’d be to go to this party!” I refute just as fast. “I told you that you had done well in declining the invitation.”

His eyes widen and a scowl forms on his face. “Yes, but back then I didn’t know what was going on with my nephew.” He sounds irritated and maybe even hurt I’m not going along with his plan, but I look him straight in the eye, holding my ground.

“I’m not going,” I tell him once more, my decision made. “If you want to go, then go by yourself.”

His brows are furrowed with confusion, as if trying to figure something out. “So you don’t give a shit, huh?”

“That’s not fair,” I respond, stung. “Of course I do, but Andries is a stranger to me, and I can’t help but think you’re letting yourself be twisted into the same old patterns with them, too.”

“They’re my family, Petra,” he says bluntly. “We might be estranged most of the time, but nothing will ever change that there’s a bond between all of us.”

“Not even the death of my mother?” I blurt out, clapping my hands over my traitorous mouth as soon as I say it. I wish I could take my words back immediately.

Alex shoots to his feet, almost vibrating with anger. “It finally comes out, then! That’s how you really feel?”

“I can’t help it,” I gulp through the lump in my throat. “She was my mom, Alex, and parts of your family had a hand in her death. No matter what she did to me, I can’t just forget what they have done.”

“But this is about my nephew! Not Julia or Sebastian!” Alex paces the floor, his hands clenched in fists at his side. I just watch, all of my previous righteous indignation having bled out of me the minute this discussion crossed the line into full blown fight. Still, though, what I said was the truth.

Alex stops, seeming to have come to some sort of conclusion. “I know you’re hurt, but we need to help him out. Plus, it’ll be good for the kids to be surrounded by other children. We can leave right after the party, but we’re going.” His tone is neither stern, nor harsh, but his words, even if delivered with soft gloves, are enough to make me jump up in rage.

“Oh hell no!” I shout in response, before snatching my phone off the charger and fleeing up the stairs to my atelier. I couldn’t stay in that bedroom a second longer, being suffocated by the tension in the room and Alex’s shameful demand.

I slam the atelier door behind me, pressing my back against it and sliding to the floor. I wrap my arms around my knees, lower my head, and take some heavy breaths in frustration, a few tears coursing silently down my cheeks. Of course I’m hurt! They killed my mother, for fuck’s sake! And yet, here they are, always trying to win us over. It feels like this will never end.

After what has to be an hour or so of angry painting, and a cup of chamomile tea which was brought up by a nervous-looking Maria, I’ve calmed down enough to think straight. I look at the small canvas in front of me, now covered with a stark scene of black trees against snow, and think about what my next steps with my family should be.

Alex owes me one hell of an apology to have decided to attend that party without even consulting me. I might have invited them to the baptism, but that was the last time I wanted to see them. Now I can’t stop thinking about Mom and what they did to her. We hadn’t had a perfect relationship by any means, but she was still my mom. And I still had to raise my children without her help and influence.

I’d never wish anything bad on Alex’s family, but the fact of the matter is, they are all alive and thriving. Even if his contact with them had been minimized, he’s still in a better position than me.

His heart is still whole. But I’m not sure if mine is.

On the other hand, I know how it feels to not be with your family, and to have those relationships stretched so thin they might snap. If I can spare Alex those feelings, and maybe let my kids have a relationship with some of Alex’s more normal family members like his nieces and nephews, I should probably pursue it.

No! It isn’t fair.

It’ll never be fair that Margaret gets to live her life to the fullest, getting to see Jasmine and Jasper grow, while my own mother never will. She never even got to meet them.

I shake my head, trying to banish all of these thoughts. They won’t help anything, and they certainly won’t do any good with fixing the problem I’ve found myself dealing with. The only thing this line of thinking can do is upset me.

I need to think, and behave, logically. Before I can think any more about my mother, I force myself to make a plan to tackle everything. It really seems like it might be a coincidence that Sebastian talked to Alex so recently, just like I had Julia, but I needed to be sure it wasn’t some carefully built plan intended to back me into a corner. If it turns out that everyone had plotted against me, then I was going to fight tooth and nail to not go to this birthday.

I tap my paintbrush on the easel as I think. I had already asked Catherine if our drink date had been a setup, and she had told me no. And I really do want to believe her, but I just don’t know if I can. I do know I have to get to the bottom of this, though, or I’ll never be able to rest.

After considering it for a few long moments, I finally decide to call Catherine. She surely interacts with Julia more than Alex does, so if anyone knows the truth, it’s her. I’m hoping against hope that she doesn’t have anything to do with this potential setup, but I’m not holding my breath.

She picks up on the second ring, sounding slightly wary that I’m contacting her so soon after just having seen her at the bar. “Hello?”

“Hey, Catherine. So, the whole talk I had with Julia? I guess Sebastian called Alex too, and Alex is under the impression that we’re going to Sebastian's birthday.”

She doesn’t reply, but I let the comment hang in the air, giving her some time to think about it. When I realize that she isn’t going to respond, I continue on my own. “I know I already asked, but–”

“No, I did not set you up so Julia could talk to you. I obviously have no way to prove that fact to you, but do you really think I’d risk your father’s ire just so my friend could have a phone call with her own sister-in-law? Had I realized the issues between you two, I’d have never mentioned your presence.”

“Okay,” I say simply. I’m apparently never going to know the full truth of it, and I’m not sure if I’m happy or annoyed that Catherine is sticking to her original story. I really do want to believe her.

“I do have to tell you something, though, because I know if you find out on your own you’re going to be convinced of my guilt.”

This gives me pause. “What do you need to tell me?”

Catherine sighs daintily, as if having to divulge all this information is leaving a bad taste in her mouth. “Your father and I will be at the party too. We were invited ages ago.”

I stutter for a second, at a loss for words. If Alex planning to go see Julia and Sebastian had felt like betrayal to me, it was nothing compared to knowing that my own dad had plans to go to Sebastian's party. Heck, he isn’t even close with anyone that would be there, and I’m left flabbergasted trying to wrap my mind around why he would willingly hang out with the family that killed his ex-wife.

“Why didn’t you tell me at the bar?” I say, a note of hysteria in my voice.

“I was assuming that your father would tell you himself, but when I mentioned it to him he seemed to just brush the issue off. I’m not sure if he knows how upset you would be, so he put off telling you for that reason, or if he really is being dismissive of the whole situation. I don’t want there to be a big, dramatic blow out at the birthday party, which is why I’m telling you now.” Catherine pauses, thinking over her next words. “That, and it wouldn’t be fair for you to come to the party and see us there. It’d be quite the shock, I’m sure.”

If Catherine is being honest, then I actually do appreciate her spilling the beans since Dad didn’t bother to do so himself. When I really think about it, his attitude toward the whole thing is very reminiscent of my childhood. Choosing not to tell me things that would be important for me to know simply because he didn’t want to deal with my emotional fallout from it.

Some things never change, I guess.

“Thank you, Catherine.” I don’t know what else to say, but I do know I want to talk to my dad desperately.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve gathered that Roy and I are going because I am close friends with Julia, so in a way I’m responsible. The only right thing to do was inform you.”

After I’m finished talking to Catherine, I ponder the idea of painting something else before I call Dad so I can get my thoughts together. Eventually, though, I decide I need to just confront him. The quicker I lance the wound of him going behind my back, the easier I would rest tonight.

My mind’s racing, so I load up another miniature canvas on the easel, planning to just paint a quick and messy daytime version of the painting I had done earlier. Maybe my nerves would be calmer if I’m distracted during the conversation.

To my total astonishment, when I’m grabbing a few tubes of paint, Dad calls me instead. I sit on my art stool and answer. Dad doesn’t sound bothered, or like he is dreading the conversation we’re about to have. Instead, he asks me the usual questions about Jasmine and Jasper, school, and the gallery. He listens intently, fully engaged as if he really is just checking up on me.

Strangely, the inane chit chat is making me even more nervous. I feel like we are both just avoiding the inevitable confrontation, so in the middle of Dad telling me about a company golf trip he is considering planning, I interrupt ready to have everything out in the open.

“Dad,” I say stiffly. “You and Catherine are going to Sebastian’s birthday party, aren’t you?”

Dad sighs raggedly. “Damn Catherine. I told her I’d tell you in my own time. But yes, I’m going to the Netherlands to check on our local office and accepted the invitation. Catherine wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“But Dad, after everything they’ve done to us, how can you just want to make friends and play nice? Just send Catherine alone! You don’t have to deal with all of that!”

He coughs, trying to fill the silence. “Actually, she had agreed to go alone, but I offered to go as a couple.”

I feel like my blood instantly turns to ice in my veins. I had been hoping, up until this point, that Dad was just getting dragged along unwillingly, but knowing that it was his idea is hurtful in a completely different way, and as much as I have tried to push those thoughts away, they still come back, unbidden.

“They killed Mom!” I blurt out, tears in my voice. “They killed your ex-wife, and you’re going to go hang out with them like it’s no big deal? How can you do that?”

Dad curses under his breath, before taking a huge breath. “Life goes on, Petra. Your grudges can’t be mine, just like I’d never expect mine to be yours.”

“Life goes on?” I snort, totally left flabbergasted. “Life goes on for who?” I repeat, my voice higher. “Not me, I’ll tell you that! I haven’t forgotten the things they did, like so many other people. I don’t forgive, either!”

“Catherine is my partner, and Sebastian and Julia are Catherine’s friends. I love you, Petra, but you can’t expect everyone to stand around in the past just because you want to.”

Holy shit. His comment is as cold as ice, and totally devoid of any emotion. “Well, at least Catherine had the nerve to be honest with me.”

Dad huffs in indignation. “I was going to tell you. She just jumped the gun and did it before I was ready.”

“Whatever.” I’m gripping my paintbrush so hard I’m surprised it hasn’t broken yet. “Everyone in my life is just going to do whatever the hell they want with no concern for my feelings or Mom’s memory. I hope you guys have a great time.”

