Her gaze slips toward Olivia, as if she’s only just now remembering she’s there. “You’ve met him in better times, Olivia. You’re lucky—he’s easier now.”
The silence that follows is taut but polite. Even my mother sits a little straighter.
My reflex kicks in. After all, I’ve spent years learning how to smooth moments like this over, how to keep pity from taking root in the room. I don’t want Olivia pulled into this, forced to bear witness to my grief being used as sport over brunch.
But before I can act on that instinct, Olivia speaks first.
“I don’t think ease is the measure of a person’s worth, Anne.”
The words land with precision. Every head within earshot tilts toward her.
“Neither is grief a club you join by proximity.”
Anne’s smile slips. She didn’t expect to be met like this, much less in public.
“I’m not with Nathaniel because it’seasy.” Olivia meets her gaze, unflinching. “His grief hasn’t disappeared just because he’s learned to live with it—he carries it every single day. But instead of letting loss define him, he honors his brother by trying his best to keep living.Especiallywhen it’s hard.”
This time, Olivia’s the one to weave her fingers through mine under the table.
“So no, Anne, it’s never beeneasyand maybe it never will be.” Her voice is full of conviction. “But I will stay with him, no matter how hard it gets, because I’m proud to stand beside him.”
She turns to face me and her expression softens. These next words are for me. “I may not have known Nathaniel then, but I know how hard he’s fought to become the man he is now. That’s what matters.”
Silence. Then the scrape of silverware, accompanied by the soft inhale of those who’ve been pretending not to listen.
Emotion lodges in my chest, rising until it burns at the back of my eyes. No one’s ever done this before—stood up for me, claimed me without apology.
Anne laughs airily, a quick attempt at smoothing her own misstep. “Well, I suppose that’s what matters most—the present.”
Olivia smiles. “We can agree on that—the present matters. But so does the future. And we’re building that together, too.”
For a moment, no one speaks. Then Aunt Lydia lifts her glass, bright and unbothered. “Well, that calls for more champagne, doesn’t it?”
The table exhales. A waiter appears as if on cue, the hush giving way to the pop of a cork and the rise of laughter.
But under the linen, her hand stays in mine, and she gives a small squeeze.Are you okay?
I squeeze back.I’m okay.
When I glance at her, she’s already looking at me. She mouths,I love you.
My heart swells—too large for its cage, for this moment. I mouth back,I love you too.
TWENTY-SIX
olivia
The elevator humsbeneath our feet, a low, steady sound that matches the rhythm of my pulse. Polished steel walls catch our reflections—the faint distortion of glass and light stretching us into cleaner, more composed versions of ourselves. For a moment, I don’t recognize the woman looking back at me. Hair smoothed, collar pressed, red lipstick. She looks composed enough to belong here, in a building like this.
Caldwell Ventures occupies the upper floors of a tower in Midtown—Park Avenue, sleek and imposing, its facade all glass and order. Even the lobby downstairs felt like a study in restraint: marble without ostentation, the kind of quiet wealth that doesn’t need to announce itself. Nathaniel had spoken once, almost offhandedly, about how the company’s first office had been in the same neighborhood his grandfather started investing from after the war, as though Manhattan itself were part of the family legacy.
When the doors slide open, I follow Nathaniel out into a reception space flooded with light. Everything gleams, and the air smells faintly of bergamot and paper.Caldwell Venturesis carved into the wall in brushed metal—no logo, no tagline, just the name, as if that alone carries enough weight.
Somehow, I’ve found myself here. An impromptu, week-long internship.
I still can’t quite piece together how it happened. One moment I was at the gala, Charles Caldwell offering polite conversation between courses, and the next, his assistant was emailing me an itinerary. I hadn’t been trying to impress him—if anything, I’d merely been trying to stay afloat among the glittering crowd—but something I said must have landed right. Something about capital flow or market confidence, I can’t even remember now. Nathaniel had looked at me afterward with a kind of triumph, as if he’d known all along that his father would take notice.
It isn’t that I’m ungrateful. I’m flattered, almost dizzy from it. But the truth is, I didn’t ask for this. Between Charles’ personal invitation and Nathaniel’s enthusiasm, declining had felt almost unthinkable.
