“Right, exactly.” Secretly, she reveled in the question—in the way he saw her as a working mom, as someone who’d be home from work by five. It was one more reminder: This summer would be different.
It also helped that Bill was surprisingly at ease with Chat around, especially after they’d played eighteen holes together and Bill confirmed Chat was an exceptional golfer. “That’s some goddamn short game,” he’d said as they walked into the kitchen one afternoon, sweaty and sunburned from a long day on the course. How odd it was, seeing them together.
In fact, everything with Chat was going so well, Danika was relieved to know she’d made the right decision by hiring him. She’d felt even more relieved when, after that happy hour, she’d again asked Chat if he knew anyone in the town, and he’d assured her he did not.
Still, Danika knew the real reason she felt better about this summer: She was finally going back to work. While Bill had been supportive of her career at first, since kids, he’d wanted her home. His parents, who’d moved to South Carolina to be closer to his sister, were as old-school as they come. Each time they visited Hilton Head, Danika was jarred by their southern country club. It was a whole new level—stricter dress codes, faker faces, more pearls.
Danika had been okay with staying home at first, so wrapped up in her dream of having a family, but, especially during the pandemic, she struggled. She’d never been overly social, but after being alone day in and day out, she’d started to feel, well,alone. At least before, the Club had forced her to interact with people. She began to spiral, questioning her choices and self-worth. As a result, she’d told Bill that once life resumed, she wanted to set up an LLC. “But what’s the point?” he’d said. She was already working hard. The boys were a handful.
This had been the impetus of their distance. While they’d always led separate lives, in the past few years, they’d splintered. They barely spoke unless it was about the boys. They slept on separatefloors. Danika resented Bill, yet, at the same time, she missed him. So, she was ecstatic when, out of nowhere, he approached her about designing the model home for his new housing development, Briar Ridge. She viewed the invitation as an olive branch—a sign he missed her, too.
Her return to work had been the reason for the nanny in the first place. And while she could not have predicted Chat’s sudden, remarkable appearance in their lives, she now felt it was kismet. It had been a long time since she believed in such things—fate and destiny, greater powers and all that—but hell, maybe it was time. Life felt better.Shefelt better. Maybe by the end of this summer, she would feel happy again—because she should, shouldn’t she? Despite everything, she’d gotten what she wanted. Right?
Briar Ridge was about twenty minutes west and flanked by farmland, but as Bill explained, it was still close to enough golf courses, lakes, and the Cities to be appealing—especially to Minnesota’s upper middle class. Plus, buying it right before COVID, when people started fleeing for the suburbs, was only working in his favor.
Danika grew nervous as she got ready. She reminded herself that she was qualified. Even when studying interior design, she knew you could not teach taste. Taste was what she and Bill had most in common. They both loved their home—their mansion of sleek hygge, Scandinavian meets quiet luxury. It was sprawling, modern but soft, filled with white and gray hues and subtle pops of color: dark blue Lafco candles, pale pink geometric prints, waxy green monsteras and silvery eucalyptus. The ceilings were high, crisscrossed with natural wooden beams and skylights, and the whole first floor was wide open, filled with teak tables and Eames chairs and hallways that felt like rooms themselves. She loved allthe other spaces, too: the basement with its double-sided fireplace and wraparound couch; the greenhouse playroom that showcased the sky; the massive outdoor patio and pool, surrounded by stones and stainless-steel barbecues. Her bedroom was heaven on earth, a wash of creamy textures and perfectly balanced light. The whole house had an air of effortless elegance, sophisticated charm. She took a moment to appreciate it, staring out at the glimmering kitchen, up through the skylights, soaking in everything she had worked for, everything she had pieced together. Aside from her children, her house was her pride and joy.
Finally, Danika registered the time, picked up Max and his board books, and headed to her closet. Outfit ideas had been playing in her mind, but as she stepped inside the massive, twinkling space, she paced back and forth. She knew she had too many clothes, but Danika had an exceptional memory, and each piece plunged her back to the moment she’d bought it or worn it. It was exhausting the way so many details were painful portals to the past. Nail polish, bonfires, black dresses, BLTs. While you could always work to remember something, you could not make yourself forget.
Now, as her hands moved across the hangers, she paused on a cap-sleeved dress, the one she’d been wearing the day she met Bill. She’d been twenty-four at the time, and she had followed an entry-level design job to Chicago, where, one sweltering afternoon, she stepped into an elevator with a thirty-two-year-old Bill. She remembered the moment clearly: how after admiring each other in the elevator’s 360-degree mirrors, as the doors pinged open to the ninth floor of his office building, he’d turned to face her, introduced himself.
By that evening, they were eating steaks at Carmine’s. By that night, they were fucking in his room in the Waldorf. And by that morning, after waking to Bill staring at her, he’d told her she wasexquisite, an old soul, like him. He’d asked her to marry him. She’d batted the proposal away at first, but the more she thought about it, the more it felt right: They both wanted to settle down to start a family; Bill was a catch.
Of course, they didn’t really know each other. And there was no way she could tell him she’d been married before—his family would not approve. Bill himself would not approve. Instead, Danika promised herself to simply start over. Six months later, she was standing beneath the stained-glass windows of the Basilica of Saint Mary, the refracted light like spilled sea glass across the floor.
By the time Bill directed them to Aldon Lakes, there was no turning back.