“Petra, honey–”

I hang up the phone, powering it down before clasping my hands behind my head and leaning forward on the stool, trying to maintain my composure and not lose control again. I breathe deeply, in and out, until the adrenaline that had flushed my system fades away, leaving me calmer but absolutely exhausted.

I decide to finish my little daytime forest painting, laying it out to dry with its twin. Seeing how I’m able to channel all my negative emotions makes me feel a little bit better, but not enough to matter. This Netherlands trip is breathing down the back of my neck. Everyone is closing in on me at all sides, and I have no idea who to turn to, or what to do.

The idea of bringing a pillow and blanket to the atelier and sleeping up here is tempting, just to show Alex how serious I am about not going to Sebastian's party. We never sleep apart either, so I’m sure he would notice right away. I look around the studio and realize sleeping on the floor isn’t going to be very comfortable. I guess I could always sleep in one of the guest bedrooms. Decided, I dial Maria’s phone number and ask her to get it ready for me. “And don’t forget to bring my pajamas and toiletries there, please,” I tell her before hanging up.

The last thing I want is to even step foot in my bedroom if Alex is still there.

“Um, alright,” Maria answers a bit confused at my request, but fortunately she follows through.

Stepping out of the atelier, I head downstairs to the guest bedroom, my heart thundering anxiously in apprehension to face Alex at any moment. I hasten my pace, cross the hallway, and, fortunately, manage to get inside the guest bedroom without seeing him. I close the door behind me, locking it. Heaving a long sigh in relief, I look at the empty bed, still perfectly folded and it pangs my heart, realizing I’ll have to spend the night here. But it’s for the better.

A few spontaneous knocks on the door startle me.

“Miss, it’s Maria,” she says, just above a whisper. “I’ve got your belongings.”

“Oh,” I utter, turning around to unlock and open the door.

My eyes lay on Maria and she hands me the pajamas and toiletries without any questions.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, miss?” Okay, except this one.

I’m about to shake my head and tell her no, when a thought crosses my mind. “Actually, yes, you may inform my husband I won’t be sleeping with him tonight.”

Maria raises her eyebrows in surprise at my request, but gives a quick sharp nod of the head. “Duly noted. Anything else?”

“That’s all,” I reply. “Thank you, Maria.”

I close and lock the door again, before heading to the ensuite bathroom to get myself ready for bed.

I wash my face, apply some moisturizer, and then brush my teeth. Returning to the bedroom, I take off my clothes and switch into my comfy pajamas.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Petra,” Alex calls from behind the closed door, his tone irritated and impatient. He knocks the door and twists the handle a few more times, before saying, “Can you stop your stupid tantrum and come upstairs to our bedroom, please?”

“No!” I shout, hoping he can hear me. “I’m sleeping here tonight. Deal with it.” Then I open the sheets and slide right into the bed.

“You do realize Maria has a spare key, right?” Oh shit! “I can ask her to open this door at any time,” he informs, most likely to scare me, but since I don’t answer, he twists the handle once more in a failed attempt to unlock it. “Petra, please open the damn door and let’s talk.”

An exasperated breath rolls off my lungs, my head on the pillow. I look at the ceiling as I ponder whether or not to just ignore him.

“Petra—”

“Then go ahead and ask her, because I’m not opening it!” My tone is loud and tired of his insistence. Why can’t he just leave me alone for fuck’s sake!

To my surprise, he doesn’t answer but I can hear his footsteps finally storming away.

Good.

I turn off the light, and shifting position, I try to find the most comfortable one to fall asleep.

The bedroom is quiet enough for me to shut my eyes, and after a few seconds, I feel relaxed enough to doze off.

Unfortunately, a sudden squeak on the door cracks my eyes open. I sit immediately against the headboard and turn the light on again. My eyes are on the door and I realize Alex is behind it, unlocking the damn thing.

“I can’t believe you really asked her!” I snap once he opens it wide and my eyes lay on his tall figure. “I want to be left alone!”

He leans against the doorway, his face mildly amused at my outrage.

“You do understand that I’m doing it for my nephew, right?” he asks out of the blue.

I furrow my brows, his sudden question leaving me confused. Oh! He’s still talking about Sebastian’s party?

“I don’t think so,” I refute back, my voice not too loud so not to wake up the kids. “You are using him to guilt-trip me to go. That’s what you are trying to do.”

Alex shakes his head in denial, his hands hanging on his pockets, but I proceed, “And you know what? How can I be a hundred percent sure this isn’t an excuse you set up with your sister and Sebastian to force me to go?”

“Wait.” He stands tall in front of me, looking me straight in the eye. “You really think I’d go and lie to you about the mental state of my nephew so that we could attend a freaking party?” The shock in his voice seems genuine, but who knows for sure?

“Why are you acting so surprised?” I say, not even blinking as we keep staring at each other. “It’s not like you’ve never lied to me before, now is it?”

He exhales loudly in return, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. As I keep observing him, I’ve got the impression I went too far and my words seem to have really wounded him. I’m about to say something else, but his eyes return to meet mine and he takes over. “You know what?” he asks, rubbing a hand tiredly on his nape. “You were right, it’s better you sleep here tonight.”

His words hit me like a hammer causing a pang to my heart, and now that he’s turning his back on me and walking out of the bedroom, leaving me alone, I realize that he came here to build a bridge between us, but I was just too focused on burning it to even care.

“Morning,” I say to Maria as I reach the dining room where she’s serving breakfast. I notice Alex is already sitting in his usual chair, feeding Jasmine and Jasper who seem to have been awake a long time ago, all dressed up for the day. He doesn’t even flinch when he sees me arriving. His attention remains entirely on the twins as they open their little mouths to receive a spoonful of oatmeal.

“Morning, ma’am,” Maria answers, once she passes me to return to the kitchen.

Alone with Alex and the kids, a tense silence fills the space between us, letting only my footsteps be heard as I walk toward the table.

I sit in front of him, my attention shifting to the twins, who welcome me with giddy smiles and babble noises. I place a kiss on their lavender-scented heads, greeting them just as warmly.

I take the spoon lying in Jasper’s bowl and continue to feed him while Alex is doing the same for Jasmine, who’s sitting closer to him.

When we were childfree, there wasn’t anything to distract us at the table, so at the end, we kind of had to face our issues whether we wanted to or not. Things have changed, though, and now we just go through the motion of feeding our kids and playing with them while avoiding talking to each other.

Maria reenters the room and puts a plate filled with an avocado toast and omelet in front of me, along with a green juice.

I take a quick sip of my drink, wondering if Alex will once and for all look at me and say something.

But he doesn’t.

His silence is worse than the fight we had yesterday. Damn it, can’t he understand how hurt I am that he wants me to go to and interact with the family involved with the killing of my mom? I know Andries has got nothing to do with it, but his mental state is none of my business either.

After finishing his own breakfast, Alex stands up, leans in just enough to press a kiss on the head of Jasmine and Jasper, while ignoring me completely in the process. He then leaves the table like I’m not even here and walks out of the dining room.

I’m about to start eating, when I hear him calling me from the doorway. “Petra?”

I turn immediately. “Yes?”

His expression doesn’t hide the sadness in his eyes and I wonder if he spent the night thinking about our fight.

“I wasn’t lying about Andries,” he states firmly, his tone even. “As a matter of fact, before I knew what was going on with him, I had declined the invitation.”

I try to think of an answer, but my attention returns immediately to Jasper who’s trying to grab a lock of my hair.

“Jas, no!” I tell him, giving his hand a little kiss before I pull it away.

“Well, I should get going. Have a good day,” he says before walking out of the condo.

I heave a long sigh, his words still haunting me as I proceed with my own breakfast. Despite his explanation, I realize he didn’t apologize to have accepted Sebastian’s invitation without consulting me first. And that is something I simply can’t let go.

Mr. Jasper keeps looking at me with his big blue eyes, and I know at this point if I don’t give him another spoon of oatmeal, it’s my hair that is going to end up in his mouth.

“Good morning, Petra,” Lily greets as she walks in, ready to take care of Jasmine. “I’m sorry for the delay, but your husband wanted to feed them by himself.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” I answer, before forking a bite of my omelette.

All of a sudden, my phone pings with a new message. I want to believe it’s my husband sending me a written apology, but after checking my phone, I realize it’s a photo of Shi taken by Emma at a restaurant, making a wacky face as she holds a sushi between her chopsticks:

It might be the sake speaking, but… isn’t she so damn beautiful?

Emma has been so wrapped up in Shiori and Tokyo that we haven’t had time to speak that much, but this message is enough to melt my heart entirely.

Not the sake! She really is beautiful inside and out. Take good care of her, I text back.

As I come to think of it, this is the kind of lighthearted, humorous exchange Emma and I would have never had while she was with Yara. When Yara was with Emma, there was passion between them, sure, but also this heavy black cloud of seriousness and negativity that weighed my best friend down. Now, though, she was free of it.

A new message pops up in the chat between Emma and I:

I think I’m in love…

I snort at her admission, and text her right back:

I think so too.

CHAPTER 7

Manhattan, February 11, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

The rest of the week is going about as I'd expected it to, with a lot of silent treatments and strangely tense dinners between my husband and I, but there’s a weird tiredness in my life that seems to permeate everything that I do. Tiredness or dullness? I can’t quite tell which. Maybe I have finally reached my limit of nonsense.

Another strange thing about our fight is that I keep catching Alex looking at me with this soft, almost hurt expression. To be fair, we aren’t completely ignoring each other. We live together and have twin babies, after all. It just isn’t convenient to not speak ever.

But his longing glances are really putting a damper on my ability to stay mad at him.

My husband’s remorse must have reached a fever pitch this morning. As I’m in my office at the gallery, reading through pitches from some local artists and the paintings they’d like to have exposed at the gallery, I’m interrupted by a knock at my door.

“Come in,” I say, not even bothering to look up from my paperwork.

Mason opens the door slower than usual. The first thing I notice is a suspiciously large smile on his face, followed by the ridiculously enormous bouquet of white and red roses in his arms.

