“Not surprising, since you never listen when I tell you about anything I’m interested in.”
He had just begun to pour some whiskey into a nearby glass when he paused, turning to her with an eyebrow arched high on his forehead. “Is this going to be like the time you got really into gardening and then gave up when six weeks’ worth of work yielded one tomato?”
She frowned. “There were two green beans too.”
“Or when you begged me to teach you how to play guitar so you could record an album, and then quit the first time one of your strings broke?”
“That blister was on my finger for over a month, you know.”
“Or how you saved up for a 3D printer so you could start your own jewelry company, but gave up once you realized—”
She held up her hand to stop him. “Those were hobbies, Knightley. This is different.”
“I’m just pointing out that I listen. In fact, I could probably describe every floor of Bergdorf Goodman’s—”
“You’re welcome.”
“—and yet I’ve never heard you mention art. At all.”
She feigned surprise, batting her eyes at him. “Well thank you so much, George Knightley! Yes, Iamexcited to be accepted into such a competitive program, and even though I’m not channeling my megalomania into a start-up that’s trying to save the entire planet likesomepeople—”
“My company isn’t saving the planet. We’re just investing in clean tech.”
“—I’m sure my work will be nonetheless fulfilling. And knowing that I have your support means so much!”
He stared at her from under his brow, the light above casting shadows over his honey-colored eyes. “Are you done now?”
She thought for a moment before answering, “Yes.”
“Congratulations.”
She smiled.
Laughter erupted from the far corner of the room, and they both turned as Margo emerged from the hallway with Knightley’s younger brother Ben close behind.
“You are so weird!” Margo was shrieking.
“I’m not the one who’s never seenDie Hard!” Ben exclaimed. “How did we all grow up having a weekly movie night and I never made you watch the best Christmas movie of all time?”
Margo made her way to the bar, doing an awful job of keeping her smile at bay. Emma and her older sister were three years apart and had spent most of their lives being mistaken for twins, but no one made that mistake anymore. They had the same dark hair, but while Emma’s was still long and wavy, Margo had cut hers into a stick-straight bob. She had also adopted a pair of thick, black-frame glasses and wore them instead of her previous contacts, so the big green eyes she and Emma shared were now partially hidden. Margo said it was part of creating a more mature image. Emma blamed law school.
“Maybe becauseDie Hardisn’t a Christmas movie?” Margo answered Ben, pouring herself a glass of champagne.
Ben stopped in his tracks, mouth falling open. “Are you serious right now?”
“Oh please.”
Ben turned to his brother. He was younger than Knightley by only two years, but he was lanky and a few inches shorter, so the age difference looked more like a decade. “George, back me up here.”
“What wasDie Hardabout again?” Knightley leaned back against the counter, the sleeve of his navy cashmere sweater brushing Emma’s bare leg. She ignored it.
“I don’t know,” she said innocently, as if they hadn’t just watched it together two weeks earlier. “I never saw it.”
“Don’t worry,” he replied, playing along. “I’m sure we’re not missing much.”
Ben held his hand to his heart as if truly offended. “Sacrilege.”
Margo failed again to dampen her smile as she started toward the French doors that led out to the back garden. The yard was narrow but long: large enough for a party and absolutely huge by New York City standards. A few trees lined the back of it and just beyond them Emma could see the Knightley home. Their townhouse backed up to the Woodhouses’, their yards adjacent. The brothers had left a few lights on tonight, so the tall windows helped illuminate the worn path between the trees that had connected the two families for years.
