“Must be nice,” Giuseppe sneered.
Jesse bit the inside of his lip to keep himself from blurting out a snide retort.Heknew that Arthur was more than a selfish, wealthysnob, but in Giuseppe’s eyes, Arthur was the same as every other member of America’s shoddyocracy.
“Yeah, well,” was all Jesse managed to say instead. He pushed himself to stand. “I should probably catch the streetcar over there now.”
Turning to leave, Jesse let out a sigh. Dammit, he’dreallywanted to surprise Arthur with a better version of his creation tonight. Especially because, once he showed up to Arthur’s mansion in his simple, ready-made suit, he knew that he’d have to contend with feelings of inadequacy over everything else in his life.
Jesse started putting on his overcoat, but when he reached for the buttons, his face fell, his small frown transforming into a scowl. He’d nearly forgotten that one of the buttons was missing. Christ Almighty, this was exactly the thing he needed right now—to be reminded of the fact that he was teetering on the brink of homelessness just before leaving for Prairie Avenue.
Because it made complete sense that the only son of one of Chicago’s wealthiest families was about to welcome someone like him—a mere typesetter with half an engineering degree—into his home to share a meal, if not also his bed.
Jesse must have still been wearing a sour expression as he retrieved his hat because Giuseppe came over and offered what was clearly meant to have been a comforting clap on the shoulder.
“From everything you’ve told me so far, it sounds like Arthur really likes you,” Giuseppe said. “Don’t worry so much.”
Letting out a long breath, Jesse reached up to lay his hand atop Giuseppe’s.
“Thanks. You’re right. Iknowyou’re right.”
“You’ll have fun there. I know it.” Giuseppe and Jesse removed their hands. “And later or tomorrow—whenever you come back—I’ll force myself to listen to how beautiful that man’shome is. You can brag about that wealthy beau of yours for as long as you want. How’s that?”
Jesse couldn’t help but smile a little.
“Sounds good.”
Giuseppe snapped his fingers and hurried into the kitchen area. He came back a moment later with a bottle of wine.
“Can’t let you visit one of the mansions on Prairie Avenue without bringing a bottle of Chicago’s best wine,” he said, handing it to Jesse.
Jesse rolled his eyes. “Chicago’s best wine. It cost us one dollar.”
“One dollar and ten cents to be exact.”
“Ah, well, that makes it much fancier.”
“You would know, Jess,” Giuseppe teased.
Jesse reached over and shoved him. Then, he started for the door.
***
Jesse hopped off the streetcar at Indiana and Eighteenth Streets and began heading toward Prairie Avenue. His stomach in knots, he clutched tight to the bottle of wine that he was cradling against his chest and fought forward through a rush of frigid February wind.
When Jesse turned onto Prairie Avenue and caught sight of the first home in the line of mansions—a beautiful stone structure with Romanesque-style arches—he barely suppressed a shudder as a wave of terrible memories crashed over him.
Standing outside Percy’s house in the middle of the night, hoping to surprise him. Percy’s irate and horrified expression when their footman had told him that his friend from school had come for a visit. Percy pulling Jesse toward their carriage house and telling him that it was over.
Closing his eyes, Jesse clenched his teeth and waited for the memories to recede back into the farthest corners of his mind. Only a few paces later, the images vanished, but the memory of that night left him feeling unsteady, and the solid pavement on which Jesse stood suddenly shifted beneath his feet like sand as he walked. Jesse continued on to Arthur’s house, bracing himself as more memories of his relationship with Percy began to pummel him. Gritting his teeth, Jesse waded through the sea of mansions, the wealth of the families within them as powerful and foreboding as the enormous lake next to which their city had been built.
In only a few minutes, Jesse reached Arthur’s house. He blew out a nervous breath as he looked up at the imposing structure and started toward it. His nose ran from the oppressive cold. He sniffled a few times as he studied Arthur’s mansion—a looming, three-story Empire-style home with huge columns on either side of the front entryway. Dear God, it was incredible how wealthy Arthur was. How a man like him might not have enough money to purchase a spot in the fair outright was beyond Jesse’s comprehension. It looked like Arthur could have funded the creation of a whole building had he been so inclined.
Jesse swallowed thickly as he raised his hand to knock. Minutes later, Patrick came to the door. Patrick’s eyebrows shot up and Jesse could have sworn that he heard the man whisper some sort of obscenity to himself.
Jesse forced a smile. “Good evening, Mr. Murphy. I’m, uhm, here to see Arthur? Or, sorry, Mr. Hughes.”
“Mr. Hughes is in the middleof—”
Patrick’s reply was cut off by the sound of fast-approaching footsteps. Jesse looked over Patrick’s shoulder to see Arthur hurrying toward them, his shoes tap-tap-tapping the polished hardwood floor as he approached.