“You’ve got a delivery!” he chirps, plonking the vase down on my desk with so much exuberance that some of the water sloshes over the side. There’s an unopened envelope among the blooms, which I gingerly pluck out.

I get ready to open the envelope, but notice my assistant is still hovering. “What do you need, Mason?”

“Oh, I’m just leaving,” he says, but his walk to the door is much slower than necessary, and he keeps glancing back at the note in my hands.

“You’re just being nosy. Get out of here!”

He crosses his arms. “Actually, I already know what it says because your lovely husband called me this morning and I just wanted to see your reaction. But okay, okay! I’m leaving!”

That gives me pause. Because why would Alex need to call my personal assistant instead of me? I dismiss the thought though, slicing open the envelope with the edge of my fingernail and unfolding the card within.

I’m sorry for being an asshole. I still have to go to the Netherlands to at least see Andries, but if you really need to stay home, I understand. Let’s spend the weekend together at least.

I love you - Alex

P.S. Call your dad

I carefully fold the card back up and hold it to my chest, a knot that I didn’t know was there eases up inside of me.

The funny thing, or maybe not so funny thing, is that I had finally decided to go to Sebastian’s birthday with Alex without complaint last night. If Julia can call off Yara for good, I figured I could suck it up and go to the damn birthday party. It’d be awful for me, but it’d benefit almost everyone else in my life, including my husband and his longing for the company of his family. I guess that if I could help Andries in the process, then the brief trip would be worth my time. And sanity.

I consider the postscript, tapping my fingers on my desk as I think about calling Dad. Our last phone conversation had been disastrous, and we hadn’t spoken since. Heck, he didn't even text or left any voicemail afterwards. Maybe Alex was trying to facilitate an apology. I look again at the mass of exquisite, fragrant roses and my heart melts a little. Fine… I’ll make the damn call.

“Dad,” I say shortly when he immediately picks up. “Alex said to call.”

“Hi darling, thank you so much for calling,” he says, sounding unusually humble. “It’s so nice to hear from you again.”

I roll my eyes. “Why did Alex want me to call?”

“I see the feeling is mutual,” he points out in sarcasm.

“Sorry if I’m not feeling too amiable after our last chat,” I chirp back.

“Well, about that.” Dad clears his throat. “I want to keep Jasmine and Jasper for the weekend.”

Huh? That’s definitely not what I was expecting. “What? Why?”

“Do I need an excuse to spend time with my grandchildren?” he asks, sounding mildly offended.

“Come on, Dad. What’s actually going on?”

He heaves a sigh. “Your husband has some plans he’s thought up for the two of you, and I offered to keep the twins when he brought it up to me at the office. Don’t let on that I said anything.”

“Huh,” I say out loud this time, not sure how to feel about the sudden offer. “We have Lily. We don’t need you and Catherine to go out of your way if we were leaving, which, if we are, it’s news to me.”

“I know you do, but honestly, I’d enjoy keeping them. I think they’re old enough to stay a day and a half with their grandpa, don’t you agree?”

“I don’t know. This is all so sudden, and really, I still don’t have any idea what’s going on. Can I call you back after I talk to Alex?”

“Of course, dear. Remember, though, I’m not an amateur. Me, Catherine, and Janine can handle two little munchkins.”

The mention of Dad’s housekeeper, who had basically raised me, settles my nerves. I don’t know about Catherine’s baby tending skills, but Janine, I have faith in.

“Will Janine be there the whole time?” I ask, and Dad huffs.

“Figures you wouldn't trust your old man. Yes, she’ll be here,” he grumbles.

I smirk. “Considering you probably would have starved to death over the years without her, I think it’s a fair question.”

He doesn’t answer, and his silence makes me even more amused.

“Alright, Dad. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Bye, daughter who has no faith in me.”

I set my phone on my desk, and for the first time this week, I can’t wipe the grin off my face, thinking about Dad and Alex conspiring about some sort of master plan to make me less pissed off at them. I envision them both at the office the day after our fights, both moping around, and then hatching this master plan. Those two are funny.

I’m not sure if I love the idea of leaving the twins after just having left them when I went to St. Moritz, but they’d probably have a wonderful time being spoiled and loved on. I have so many fond memories of sitting on the counter while Janine baked, or tugging at her skirt asking for a snack, and a familiar warmth spreads over me. They’d be perfectly fine at Dad’s. Now I just needed to decide if I was in the mood to go somewhere with Alex.

I run my fingers over the soft, silky petals of my roses, and I think that maybe I can be convinced.

I get home before Alex, only to find Lily placing two small cream-colored duffle bags, packed to the gills, near the door. I raise my eyebrows, looking from the bags back to our nurse. She had the decency to look like she’d been caught for a second, before dropping the act and shrugging her arms nonchalantly.

“Alex told me to pack the kids up and take the weekend off, but not to leave until he gave me the go-ahead. So don’t look at me like I’ve done something wrong.”

“So defensive!” I laugh. “I don’t mind, Lily. Saves me the effort of packing their bags myself. Thank you.” I was going to leave it at that, but I have a flash of inspiration to make my husband sweat just a little bit extra. “Hey, Lily? Why don’t you go hide those bags in the coat closet? I want Alex to be just the smallest bit on edge.”

She puts a hand on her hip, looking me up and down. “Don’t you get me in trouble with the man that writes my paychecks.”

I assure her I’ll take all her blame, and after she stows the twins’ bags, I let her leave for the weekend. The babies are having a quick snooze, and I take the opportunity to change out of my work clothes into something more comfortable––a pair of leggings and matching, skintight shirt, and braid my hair back from my face. If I’m going to travel, I might as well be comfortable.

I’m snapping a hair tie on my braid when I see Alex’s silhouette approaching our bedroom door. I feel a little giddy, excited to see what Alex had planned, but nervous that the animosity between us will be too heavy to overcome enough for us to enjoy ourselves.

“Petra,” he says, his voice deep and skating across my nerves. “Where’s Lily and the twins?”

“The twins are napping,” I say, being intentionally vague.

“Hmm…” He runs a hand through his hair. “Did you talk to Roy?”

“Yeah, I did.” As much as I’m trying to tease Alex, some of my genuine anxieties about leaving the kids with my dad come through. “Do you think it’s okay? Leaving them, I mean. What if Jasmine—”

Alex moves forward so quickly I can barely register it. He presses one long finger over my lips, quieting my worries. “Hush. Lily is minutes away, and Roy is over the moon about the opportunity to keep them. You remember all those things he’s already bought for them? Cribs, swings, a closet full of clothes… he’s been waiting for this for some time now, love. Don’t stress so much.”

I pull his hand away from my lips. “I don’t even know what’s going on, Alex.”

He settles his hands on my hips. “Let’s go to Bedford Hills for the weekend. We’ll come back Sunday night, but I want us to get away. Alone.” He tightens his hands on my curves. “I don’t like this negativity between us.”

I’m surprised, but in the best way. It wasn’t the beach I had been hoping for, but it was just as lovely. Memories between Alex and I were so thick at Bedford Hills that it was soaked into the very brick and mortar of the place. Every step was another recollection of our blossoming love from times past, which makes it the perfect place to reconnect.

“Doesn’t it feel a little like running away from our problems, though?” I ask, unable to ditch the worry.

“No, love. We are confronting them together.”

I reminisce about our engagement party, and the rush of knowing that soon, Alex would be mine forever. It was a heady feeling back then, and it makes me flush even now.

“Okay.” I sigh, leaning into his body until he wraps me in his arms. “Let’s do it, then.”

“I suppose you sent Lily home before she could pack the kids up just to be a contrarian,” he grumbles into my hair.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I giggle.

He shoots me an arched eyebrow, unconvinced. “Petra….”

“Okay, fine. They’re in the coat closet. The bags, not the kids,” I say, a quick chuckle rolling off my mouth at the idea of it.

“I certainly hope not.” He presses a kiss on the top of my head. “Go pack for yourself then. I’ll have the car ready in a few.”

I pull back so I can look into his eyes. “Don’t we need to drop the kids off?”

“Roy is on his way over to get them,” he informs me smugly.

“Awfully sure of your success in getting me alone, weren’t you?” I tease.

He pinches my chin between a thumb and forefinger, bringing our faces closer together until I can feel his warm breath when he speaks. “I know how to be convincing.”

Despite his cockiness, I wrap my arms around his neck and looking him in the eye, I say, “I won’t go anywhere without a proper apology first.”

Alex hesitates for a moment, even frowning at the idea, but seeing how important this is for me, he finally gives in. “Fine,” he huffs. “I apologize.”

“For what?” I press on.

“For…” he pauses, considering me, “being rude?”

“And to have accepted Sebastian’s invitation without consulting me first,” I remind him just as fast.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he repeats, his piercing blue eyes locked on mine. “And as I said in the note, you don’t have to come with me to the Netherlands.”

My lips twist into a satisfied smile. “Thank you.”

A nostalgic feeling floods through me as we arrive at Bedford Hills in the early evening. A stunning setting amid unparalleled privacy is the hallmark of this remarkable estate. Out here, the air smells cleaner, and although I’ve had more than enough snow in my life lately, the fat, fluffy snowflakes swirling down from the heavens only amplify the fairytale feeling of our getaway home. After all, Bedford Hills is one of the few properties that Alex owns that doesn’t skew heavily toward sleek, ultra-modern décor. Instead, everything has been preserved from its original construction over a century ago—the exterior façade made of white stone while its interior is crafted from heavy, old wood, carved with intricate, scrawling designs and white marble. The whole place is classic and historical, and it feels like we are staying in a whole different country instead of a mere ninety minutes from our condo.

Entering into the hallway of the house, my heart feels giddy, and it starts bouncing with excitement as I take in the smells and sights of it all. I didn’t realize how much I had missed this place until now, especially our bedroom.

