Hope was waiting for us in New York.
HOPE BITES BACK
Vera
Manhattan, New York, Wednesday, June 1
“Fascinating,” Julian commented, reading the hieroglyphics on a scroll displayed behind the protective glass at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. “It’s an ancient Egyptian love spell.”
The museum was hosting a black-tie gala Wednesday night, unveiling new treasures in the Egyptian wing. Naturally, Julian was hooked—an archaeology professor couldn’t resist.
“Come on, Jules. You don’t want to be late,” I insisted, tugging his jacket sleeve.
Normally, my brother showed up fifteen minutes early to everything. But tonight he was spellbound, lost in the artifacts. I tugged his hand, pulling him toward the Temple of Dendur. Its Corinthian columns rose around us, walls carved with papyrus, lotus blooms, and the Nile god Hapy.
“Vee, this place is perfect.” Julian almost never smiled, but tonight he lit up with hope. In his tuxedo, he didn’t even notice the cluster of women eyeing him like dessert.
“Mister Scott has impeccable taste,” I said, smoothing the embroidered lace dress Alistair had given me. Pearls and crystals traced intricate patterns across the fabric, glinting against my olive skin.
Then I saw him. Fifteen feet away, locked in conversation with one of New York’s deputy mayors. My heart jolted. The jet-black tux, polished shoes, curls slicked back in a sharp style—he radiated unapologetic masculinity.
“Jules, he’s here.” I nudged my brother’s elbow. He glanced past me, eager to meet the man who’d flown us here on his private jet and tucked us into a five-star hotel off Fifth Avenue.
Alistair’s emerald eyes caught mine as he wrapped up his conversation, then he sauntered toward us. “So, we meet again, Miss Richland,” he drawled. His gaze flicked briefly over me before shifting to Julian.
“Mister Scott, I’d like you to meet Julian.” I kept my tone impersonal as I stood next to my brother.
“Alistair Scott,” he said, giving Julian a firm handshake.
“Julian Richland,” my brother replied. “I appreciate you taking the time to meet this evening. I wish we could have met under more favorable circumstances.”
“Come with me,” Alistair said, gesturing toward an entrance. “We’ll talk privately.”
A few minutes later, a security officer led us to a secluded hall lined with two private rooms. I couldn’t help noticing how Julian and Alistair matched in height, though my brother’s weight training gave him a bulkier build. Both carried themselves with the same proud intelligence, but that’s where the similarities ended. Julian was introverted, precise with his words. Alistair, on the other hand, was edgy and impulsive. He let his thoughts fly without a filter.
“Vera, will you please excuse your brother and me?” Alistair asked, opening the door to one of the rooms. I was about to protest when he raised an eyebrow.“I need to talk to him alone.”
“Sure, I’ll wait right here with Sofia,” I said, observing the security officer’s name badge.
“Sofia, perhaps you can give Vera a tour of the Japanese art department,” Alistair suggested.
“Certainly, Mister Scott,” she replied.
“When would you like me to come back, Alistair?” I asked.
“I’ll call you.”
Alistair
“Julian, would you like a drink? Try this whiskey. It’s a single malt from 1978.” Standing behind a self-service bar, I offered a glass of the good stuff to Vera’s brother.
“Thank you,” Julian said. He took the glass, swirled it, and took a sip.
“Tell me, what has my ex-wife been up to these days?” I poured another glass of whiskey and savored its sweet, slightly warming elements.
“Saira is a cunt,” Julian replied.
“I have to agree with you on that,” I said, raising my glass. After I’d married her, I learned how empty she really was. Zero empathy. She once hurled a phone at a cleaner because a crystal vase wasn’t centered on the table. When the woman quit, Saira didn’t blink.“Some people were born to serve, and others were born to be served. You and I were born to be served, Alistair,”she’d said. Divorcing her was the best decision I ever made. Thatmarriage had never been love—just a strategic alliance. Still, something good came of it. My son. Damian.