Danika eventually decided on a navy dress. It was professional yet casual. Elevated yet approachable. She wore the diamond studs Bill had given her, along with the amber pendant necklace she wore every day. She knew she looked nice, but staring into the mirror while she twisted her hair, Danika frowned, her lips curving down around the bobby pins. Recently, she’d started to notice the first real lines and spots of age in her face. She knew it was inevitable, and that there were ways to slow the process, but it was still terrifying to realize she would not be the same ubiquitous kind of beautiful forever. Now, at thirty-two—the age Bill had been when they’d met—this truth had started to sink in.
Danika was glad to hear the whir of the garage door then—to know Chat was back from drop-off. She took a breath before turning to Max, his mouth opening in a spitty smile.
“Come on, bubs.” She squatted as she smoothed her hair and picked him up. “Let’s go find Mr. Chat.” Her cheeks warmed with anticipation as she headed down the stairs. She hoped he’d tell her she looked nice—or at least, that he would think it.
Danika blasted the AC as she drove. She wanted to arrive crisp and cool, rather than succumb to the humid heat. Having grown up everywhere from North Carolina to DC to Germany, she was none too pleased by these Minnesota summers. Everyone else loved them—the lakes, pools, escape from the winter tundra—but she enjoyed the snow and ice, the way sharp air could fill your lungs, shock you alive.
Danika was glad to have learned this about herself. She was glad to have lived so many places, too. Her whole life, she’d tell people she was from different cities based on where they were from or what might most impress them. For example, with Holly Fravel, she’d claimed Monterey because Holly was from LA. She hadn’t bothered to explain her family had only lived there for two years—and that the army houses on the Presidio were some of the oldest and mustiest of all. Let Holly imagine Carmel.
The army housing from her childhood was one of the main reasons she could never live in a place like Briar Ridge. Both felt too stereotypically suburban with their rows of generic houses and little to zero privacy. Danika’s mother had especially hated living on base—pressed up against senior officials, forced to play nice and kiss ass. Danika’s father had been a staff sergeant (though Danika told everyone he retired a lieutenant colonel), and her mother resented having to suck up to the women who wore their husband’s rank as their own—the WOs, or “Wives Of.” Danika realized later in life this was probably why her mom became such a good decorator. Even if their home was small and standard, she was creative, thrifty. Too bad she was such a bitch.
Danika checked the GPS, surprised she was close. The development didn’t feel as far away as she’d expected. She figured this would help in appealing to all the families who pretended they wanted proximity to Minneapolis—yet really just wanted a Big Room and fake-wood floors and a fenced-in yard for their goldendoodle.
Danika slowed as she approached the complex and, as instructed, took a right on Poplar Street (in a move both clever and tacky, all the streets were named for trees). Then, finally, there it was: the model home glowing above her like a prize. The driveway was long, and as she curved along the asphalt, she felt relieved. The house had a wide wraparound porch, neat black shutters, and neutral, authentic-looking cobblestone. It didn’t feel as cheap as expected.
Danika’s relief quickly snapped to irritation when she noticed three other cars parked outside in addition to Bill’s Porsche. Bill had implied it’d be only them, that they’d go for a drink at LÅK after. Danika parked behind the M5 and killed the ignition, squinting at the license plate in front of her: “JSH MKE.” She groaned.
In addition to never trusting anyone with two first names, Danika thought Joshua Mike was slimy. He’d made millions in private equity, married into the Cargill family, and, after his wife died of cancer, inherited more money than he—or anyone—deserved. He went wild from there. Quite literally. He bought the Minnesota Wild hockey team, the famous Lake Minnetonka marina (now aptly “Mike’s Marina”), and the marina’s accompanying restaurant, The Manor. He was often drunk and crass, and Danika didn’t think anyone genuinely liked him, but with his money and power, he still had lots of “friends.”
He had a particular affection for Danika. He always followed her around the Club, asking about their house, their cabin, their architect—who’d grown famous over the years. He invited them tohishouse frequently, too, bragging about his Himalayan salt room, living green walls, the marble he had imported from Italy. Danika knew he was fishing for a reciprocal invite, but she refused. On several occasions, he’d also told her she was the most gorgeous woman in the room.
“Danika, darling,” Bill called from across the living room as she pushed through the front door. He stood in front of a huge wall of windows that revealed the sloping backyard and, down the hill, about ten other houses.
The other three men turned to her. She recognized them all. Along with Joshua Mike, there was Malcolm Mitchell (Mallory Harrison’s husband) and Wyatt Greene (Robin’s husband). Instantly, she felt thrown; while Bill had mentioned he’d partnered with shareholders, she had not imagined this group. Her face went hot with embarrassment as she remembered how she’d bragged to Mallory and Robin about the job at Briar Ridge.
“Malcolm, Wyatt, Joshua.” She walked to each of them, gliding confidently as she shook their hands hard. “It’s great to see you all.”
“As you can see, we have the A-team.” Bill gestured to the group.
Danika grimaced. Why hadn’t Bill told her who exactly was involved? Bill and Wyatt—despite being golf rivals with a twenty-year age difference—were old friends. Their families went way back. Billhadexplained how expensive this project was, that he needed investors with deep pockets. So on second thought, it did make sense to Danika that here, around them, were three of the richest members at the Club.