Speaking of which, I run up the stairs, trot across the hallway of the second floor, and crack the door of our bedroom open. To my greatest surprise, my body is instantly washed over by the heat coming from the bright fireplace. But it’s not only the bright fireplace that makes my jaw drop—there’s a whole picnic set up on the faux-fur rug with pillows spread around and a large wooden tray in the center with food, plates, glasses, and a bottle of red wine. Soft lounge music is playing in the background, creating a perfect intimate ambience.

I hear footsteps approaching from behind me and a smile spreads up to my ears, recognizing them all too well.

“Do you like it?” Alex asks, leaning slightly against the doorframe.

I step inside, taking in all the coziness of the bedroom in absolute awe. “Who did this?”

“Maria arrived a few hours ago to warm up the house and make it more… welcoming.”

I remain totally astounded. There are even candles lit on both nightstands and dressers, and the floor lamps are lit just enough to give a matching warm glow.

“If you don’t like it, I can—”

“Are you kidding?” My attention falls back onto Alex who seems visibly worried. “I love it!” I go back to where he is standing and wrap my arms around his neck to appease him. “Having dinner in front of a roaring fire is absolutely perfect.”

“It’s simple but––”

I lift his chin, his eyes meeting mine again. “It’s perfect.” And to get my point across, I lean in and press my lips against his in a lingering kiss.

Reassured, we walk inside. Alex shuts and locks the door behind us, while I take off my shoes, coat and everything else I consider extra.

We both sit beside each other on the fluffy rug, and while Alex is already opening the bottle of wine, I waste no time in warming up my hands against the bright fireplace.

A few instants later, he hands me a glass of wine and we raise our glass in a toast.

“To us.” The warmth coming from his voice could rival the one from the fireplace.

“To us,” I repeat softly.

It’s such a peaceful evening, there’s only the lounge music and the crackling logs in the fireplace to be heard, a perfect recipe to soothe me after a long and exhausting week.

“Why don’t we live here full time?” I ask between sips of wine. “It’s only an hour away from the city.”

Not that I don’t love Manhattan, but everything is just slower here, cozier and intimate.

“We should stay near your doctor until Jasmine is older and we know the extent of the care she is going to need,” Alex answers logically. “But you’ve got the right idea. We should spend more time out here.”

I nod, making a mental note to take more time out of our year to spend weekends here as a family. For the moment, though, it’s just Alex and me, and I intend to savor every second of it.

CHAPTER 8

Bedford Hills, February 12, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

“Wake up…” Alex says softly, dragging his fingers down my naked body and kissing my shoulder. “It’s past ten.”

“Nooo–” I whine. “It’s vacation.”

“Which means we have things to do, wife, aside from laying in bed all day.”

I shift until I can face him, tracing the line of his jaw with my hand. His stubble is rough against my palm, and with a shiver, I remember how it felt against my inner thighs last night. The lids of his eyes are heavy, and his irises a darker blue than usual, almost like sapphires.

I wrap my legs around his, arching my body as he strokes down my back. His hands freeze when I push my hips against him, but instead of rolling us over and ravishing me for the second time in twelve hours like I want, he pinches my butt instead. I yelp, and he laughs as I scoot away in annoyance.

“Later, wife. All of today belongs to us. Let’s get up and have breakfast.”

I curse under my breath, while Alex stands up, trying to set himself as an example. But I’m just too cozy under the sheets to do the same.

Before Alex tries to coax me some more, my iPhone starts ringing. Curious enough, I take it from the nightstand, and see it’s Emma requesting a FaceTime call.

I accept it right away, my camera turns on, and my screen displays her perfect, elf-like face suffused in barely contained joy.

“Hey, you,” I murmur sleepily, sitting up in bed.

“I just had to call and thank you,” Emma says quickly. “I’m having the most incredible time. Shiori is… she’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met before, Petra. She’s… I…” To my shock Emma blushes. “I really like her, and I really love it here.” Her vivid energy is contagious and I can’t help but mimic her smile.

“Well, I’m really glad you do,” I tell her, my voice clearer. “How is Tokyo?”

“It’s amazing, honestly, the food, the people….” She gushes over and over about Shiori, Tokyo, and the trip. It’s strange to see Emma, who is usually blunt and pissed off, chatting like a teenager in love. I listen, nodding here and there, but mostly just letting her tell me her story. It brings me such joy just to hear her talk. “And then she brought me to a restaurant that she had privatized only for the two of us. Like the whole place was covered with rose petals and candles. I swear it was crazy.”

“Wow. And then what happened?” I ask, before my attention goes to Maria who’s entering the bedroom with a tray piled high with pancakes and fresh berries. Alex instructs her to put the tray on the low table, next to the loveseat and she does so.

“Well, she asked me if I wanted to be her girlfriend,” she replies, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips.

I suck in a breath, taken aback by the turn of events. “Oh, and what did you say?”

“I accepted,” she answers, a bit shyly. “I really need to move on from Yara and Shi has been great. She’s not controlling or overbearing, she gives me space and is really cool to hang out with. I deserve someone like her, right?”

“Of course, you do, Em,” I reply, my tone radiating with confidence, but then a thought hits me, and I proceed very cautiously. “So you and Yara…?”

“Yeah, it’s over.” While I feel victorious at her statement, I can taste the sadness in her voice as she says so. “It’s really for the better, though. She was destroying me.”

“Damn right she was,” I tell her just as fast. From the corner of my eye, I notice Alex is already sitting on the loveseat, picking at a berry here and there, and patiently waiting for me so he can attack his pancakes. “Emma, I’m gonna have to go. But I’m so happy for you. If you ever need anything, call me, okay?”

“You too, babe.” We bid farewell to each other, and after hanging up, I can’t help but clap my hands excitedly. Knowing that Emma is no longer with Yara takes such a weight off of my shoulders!

“Did Emma finally drop my sister for good?” I hear Alex asking from the loveseat, the tray of food lying next to him.

“It seems so.” I leap off the bed, and trot in his direction, before sitting on his lap and draping my arms around him. “She was so happy over the phone.”

His cerulean eyes are brighter than usual, and they seem to be almost gleaming as they look at me. “I heard that.” His right hand goes up and starts stroking my cheek with deep affection. “Well done, wife.” His voice is smooth and warm, but also laced with pride. He then brings me closer and pins a kiss on my forehead.

My heart does a little somersault in response, and I snuggle against him for a brief moment, satisfied at both my best friend to have ditched Yara for good and at my husband to have brought me here.

After breakfast, Alex has got a few phone calls to make, so I escape to the bathroom, running a hot bath to soothe my aching body. He had taken me last night harder than I’d anticipated, all the frustration of our drawn-out fight being washed away by his hands, mouth, and body against mine. I had given as good as I had got, and the scarlet love bite on his collarbone was proof.

When he comes in to get ready, I try to tempt him into the enormous marble tub with me, but he isn’t having any of it. “You’re just trying to jump my bones again,” he jokes, stepping into the rainfall shower instead.

“You’re being a party pooper. Why else are we here except to spend couple time together?” I pout.

“You’ll get plenty of couple time. Just be patient.”

I sink beneath the bubbles with a frown. I don’t want to be patient. I want to go back to the bedroom, roll between the sheets, and spend the day exploring each other’s bodies in the slow, sensual way that can only come when we’re totally alone, without a single thing on the schedule.

But, as I bathe, the thoughts I had been trying to keep at bay sneak in—not only is this where we had our engagement party, or where Alex had taught me how to ride horses for the very first time when I was younger, but it also contained something else. Something I had been trying to block out of my conscious mind since we had walked into the door.

My mother’s grave.

The blow-up Alex and I had this week was the first in a long time where we even talked about my mom. The more I think about it, the more I believe Alex brought me to Bedford Hills in order to take me to pay a visit to her grave. Jeez! Considering it makes me break out in a cold sweat despite the heat of the water. I don’t want to go; I don’t want to grieve again when I’ve already grieved so much. It almost feels like I’m flaunting that Alex and I are still together, that we made it despite everything she had said.

Even more than that dread though… there’s something in me that longs to see her grave again and leave a picture of her grandchildren, so maybe, in some way, she could see them. A knot forms in my throat so quickly that I have to choke back a sob. Way to ruin the mood with your own uncontrollable thoughts, Petra.

When Alex exits the shower, scrubbing his hair with a towel, I’m not even able to focus on all of his beautiful bronze skin. I’m still too deep in my melancholic thoughts. Alex looks like he’s about to make a dirty quip to me, but when he gets a better look at my face, he sobers, wrapping his towel around his waist.

“What’s bothering you, my love?” he asks gently.

I hesitate whether to tell him the truth or not, but decide it’s best to be honest about it, so looking him in the eye, I ask, “You picked this place so we could go see Mom, didn’t you?” My voice breaks on the last few words, and I have to swallow to keep my composure.

He runs a hand through his wet hair, clearly embarrassed. “Ah, Petra.” He then walks toward me and squats down next to the bathtub, reaching under the water to take my hands in his. “Only if you want to. But I know she’s been heavy on your mind lately.”

I only nod, too overcome to speak.

“If you want to go, I preordered a bouquet, and brought along a framed picture of Jasmine and Jasper to take. If it’s too much, I’ll deliver them myself before we depart. Everything is up to you. Don’t feel any pressure.”

Despite his smooth and calm voice I’ve got mixed feelings about his offer. It’s easy for him to go and drop a bouquet on her grave, but for me… I shut my eyes tight for a short moment, but it’s enough for memories from her and our fights to replay in my mind.

“Then why did you get me up so early if not to see her?” I force out.

“I just wanted to make sure, if you chose to go, that we had plenty of daylight.” He squeezes my hands, and then brings them to his lips, kissing each of my knuckles despite the bubbles on my skin. “Do you want to go?”

I nod again, tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. Alex strokes my hair softly once and stands.

“I’m going to get dressed and get everything ready, then. Take your time,” he says before leaving the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

I do take my time. Too much of it, to be honest. But by the time the water has become tepid, and I feel the first bit of chill seeping into my bones, I know I can’t wait any longer. Room temperature water dripping onto the tile floor, I step out of the bathtub, dress, and go to meet my husband. My feet feel like they are made of lead, but I guess I’m stronger than I think, because I still manage to put one foot in front of the other.

