A few minutes later, when he rests his hand on my thigh like he always does, I leave it. I can’t feel much through the heavy tweed of my dress, and my pulse doesn’t kick up like it used to do, but the weight is nice.
I’m not alone.
I’ve lived enough in my twenty-six years that it doesn’t count for nothing.
The dinner isin a private room at Don Fratelli, the fancy steakhouse in the retail space at Maddox Tower with darkwood accents and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Rockefeller Center. We park in the Maddox family’s reserved section in the underground garage. Adrian won’t valet the Scorpion. No one gets behind the wheel of his baby except him—and Pearl.
When I first moved to New York, I did all the touristy things by myself on my days off—Ellis Island, the Empire State Building, the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I saved Rockefeller Center for December so I could see the tree and the ice-skating rink and all the decorations. I still love it. I don’t care if it’s cheesy.
We’re the first to arrive at the restaurant, and Adrian offers me a seat facing the window. The Christmas tree towers as tall as a building, flooding the plaza with light.
We’re supposed to be joined by Yann Richard, a French client of Adrian’s, and his wife Huda. They’re in town for the holidays. Before Pearl was born, we spent time with them in Lyon when Adrian had business there for a few weeks. I liked them.
Yann is in his fifties, French, and bombastically charming. Flirtatious, really. Huda is a scientist, originally from Jordan, and she pays him very little mind. I thought when I met them that they seemed happy with each other despite their vast differences. It made me feel better about Adrian and me.
For some reason, there are six seats set at the table, which is odd for a nice restaurant. When they have Michelin stars, they don’t usually make do and whisk away extra place settings like they do at an Olive Garden.
“Is there another couple joining us?” I ask Adrian.
“No, just the Richards.”
At that moment, the hostess escorts a group into the room. Adrian stands to greet them. Yann and Huda. Andalso Mike Engels, the Chief Risk Officer at Maddox Capital. And Delaney Pierson.
My guts wrench.
Delaney immediately locks eyes with me. Her lips curve. My gaze drops like a brick to the table. In my periphery, I watch as they take off their coats, unwind their scarves, and hang them on the rack by the door, saying the things people say when they come in from the snow—brrr, it’s a cold one, it’s really coming down out there—and then they move en masse toward the table.
“Adrian and Cora, so good to see you again!” Yann booms, shaking Adrian’s hand, clearly expecting me to stand and exchange kisses on the cheek. I manage to dart a glance up at him and nod. I’m going to puke. All my blood has rushed to my feet.
“Mike and Delaney, this is a surprise,” Adrian says, his voice tight.
“We had such a good time crunching the numbers earlier, I suggested we keep the party going,” Yann says. “Two redheads can only add spice to the festivities, eh? Especially one as lovely as your director of finance.”
Mike is your traditional freckled, pasty carrot top. Delaney, of course, has that copper red hair that makes you think of art nouveau and witchcraft and mermaids that sell their souls for a man.
“Yann, sit down and roll your tongue back into your head,” Huda says, taking the seat at the foot of the table that Yann pulled out for her. He pulled out a chair for Delaney, too. Right next to me.
Mike seats himself across from her. Adrian sits across from me, and Yann is at the head of the table. If the table weren’t in the way, if I could get a running start, could I bust through the window and fly away, over the skaters and the star at the top of the tree, into the night?
“Cora, how are you?” Huda asks. “It’s been so long. You’re well?”
I have to turn my head to answer her, and there’s Delaney, inches away, smiling like the shark fromFinding Nemo. I can see the faint shadow on her incisor that whitening hasn’t quite covered, and how she’s traced her lips just outside the natural line.
I can smell her, too. Expensive perfume, coffee, and notes of a fruit-flavored vape. Maybe watermelon.
She isn’t uncomfortable in the least. She’s triumphant. Expectant. Her beady eyes are as bright as the Christmas tree.
“Good,” I mumble. “And yourself?” My gaze catches on Delaney’s diamond tennis bracelet. I have one exactly like it in a sock tied to a slat under the daybed in the nursery.
“Well, bored, I must admit. I was promised a visit to the Peabody Museum in New Haven, but Yann spent his day with these good people and sent me all alone to do the Christmas shopping.”
“Only you would complain about shopping, Huda,” Yann says fondly.
“Cora understands. Don’t you, Cora? These men work too much.”
“At home, I cannot pry you away from the lab for love or money!” Yann protests as he accepts the wine menu from the waiter.
“That isn’t work,” Huda opines. “That ispassion.”
