“Good evening,” Vivian says.
Rose, of course, says nothing. She simply nods and holds the door open.
Vivian hesitates before entering. She has a moment of unexplained apprehension. She’s never believed in spirits, but there’s something about the Knox that suddenly feels haunting. Maybe it’s due to those autopsies in the basement Rachel told her about.
Ahead in the foyer, awaiting her arrival, is Peter. He looks handsome, and her unease washes away. He is more casually dressed than usual, in a navy blazer and pair of dark jeans. Is she overdressed? Beneath her camel coat she’s wearing a silk cream blouse and a brown leather tea-length skirt. She supposes it’s better to be overdressed than under.
It’s so much easier to focus on the small things in life, shefinds herself thinking, which begs the question: Is this how her mother operated all those years?
Vivian crosses the threshold, brushing past Rose. She’s looking at Peter and not down at the ground, so she doesn’t realize until too late that she’s stepped in something sticky. Gum, perhaps?
Frowning, she stops short and turns the bottom of her Louboutin heel up. She’s about to reach down and scrape it off, when Rose barks, “No, no, don’t touch it. Just keep moving forward, off the mat, please.”
Vivian obliges, and when she looks, Rose is bent over on the ground, tearing a large sheet of paper from the mat’s surface. Rose gently cups her hands beneath the sheet, as if it’s sacred, not allowed to touch the ground, like an American flag, and offers it to Michael, who appears out of the shadows.
“Michael?” Vivian asks, tilting her head. “What is this?”
“I’m sorry, Ms.L—Vivian, you need to stand here for a minute and wait. Don’t go in any further. Knox policy,” Michael says apologetically. He disappears with the sheet down the hall.
Rose stands there, like a security guard. Vivian resists the urge to roll her eyes. She looks ahead again at Peter, who now leans against the old-fashioned mailbox system lining the foyer wall. He holds up his index finger, meaning,Wait.Then he encircles his hands around his mouth, and loudly shouts, in a joking manner, “Hello, beautiful!”
Vivian can’t help but laugh. “What on earth is going on? What are we waiting for?” She shrugs out of her coat, and, almost reluctantly, Rose takes it from her.
“Geomancy,” Peter answers, now in a normal tone. “All first-time guests have to pass the test.”
“Well, I’ve heard of a geometry test, but not a geomancytest,” Vivian jokes. “Also, I’m not exactly a first-time guest. I was already here. For tea and the party? And…”And our little sleepover, she wants to add but doesn’t. Not in front of Rose.
“Parties have a different protocol. As for the tea, that was my bad. And, well…” Peter winks at her. She knows he’s thinking of the third time she was there. “Sorry, darling, it’s just a formality and will take only a minute.”
She likes the waydarlingsounds. “What if I don’t pass?”
“You will.”
Rose makes a tsking noise, and Vivian refuses to look at her. She’s in a locked gaze with Peter. She likes admiring him from this distance. The heat between them is already building. It feels surprisingly sexy, having this conversation across a foyer. Like two teenagers sharing a moment from opposite ends of the school dance floor.
He’s so effortlessly good-looking, it’s as if he’s just stepped out of a Peter Millar catalog. Sometimes Vivian still can’t believe that he’s hers.
Or is he?
She hasn’t decided yet if she’s going to bring up seeing him in the street a couple of days earlier.Ifthat was even him.
She was off her game that day. The more she thinks about it, she realizes she may have been mistaken. She was clearly still reeling from the stress of seeing Xavier’s empty shop. Not to mention everything she’s had going on with her mother and her spiraling finances. It’s enough to make anyone a little out of sorts.
“Nice outfit.” His gaze travels up and down her, slowly.
“Thank you.” This time, she stashed an extra shirt in her handbag. “How was Milan?”
A shadow passes over his face. “Fine.” Then he adds, “Busy. The trip took a little bit of an unexpected detour.”
A waiter, the wrestler guy—Jerry, if she recallscorrectly—walks by with a tray of drinks. She thought he was toast, given his scuffle with Oliver about his sister. Maybe Oliver’s not around.
As Jerry passes Peter, he accidentally drops a stack of cocktail napkins, one of which lands directly next to Peter’s foot. Jerry bends down to place the tray on the ground while he quickly gathers them up. Peter makes no move to help. Instead, he stands as still as a statue, his eyes trained on Vivian. Like an invisible cord is connecting them.
“Sorry, sir,” Jerry mumbles.
“It’s quite all right, Jerry,” Peter says.
Michael reenters the foyer, sans the paper. He nods affirmatively at Peter and Rose. Then, in a soft voice, as if he’s embarrassed, he says, “I’m sorry again, Vivian. You’re welcome to enter now. Can I get you a drink?”