Wind whips my hair around my head as I come face to face with my mother’s grave for the first time in almost a year. Wow. It’s been so long. Too long. The gusts also blow the tears off of my cheeks as soon as they fall, and for that I am grateful.

Alex stands close behind me, and his tall frame over my shoulder is a comfort. It makes me feel braver, more secure, and not so alone. Even though he is with me, the pit inside my stomach still doesn’t dissipate.

I kneel, laying the bundle of yellow roses on the frosty grass in front of Mom’s white stone grave marker. I skim my fingers over the letters of her name, Tess Hagen, and the rock is so cold I think I might be able to feel it in the bones of my fingers.

“Hi, Mom,” I say quietly. “I know it’s been awhile, but I wanted to show you something.”

Alex hands me the framed picture, a 5 x 7 of Jasmine and Jasper, in front of the Christmas tree in Aspen, the colored lights reflecting in their round, precious eyes and a mess of wrapping paper around them. I hold it up to the stone, as if I’m showing it to her. I feel silly, but I don’t know what else to do.

“These are your grandchildren. Twins, Mom, can you believe it? This is Jasmine, and this is Jasper….”

Death might have ended her life, but not our relationship. I tell her everything, as if she was quietly listening to me. My words come unbidden, like water from a spigot, and it seems like I can’t stop. I explain my high-risk pregnancy, my cesarean, the long weeks in the NICU, Jasmine’s Turner syndrome and the impact it might have in her life as she grows up. I tell her about how being a grandpa had changed Dad, and how she wouldn’t even recognize him. Our first Christmas as a family of four, the gallery, Emma and Matt as their godparents… I tell her it all, just like I would’ve if she was alive, and it feels liberating and healing at the same time. When I’m done, the catharsis is complete. I feel lighter, empty, but in a good way. Free of my grief, at least somewhat.

I stand up, my knees already feeling sore. Alex embraces me, and I silently rest my head on his shoulder, but I don’t cry like I thought I would, instead, just taking comfort in his touch.

“Thank you,” I breathe, “for making me come here.”

I promise Mom that it won’t be so long next time, and hopefully soon, I could bring my children in person. I know my mom, in all her power and strength, her stern demeanor and warm hugs, isn’t here beneath the earth. She is inside me, instead. I am her legacy. Nevertheless, I feel her here like nowhere else.

With a last look back, I whisper, “Bye, Mom,” and Alex and I start our trek back to the house.

It’s a long enough walk back to the main house that I’ve gotten control over my emotions way before we make it back inside. Alex and I walk hand in hand, despite us both wearing gloves, and the silence between us is comfortable.

I decide then to tell Alex the decision that I’ve made. “I’m coming with you.” He shoots me an arched eyebrow in confusion, so I add, “To the Netherlands.”

He stops in his tracks to look at me, surprised. “Baby, are you sure?”

“Yes. No, but yes. I’ll go.”

“Why the change of heart?” he asks carefully.

Heaving a long sigh, I ponder his question for a moment. “I want to be by your side for this, and for some bizarre reason, you and your sister think I can help Andries. If I can actually assist, I’ll try my best to support getting him out of this headspace.”

Alex breathes out slowly, letting go of his tension. “He really needs your help, Petra. Sebastian said the relationship between him and his son has completely deteriorated. He never leaves his room, he never speaks to anyone—”

“Why me, though?” I ask, interrupting him. “Why are you and your sister convinced I can find him someone to love?”

We continue walking while he mulls over an answer. “Your success with Emma and Shiori speaks for itself. You did amazing, and it seemed so effortless for you.”

“Effortless?” I bark a laugh. “Alex, Yara threatened me with bodily harm. It was far from effortless.”

Alex considers this. “She probably didn’t mean it. She’s always been as mean as a snake when she loses control. You bested her, and I’m sure that enraged her.”

I plant my feet and come to a stop. Alex groans but stops too.

“I have two conditions if I’m going to come and do this favor for you guys,” I declare. Alex looks at me, bemused, waiting for my demands.

“First,” I start. “You have to talk to Yara and keep her away from me from here on out. I never want to interact with her again. Second, we don’t stay the night. We go to the party, and then we leave, but I can’t stomach sleeping under Julia’s roof. I’ll never accept that.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Alex drawls, but reaches his hand out for a handshake. With a smirk, I put my hand in his and he pumps it once, like two professionals making a business deal… that is, until he yanks me into his arms and kisses me soundly.

“Deal?” I ask against his mouth.

“Deal,” he agrees.

With that handshake, every obstacle between us feels like it has dissipated, and the fight is well and truly over. My emotions had been so high today, after seeing Mom’s grave especially, that I’m almost weak with relief to be back in good graces with Alex. I love him so much, and I need us to be on even ground. And frankly, I’m so proud of us for being able to communicate so much better than we had earlier in our relationship.

When the sun settles, we find ourselves in front of the roaring fire again, sharing a vegan “charcuterie” board and a bottle of blackberry wine from a local vineyard. The wine warms me from the inside out and loosens my limbs. Combined with the heat of the fire, I’m absolutely relaxed, and there’s only one other thing I want tonight.

The soft, faux fur rug we are sitting on rustles as I climb into Alex’s lap, threading my fingers into his hair. He grins indulgently, bracing himself with his hands flat on the rug.

“What do you want, wife?” he rumbles, letting me run my nails over his scalp and my lips over his jaw.

“Make love to me,” I demand.

“Ask nicely,” he says, voice getting raspier.

“Please make love to me,” I beg, softly biting his lower lip. “I need you so much.”

“Only because you said please.” Alex chuckles, sliding my sweater over my head and unhooking my bra. I can’t keep my hands off him, and I growl with frustration as I have to stop to give him space to work.

His gaze drags over me, pupils blown wide with lust. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growls, the touch of his fingertips on my bare chest causing a rush of wetness between my legs.

Alex leans me back in his lap, his hands on my shoulder blades and his mouth moving over every inch of my breasts, sucking my nipples into his mouth until I’m ready to scream. Each pull and nibble causes me to feel more and more swollen between my thighs, warmth spreading to my stomach.

Everything blurs together—his tongue, his fingers, the taste of his skin under my questing mouth. My chest heaves, blood pumping rapidly through my heart. I don’t know when our clothes come the rest of the way off, or when Alex gently lays me down on the fluffy white rug, raising himself over me like some Adonis, but I know that I can’t get enough of him. He’s flawless, all bronzed skin, eyes the color of the sea, and when one of my hands wraps around the hard length of his shaft, he hisses between his teeth.

“Need you,” I breathe. “P-please Alex, don’t make me wait.”

Anticipation has my stomach churning, but when he slides into me, I nearly see stars, my body welcoming him gladly, and my short nails dig into his shoulders in ecstasy as he pumps in and out. His pace is controlled, even, but I don’t want controlled. I want all of him unleashed, and I tell him so with my body, meeting him thrust for thrust until he curses and gives me what I need. I moan into his mouth, running high on pleasure, My fingers tug his hair, and my hips undulate against him when his stubble brushes my face.

“Oh yes,” I breathe, drunk in rapture. “Ah!”

We are perfectly matched, climbing the peak to orgasm together, murmuring words of love and worship to each other. I feel like a string, ready to snap, my body vibrating with it.

“Come for me,” Alex grits out.

And I do. Oh, I do.

“Fuck!” I exclaim, my spine arching off the carpet, not even clocking the filthy words coming out of my mouth. Alex makes a triumphant noise as my inner walls spasm around him, pulling him deeper until he’s coming too, praising my name.

I cup his face in my hands, even though a bit shaky. “I love you. I love you,” I repeat, my heart full.

His piercing blue eyes burn straight through me as we gaze at each other in silence.

His voice is exhausted, but the love shines through still. “And I love you too, beautiful wife.”

CHAPTER 9

The Netherlands, February 19, 2022

Petra Van Gatt

“Stop messing with your hair,” Catherine whispers ascetically, taking my compact and closing it with an audible snap. “You’re twenty, Petra, you’re stunning. Stop messing around.”

“Give me that back!” I hiss, yanking my compact out of her grasp.

“Ladies, please,” Dad groans from the front seat of our rental SUV, which is a black Volvo XC90 with tan leather interior. Alex is in the passenger seat, while Catherine and I are seated in the back, with the twins in the last row, content in their car seats, switching between babbling and playing with their car toys and napping. I’m already regretting sharing a ride here, but Catherine had promised to coach me on the attending guests.

She looks like she could have owned the Van Den Bosch mansion on her own. She’s so impeccably dressed, her short blond hair is slicked back smooth, and she sports a Khaite sleeveless dress, made of intricate draping that is such a pale gold that it seems nearly white. My own dress is quite different; a light pink, with the skirt falling under my knees, long sleeves, and a high neckline. The entire thing is crafted of filigree lace, and I had left my legs bare of any sort of hose. I’m wearing my hair down in a straight and shimmering sheet, and hardly any makeup.

That didn’t stop me from obsessively checking my reflection, though. I hate to admit it, but I’m more than a little nervous to see Alex’s family again.

Calm down, I command myself. You’re here for a reason. Keep it together.

I take a deep breath and think back to what I’m trying to protect by being here. The conversation with Emma last Saturday had reinforced my decision to come to Sebastian’s birthday party. Both Julia and Alex had promised to intercept Yara and make sure she leaves me alone, forever hopefully. This is my chance to evict Yara from my life, and by association, Emma's life once and for all. The sacrifice seems so worth it.

While I’m not having second thoughts as we pull up to the valet, I don’t want to go in and pretend like we are one big, happy family, either. No matter, it’s a little late to back out now, so with a steadying breath, I let Alex help me out of the car while Dad hands the keys to the valet, and then the men get the children’s seats out of the back.

I remember coming here once for a brunch Julia had organized, and yet, as I take in my surroundings, the immensity of the estate still catches me by surprise.

The outside of the Van Den Bosch mansion is absolutely swimming with cars, and the small crew of valets are working overtime to try to keep up. As much as I’m not a fan of the family, there’s no denying that their property is the epitome of old money. The house itself is exquisite, reminiscent of something out of a period drama. A long staircase leads to an entryway covered by a portico made of white stone, secured by a colonnade. The front garden is perfectly manicured, stretching out so far that we can’t even see the street, and a fountain stands in the roundabout in front of the home.

Catherine and Alex are both obviously excited to see everyone, but I hang back a few steps as we approach the entrance to talk to my father, who is at least a little more subdued.

“Regretting the invitation yet?” I ask in a whisper.

“I’m compromising for Catherine,” he informs me, adjusting his hold on Jasmine’s carrier. “Plus, looking at this place, I’m sure they’ll have some phenomenal, aged Macallan somewhere. So, you know, little victories.”

I can’t help but snort at his comment while Dad speeds up his pace to catch up with Catherine. He looks great, I have to admit, especially at her side. The tailored suit and its velvet maroon blazer makes him look ten years younger.

Alex looks incredibly handsome tonight too in a gray three-piece suit. He’s skipped the tie and the first button of his white shirt has been left undone. As we get closer to the entrance, I join my husband, hooking one of my arms through his free one, so we can walk inside as a united front.

As we wait to get in, I look slightly up, noticing the Van Den Bosch family crest perched on the façade, right above the front doors.

Like the outside of the home, the inside is equally dazzling, with a domed ceiling soaring high above us in the vestibule, all the way past the other floors to the very top of the mansion. The floors are dark green marble, shined to a reflective sheen, with mosaic tile in shades of white, cream, and gold on the ceiling, mirroring the filigreed design of the landscape art outside.

Our coats are taken by a butler, and once they discover exactly who we are, the staff springs into action, escorting us directly to Julia and Sebastian. We take the babies out of their carriers, which are immediately whisked away to the nursery area.

Their ballroom connects directly to the dining room, the green marble floors transitioning to a dark cherry stained planking. It’s opulent, with portraits of the family, old and new, decorating the walls along with a vast assortment of artwork, all in frames so beautiful that they rival the paintings themselves.

Speaking of beautiful things… I finally see Julia, tall and thin, with incredibly long legs bare from the knee down and her blond wavy hair perfectly complemented by her ice blue dress. Standing near her are her daughters, in dresses of the same shade, just with slightly different cuts. They look like smaller, mirrored versions of Julia and the thought of it makes me shudder.

Sebastian is there too, the man of the hour himself. It’s his fifty-fifth birthday, but if someone had asked me, I’d have pegged him as forty-five. There are only light hints of gray in his brown hair, and the only real indicator of his age are the crinkles at the corner of his brown eyes when he smiles.

Sebastian sees us first, and he leaves the small group of people he’s talking to mid-conversation to meet Alex half-way, walking in long strides. The two men meet with an enthusiastic handshake and shoulder pats, while Alex juggles a mildly annoyed Jasper from arm to arm.

Catherine has already bypassed me too and is hugging Julia within seconds of seeing her. I’m left standing with Dad again, and Jasmine, who is quiet for once, content to gawk at everything around her from her grandfather’s arms.

Eventually, Catherine waves me over and Dad and I have to go greet Julia. My smile is brittle, but Julia seems honestly pleased to see me, and even more pleased to see Jasmine.

“May I hold her?” she asks. I’m appreciative enough that she didn’t try to just take her, like her mom had done before, and my dad hands a slightly reluctant Jasmine to her aunt.

Unsurprisingly, Julia holds Jasmine like a seasoned professional, immediately cocking her hip out to balance the baby. She's a mother of six, after all. This isn’t her first time around with an infant. The daughters, who I recall as Elise and Hanna, fawn over Jasmine as if she is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen, and slowly Jasmine warms up to the attention.

“Look how tiny she is!” Hanna gushes. “And her adorable little shoes!”

“Her eyes are so beautiful!” Elise sighs. “Such a perfect blue.”

Julia strokes her niece's cheek. “What a little princess. She really enjoys the compliments, doesn’t she?”

I have to agree, “She’s going to be impossible when she’s older, having grown up with everyone telling her how perfect she is.”

“It’s good for her to have a high sense of self-worth. She’ll need it in a world like ours.” Julia turns a bit, and I follow her gaze. Unsurprisingly, Alex, Dad, and Sebastian are in a loose circle as they talk, and Sebastian has acquired Jasper, who has a grip on his uncle’s collar. “They’re beautiful children, Petra. Honestly.”

“Thanks,” I say, a little awkwardly.

Julia cranes her head around a little more, taking in all the guests and her staff, who are setting up the long dining room table for dinner. “Before the rest of my family arrives, can I invite you to come see Andries? He’s avoiding everyone, as is typical of him, but I’m hoping you can coax him out.”

I sigh, but this is what I’m here for. “Of course. Alex mentioned that there is a nursery area for the children?”

Julia nods. “Yes, my Arthur and his nanny are there now. She’s top notch, I promise you, and little Jasmine and Jasper are sure to enjoy themselves. May I have Elise and Hanna take them there?”

I look at the two with apprehension, which Julia quickly picks up on. “They have extensive experience with Arthur. They’re more than capable of safely delivering your little bundles of joy.”

“Okay,” I agree, still reluctant, but I watch as Julia passes Jasmine to Elise and motions for me to follow her upstairs.

I give the twins a quick kiss goodbye, which they hardly acknowledge, being so busy with all the new things around them, before catching up with Julia.

With her smartphone in hand, we leave the dining room and everyone else behind, and her public persona fades once we have some distance, her poise dropping just a touch as we start climbing the marble stairs to head to the second floor. “I know you don’t like me, Petra, and I can’t blame you for our storied history, but I hope you can help my son.”

Well, at least she’s upfront and honest. Good.

“Alex told me Sebastian has been quite worried?” I ask.

“We all are,” Julia confirms. “He’s moved back in with us since their breakup, but I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him since.”

We reach the door to one of the bedrooms, which looks as innocuous as all the others. Julia knocks twice, and if there is anyone inside, they ignore her completely. With a pinched expression, she tries to open the door, but it’s obviously locked. She mutters something under her breath, before she types something on her smartphone and tries calling her son a few times. But when the calls are also ignored, she becomes visibly agitated.

“I hate when he’s like this,” she confides, an edge of panic to her voice. “If he would at least let me know he’s okay, it wouldn’t be so hard.”

Julia continues to knock and call and text, becoming more and more distressed as she’s ignored. She wrings her hands, breaths coming fast and eyes misting over.

“Every time I worry that something terrible has happened to him… that he might have…” She chokes on the word, and in a moment of sympathy for this woman I despise, I lay a comforting hand on her bare shoulder. She’s quivering beneath my touch.

A mother’s love is universal, and I understand her all too well in that second. As a last resort, she takes from her pocket, a spare key. With unsteady hands, she fits the key on the door lock and turns it around a few times until we finally hear it squeaks. Jeez! I’m almost sick with nerves when Julia swings the door open.

The room is pitch black, but once my eyes adjust, I see a single lamp burning near the shape of a bed. And seated on the bed, is a very much alive, and annoyed, Andries, writing in a notebook. His scowl is thunderous when he sees his mother.

“How dare you come into my room uninvited?”

Andries pulls off a pair of large headphones, throwing them on the pillow beside him as he looks at Julia and me with narrowed eyes.

“It’s almost time for dinner,” Julia says. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“Because part of the agreement for me living here so you can keep me under your thumb was that I didn’t have to attend any of your asinine social functions,” Andries snips.

Oh, I didn’t know it was Julia’s idea for him to move back home. The more you know…

“It’s a dinner in your own home,” Julia counters back. “Your father’s birthday dinner, might I add.”

“Even more reason for me not to attend,” Andries says, closing his notebook.

Julia angrily flips the overhead light on and as we both take a few more steps to stand at his bedside, I finally get a good look at her son. He’s the perfect blend of his mother and father, with Julia’s high cheekbones and full lips and his father’s powerful jaw and coppery-brown hair. He’s young, my age or maybe a little younger, without a hint of facial hair on his smooth-skinned cheeks.

He has thick, full brows over his grandparent’s blue eyes, except Andries’ are ringed with a line of darker blue on the edge of his irises. The complete picture is one of a serious, alluringly handsome young man. I get the impression that if his attitude could be a little better, he’d have eligible bachelorettes camping on the lawn outside, waiting for the chance to speak to him.

Julia crosses her arms, glaring at her son. Any fear she had been feeling has all but vanished. “It’s one dinner with your family. Get dressed, Andries.”

“There are hundreds of people I have no interest in meeting,” he tells her, his tone dismissive. He starts to put his headphones back on, but Julia stops him.

“You can at least say hello to Petra here. You haven’t seen her since her and your Uncle Alex’s wedding, and she’s come all the way from New York to see us.”

Andries’s reluctant gaze drifts over to me, and he examines me, recollection coming to his eyes. “Yeah, I remember you. What do you want?”

“You and Petra are the same age, so I thought it might be nice to have someone you can relate to around,” Julia informs him. “She’s in college too. I bet you both have a ton in common.”

Andries sighs unhappily, closing his eyes. “Mom, you can’t expect me to just become friends with—”

Julia ignores him, making her way back out into the hallway with a wave. “You two just come down when you’re ready! See you in a bit!” And she shuts the door behind her.

The awkwardness is thick in the air as Andries and I stare at each other, but eventually he waves toward a swivel chair in front of his computer desk, before his attention drifts back to his notebook. I go have a seat, adjusting my skirt.

“Sorry about this,” I tell him. “But your mom is worried about you. She thinks since we’re peers, you might enjoy my company a little more than some of the dinosaurs downstairs.” I try to joke, but Andries just continues to stare at me with a straight face. “So, uh… what are you writing in your notebook?”

“You don’t have to pretend you care,” he says, exasperated. “I don’t know why Mom brought you here, but seriously, you are wasting your time.”

I lean forward a little. “Your mom told me your girlfriend broke up with you,” I tell him, my voice gentle, as I try to coax a reaction from him. “I know how it feels to love someone and then to have that person break up with you. It’s a pain like no other.”

Andries chuckles. “That’s what Mom told you?” he scoffs. “Wow. Well, I’m the one who broke up with her if you must know. But it’s fantastic that she can’t bother to pay attention to the details of my relationship.”

“Oh, you did?” I ask, bewildered. “But why? Julia said you two were deeply in love.”

“Because it’s for the better,” he states simply, returning to his notebook and, thoroughly focused, he continues writing. There’s a lot left unsaid, I’m sure, but he isn’t offering anything else up for me, so I try a new approach.

“What are you writing in there?” I ask again. “Are you an aspiring author?”

There’s a few beats of silence and it feels like my question is hanging in the air.

“Sort of,” he finally replies, his eyes barely leaving his notebook. “Much to the disappointment of my parents.” He pauses, his gaze finally drifting up. “I’m writing about how the woman I love above life itself broke my heart.” There is a note of genuine grief in his otherwise sarcastic voice. “Writing has therapeutic effects, or so I’ve been told.”

Now we’re getting somewhere. “What did she do to break your heart? It has to be something terrible if you want nothing to do with her anymore.”

“Oh, she was…” He breaks eye contact, his gaze dropping to his lap as if searching for the best words to put on, and yet, it seems like he can’t find any. “Whatever. I just want to write everything down, get her out of my system, and then move on. I was just a fucking idiot who believed she was the one.”

“The one?” Wow! This was really serious then. “You’re not an idiot. The heart wants what the heart wants. Don’t be surprised if just writing it out isn’t enough to wash her from your system, though.” Andries makes a distraught noise at that, looking down at the words he had just written. “How long were you guys together?” I ask carefully.

“Like three months, but I knew she was the one since the day I met her.” He lets out a self-deprecating chuckle. “You must think I’m crazy.”

I smile at him gently, wanting Andries to know that I’m an ally. I understand him, and what he’s going through. “Crazy? You?” I ask rhetorically. “At seven I was already painting family portraits with your uncle and I and our two children, so I’ll be the last person to judge.”

Andries seems surprised, and then he bursts out laughing, and it’s genuine this time. He has a lovely laugh, warm and thick like honey. “Okay, that’s even weirder than what I’m going through.”

We both laugh then, and he finally seems to relax a little, realizing that I’m not there to tell him he’s wrong, or be dramatic. Maybe he really does just need a friend that understands his strife.

“What’s her name?” I ask once the laughter dies away.

Andries becomes serious again, but not antagonistic. “Roxanne.” He rolls her name around in his mouth like something beautiful and exotic. “Roxanne Feng.”

“What a unique name. Did your mom meet her?”

“Yeah, on my birthday.” He makes another one of those sarcastic chuckles, now that we're back on the subject of his family. “Needless to say, Mom wasn’t pleased even though she was feigning happiness the whole dinner.”

“Why wasn’t she pleased?” I query, a little confused. There are all kinds of reasons Julia could have found this Roxanne lacking. Maybe she was afraid she was after Andries money, or maybe she came from an alternative lifestyle Julia doesn’t agree with.

“She’s thirty-five. And Mom is forty-one,” he tells me slowly.

“Oh.” Now I understand why his mom brought me here. I have nothing to say to that, thinking of the age gap between my husband and I. Personally, I see nothing wrong with Andries choice of lover. Thirty-five is by no means old.

“But I mean, you and my uncle are like twenty-three years apart, right? And yet you seem to be doing okay.” There is a thread of hope in his voice, looking for my confirmation.

“We are fine now. But it wasn’t always that way. I’ll be completely honest with you… it wasn’t always an easy road.”

“I know, but even my parents have an age gap,” he points out, scoffing at the thought of it. His head falls back onto his headboard as he then grumbles, “Rules for thee, not for me.”

“Yeah, it can be. Everyone older than you will always think they know better. But if you want them to respect your choices, you have to go toe to toe with them to prove you’re capable. Not hide away and let them judge you.” While he’s ruminating over everything I just told him, I stand, smooth my dress, and looking him in the eye, I add, “Come down to dinner with us, Andries. Your uncle would love to see you.”

He leans forward again and hesitates. I notice he’s wearing a pair of navy sweatpants and a simple white t-shirt, but even so, he looks so put together. Andries belongs downstairs, under the crystalline lights of the ballroom chandelier and among all the people that doubt him. He just doesn’t realize it yet.

“I’ll wait in the hallway for you to get changed,” I tell him, giving him no choice to get out of it, and before he responds, I leave quickly, clicking his door shut behind me.

I’m worried he might lock the door and go back to moping, but after a few minutes, Andries emerges.

I’m immediately envious of how short of a time it took him to get ready, but wow! What a difference! He’s slicked his tousled hair back just slightly, and changed into a pair of tailored, charcoal slacks and a black button-down shirt, his sleeves casually rolled up to expose his muscled forearms. He looks young, wealthy, and carefree. I wonder if he knows just how handsome he is, with those pouty lips and heavy brows. The girls at Columbia would be falling over themselves to talk to him if they had ever seen him.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbles, and I grab his arm, giggling as he rolls his eyes at having to escort me.

“You wouldn’t want your uncle Alex to see you letting his beloved wife struggle down the stairs in her heels when his nephew could help her!” I tease, and Andries just grunts, head shaking. Grumpy boy.

The first person we encounter at the bottom of the stairs is Sebastian, who is busy mingling with a few other men. Yet, upon seeing us, he hustles over to his son with a bright, hopeful look in his eyes. “Andries!” Sebastian exclaims. “Now that’s a surprise…”

Sebastian tries to give Andries some sort of affectionate pat, but he brushes past him, leaving his dad standing alone and forlorn.

Surprised at his behavior, I glare up at my nephew-in-law. “That was rude.”

“It’s a long story,” Andries says shortly. “Don’t ask.”

I want to dive into the story more, curiosity burning at me, but I let it slide, not wanting to spook Andries after finally getting him down here.

As we reach the dining room, we see Alex, and he looks almost as glad as Sebastian to see Andries. This time, though, Andries accepts the handshake Alex offers, and I leave the two men to talk while I go to mingle with everyone else before dinner.

I’m swirling a glass of champagne in my hand, thoroughly looking at what I can only guess is an original Andy Warhol painting, when a shadow appears at my side. I turn, only to see Margaret there next to me, also looking at the painting.

“Well, well, well…if it isn’t my matchmaking daughter-in-law,” Margaret says quietly.

“Reluctantly matchmaking daughter-in-law,” I correct. “Do you need something? Maybe to gaslight me or ruin my life a little more?”

“Oh Petra,” Margaret tuts. “I’m quite pleased with you at the moment. My Yara is here with her husband, finally having removed her head from the fog of her unfortunate affair, and no one is any the wiser. And I see my elusive grandson is interacting with real, living humans, which is better than I hoped for this evening! I should thank you.”

I straighten my posture, my eyes narrowing on her. “Go ahead then. Thank me.”

Eye on eye, the tension grows while she seems to consider it and then shakes her head. “No, maybe later.” She turns, ready to leave my presence, when I say her name, and her attention shifts back to me.

“It was you wasn’t it?” I ask, searching for the truth in her gaze.

But Margaret doesn’t even flinch and remains just as unmoved as before. “What do you mean?”

“The sex-tape,” I tell her. “It was you who hired that reporter in Aspen, right?”

She raises her eyebrows, slightly flabbergasted by my question. “I have no idea what you are talking about, my dear.” Her tone is serious, without a trace of sarcasm to be found.

But Margaret can pull a poker face like no one else, so there’s absolutely no way to find out the truth. “Of course not,” I scoff.

She doesn’t even try to reassure me, on the contrary, she heaves a long exasperated breath, ready to leave my presence. “Have a good evening.”

I grind my teeth as the older woman floats away over the ballroom floor, but I let her go. I don’t want to extend our interactions any longer than necessary.

As the cocktail-hour goes on, I see Yara and Elliot from a distance. If looks could kill, I’d be long dead. I’ve never gotten a more intense feeling of hate from anyone as I do now from Yara, but true to their word, every time I see her coming toward me, murder in her eyes, Julia or Sebastian intercept her for some inane question or to introduce her to another guest. I don’t know if she realizes what’s happening, but I take joy in watching her be thwarted over and over again.

Alex finds me right before the cocktail hour ends, and we go to the dinner table together, hand in hand. He leans down to whisper, “Yara looks like she’s about to spontaneously combust.”

“I wouldn’t be mad if she did,” I answer, suppressing a laugh.

“It’d be entertaining, I must admit,” Alex replies, humor dripping from his voice. “She should behave, though.”

Dinner is brilliant, of course, and the hundreds upon hundreds of plates come out without a hitch. I don’t even have to mention my veganism, either; all of my dishes come out specially prepared. I look at Julia, who gives me a polite nod, looking over at her son before raising her glass to me in a private toast.

I flash her a cordial smile in return, raising my glass back, on even ground for the moment with my sister-in-law. At least she isn’t plotting my untimely death, like Yara.

Margaret is sitting close enough to Catherine and Julia to maintain a constant conversation, but they have placed Yara and Elliot at the end of the table. Far enough away that she can’t speak to me even if she tried. Margaret’s middle daughter, Maud, is seated with Yara and Elliot, but she seems annoyed at how distracted Yara is as she tries to make small talk.

All in all, it’s a beautiful evening so far. Andries looks like he has eaten something sour, and every time his father reaches over to squeeze his mother’s hand or kiss her cheek he scowls and rolls his eyes, but he answers questions when he is spoken to and doesn’t bolt mid meal. I count it as a success in my book.

When the meal ends, some guests retire to the library for port and cigars, while the younger couples take straight to the dance floor when the live string quartet starts up. I assure Alex that I will be fine, and he’s on cloud nine as he goes with Sebastian and Dad to the library.

While waiting for a fresh glass of champagne at the counter of the bar, another familiar face catches my eye—Alex’s middle sister approaches me with a polite look on her face. Maud is not only the scientist of the family but also the most secretive sibling of the bunch. I’ve spoken to her maybe five times in my whole life, and yet, her contribution to my mother’s death is undeniable.

“You seem to be doing well in the lion's pit tonight,” Maud tells me, gesturing at the ballroom before ordering her own refill. Her tone might be polite, her smile perfectly lady-like, but I know all too well that behind the charade, she’s just a heartless accomplice in my mom’s murder.

“Reluctantly, but I’m making it work,” I manage to pull off.

She nods knowingly. “Sometimes that’s all we can do.”

Drink in hand, I go to see who else I can talk to while I wait on Alex to return. My eyes land on the French glass doors leading out to a terrace at the far end of the room. As I reach them, my eyes zoom in on the figure leaning against the railing that I immediately recognize.

I open the terrace doors as quietly as I can, but Andries still hears me. He turns stiffly but relaxes when he sees it's me.

“Hey, sorry,” I say, feeling a bit like an intruder as I close the door behind us, but I want to escape the presence of those people just as much as he does. “How are you doing?” My question is hanging in the air while I walk over to lean over the railing next to him.

He shrugs one shoulder. “Fine, I guess. I just don’t want to be surrounded by people right now. It’s suffocating.”

“Yeah, it’s hard to tolerate these enormous groups when you’re torn up inside.”

Andries turns his gaze back to the horizon and silence settles between us as we remain contemplating the landscape amid the freezing dark night.

“You are still thinking about her, huh?” My question breaks our quiet moment, but Andries doesn’t seem to mind.

“It’s hard not to.” He sighs, his gaze drifting back to me. “The second time I met her was here on this very terrace.”

My brows furrow in confusion. “Wait,” I say, taken aback by his revelation. “She came here even before you were together?”

“Yep, she was the plus one of a guy that works at my dad’s company.” He pauses for a beat and heaves a long sigh as if what he’s thinking hurts. “The first time I met her was at the University of Amsterdam. I was lost, and she showed me the way…” His voice takes on a wistful quality, as he’s entirely engrossed in the memory. “In those brief minutes we walked together, there was something between us. Something that told me I’d see her again.”

His expression is soft. It’s the look of a man who adored a woman. “You seem to love her quite a bit. Are you sure it’s really over for good?”

“I do love her. To the point I have a hard time going through the motions of everyday life without thinking of her constantly. But I have to move on…” His voice shakes. “I just don’t know how to… how to let her go.”

I consider what Julia had brought me here for. She wanted me to find someone new for Andries, but I see myself in his plight so much. His grief and deep love for this Roxanne is exactly what I had felt for Alex. The hopeless romantic in me doesn’t want him to move on, not when he already has a true love. “Is it unforgivable?” He frowns, so I explain further, “What she did?”

He hesitates, but nods. “She lied a lot… too much for me to just be able to let it go.” Oh, she’s a liar. That reminds me of someone I know.

“Maybe she did it because she was afraid to lose you?” I say, nearly repeating Alex’s exact same words. “Why don’t you give her a second chance? She’s just human, after all. We all make mistakes.”

There’s a trace of a smile settling on his lips. “I thought Mom sent you here to hook me up with some other perfect woman? She’s been trying to dissuade me from even thinking about her.” He must be able to see the surprise on my face, because he explains, “Everyone has heard about your friend Emma and that artist Shiori.”

“Of course they have,” I grumble, taking a drink of my champagne. “Yeah, she brought me here to find you a partner, but I didn’t know the details.” I ponder my next words, because I’ll have a lot of explaining to do if I convince Andries to go back to Roxanne instead of finding someone else for him. “Do you think she still loves you?”

“Oh, yeah,” he answers straight away. “She’s been trying to reach out nonstop.” He runs a hand through his brown hair, a few strands falling back on his forehead. “I’m so damn confused. On one hand, I want to forgive her, but on the other…” He blows out a breath, stirring his rogue strands of hair. “My family is very much against me seeing her, and she works in an industry I’m fairly against, morally speaking.”

Her job is keeping them apart? Now that’s strange. “Can’t she quit her job and do something else?”

His laugh is sarcastic and full of hurt. “I don’t think so; she’s a proud business owner.”

“That sounds like a good thing. What kind of business?”

“I can’t tell you about that,” he groans. “It’s just… it’s just so fucking humiliating. But trust me when I say it’s not a good one.”

“Oh. Um, alright.” A few scenarios run in my mind, but I make a conscious effort to not let my curious mind wander for too long. “Look, since I managed to find someone for my best friend, and God knows how high her standards are, maybe I can try and find someone else for you?”

I thought he would laugh, or dismiss my comment, but to my surprise, Andries just nods pensively, before taking a quick sip on his glass of burgundy. “I appreciate it, Petra, but I’m not interested in meeting anyone else.”

“I understand. Don’t tell your mother, but I promise not to force someone on you. I’ve been where you are,” I tell him sincerely. After all, I’d have replied the same. Despite all the highs and lows of my relationship with Alex, I’d have never wanted to meet someone else.

We’re quiet for a few minutes, Andries lost in thought about Roxanne I’m sure, while I think about Alex and all that we had overcome. Finally, I stand up straight and stretch. “Well, I’m going back inside. Don’t be a stranger, Andries.”

“I won’t.” He gives me a warm smile. “Thank you for the chat.”

“You’re welcome,” I reply, giving him a pat on his arm.

Back inside, Julia is immediately at my side, walking with me and talking. “Well? How is it going? Have you decided on anyone to introduce him to?”

I exhale slowly, stopping so I can look Julia in the eye. “You’re not going to like this answer, but you should leave him alone. He needs time to heal before he will even think about seeing anyone else.”

Julia stiffens. “I brought you here to find him an appropriate partner.”

“I know you did, but the more you push, the more he’s going to shy away and go back into hiding.” She doesn’t look convinced, but I continue. “He’s just like I was. If you respect his healing process and don’t try to control him, he will be more likely to let you in. Love him, Julia, but you have to let him be his own person.”

Julia clearly wants to argue, her eyes darting to Andries’ still form on the terrace. Her gaze softens as she looks at her son, love shining through. “Alright. If you’re sure, we’ll give him some more time.” She looks back to me, unsure. “When he’s ready though, will you try to help him find someone?”

I pause, wanting to cut and run, but I remember how she kept Yara away from me all night. I want that to continue, so I nod. “As long as you keep Yara at bay, I’ll try my best to help Andries.”

“Okay…” She sighs. “Okay. Thank you, Petra.”

She walks away, as beautiful and graceful as ever. I feel a hand on my waist then, right before my husband embraces me from behind, whispering into my ear, “I requested a special song for us. May I have this dance?”

He smells like cigar smoke and his cedar-wood cologne, and I take a moment to turn and nuzzle myself into his neck. “Absolutely.”

I don’t know what special song he could have requested, but right as the question crosses my mind, the string quartet launches into the soaring notes of our wedding song, “The Look of Love” by Diana Krall. I’m immediately suffused by memories and love, my heart aching with it.

“Oh, you sneaky man,” I tell him, a knot in my throat.

We float across the dance floor, moving together effortlessly. Alex brushes my hair from my shoulder as we turn, affection written all over his features.

“How is my nephew doing?” he asks as we dance. “He seemed reserved when we spoke.”

“He’s… well… he’s lovesick. It’s complicated.”

“But do you think you helped him at all?” Alex asks, curious.

Everything flashes through my thoughts: mine and Alex’s history, the forlorn look on Andries’ face when he spoke about his Roxanne, and the burning question of what she could’ve done to make Andries so upset that he couldn’t be with her, no matter how much love is between them. I shrug delicately, telling Alex, “I think I helped him realize how he truly feels. Maybe I helped him figure out what he wants in his heart.”

Alex hums thoughtfully. “Sometimes all we need is to see what’s right in front of our faces. If you gave him clarity, that may be all he needs.”

As Alex twirls me around the ballroom, I take one last glance at Andries’ lonesome silhouette out in the frosty night. “I hope so. I really do.”

THE END.

READY FOR WHAT’S NEXT?

Roxanne., the first installment of the Van den Bosch series will be out soon!

Preorder yours now here.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you so much to have followed Alex and Petra’s journey with me, not only through the whole Blossom in Winter series but into their Happily Ever After as well. Getting to watch them settle into married life and embrace parenthood, all while juggling between jobs, school, Margaret’s demands, and the ever-present family conflicts has been such a wonderful experience for me and I can only have faith that it has been for you too. I hope you’ve enjoyed these four novellas and that you’re ready to embark in the all-consuming story of Andries and Roxanne.

A big thank you to my editors, Haley and Susan, for having helped me along the way. And of course I’d also like to thank my beta readers and street team for their invaluable feedback.

I’m deeply humbled by all the support my first series has gathered and I hope you’ll enjoy the next one just as much. Thank You!

Melanie Martins writes provocative love stories laced with thriller, anti-heroes, controversies, and erotism. She believes unconditional love is human’s biggest superpower along with kindness and gratitude. When she is not behind her laptop writing, she can be found globetrotting, reading, daydreaming, and sharing her adventures on social media such as Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Goodreads.

Born in France and raised in Portugal, she has traveled to over 70 countries and is now living in Mexico.

Find more at melaniemartins.com

Table of Contents

Title Page

Contents

Happily Ever After Book 3

Happily Ever After Book 3

Copyright

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

Happily Ever After Book 4

Happily Ever After Book 4

Copyright

13. Chapter 1

14. Chapter 2

15. Chapter 3

16. Chapter 4

17. Chapter 5

18. Chapter 6

19. Chapter 7

20. Chapter 8

21. Chapter 9

Facebook Group

Acknowledgments

About the Author