“What about Willow?” I asked. Another dip of his chin.
“Right.” I’d forgotten how difficult it was to hold a conversation with someone who refused to speak. He didn’t seem inclined to express any further thoughts, so I gave him a quick summary of my revised plans for the club and an update on the opening party. It felt strange, talking business when we’d almost died the last time we saw each other, but Vuk didn’t strike me as the type who liked discussing emotions or past traumas (or much of anything, really).
He made a noise of approval when I finished and scribbled something on a sheet of paper.
Who’s on the guest list for the opening?
Interesting. Of everything I’d said, that was the part I least expected him to focus on.
“I’m finalizing the invites this week,” I said. “I’ll email you a full list once I’m done.”
I wasn’t confident about pulling off the club by my birthday, but I was confident in my ability to throw a kick-ass party. Even if people were dubious about my business acumen, they’d show up to see me sink or swim and have a damn good time in the process. “If there’s anyone you want me to include, just let me know,”
I added.
I’d asked out of courtesy. Vuk didn’t date, didn’t have a close social circle, and didn’t care about public appearances, so I didn’t expect him to have anyone in mind.
However, he proved me wrong when he wrote something else on a fresh sheet of paper.
It contained only one word—specifically, one name.
Ayana.
The same Ayana who’d just gotten engaged.
My gaze snapped up to Vuk’s stoic one. He didn’t offer an explanation for the name, and I didn’t ask.
“She’s already on the list, but I’ll triple check,” I said, rearranging my own expression into one of neutrality.
He nodded, I left, and that was that. It was the quickest, easiest meeting I’d had since I came up with the idea for the Vault.
Honestly, it could’ve been a virtual meeting, but I’d wanted to check on Vuk in person and make sure he was doing okay after the fire. Obviously, he was.
I exited the mansion and flashed back to the sight of Ayana’s name written in bold, black strokes. He’d pressed the pen so hard it’d punctured a tiny hole in the paper.
Then again, maybe he wasn’t okay, but that was none of my business.
I had enough on my plate without taking on other’s troubles, so I put Vuk’s strange interest in the supermodel aside and simply made a note to myself to ensure Ayana attended the grand opening, no matter what.
Being in love was strange.
The overall rhythm of my day to day stayed consistent—I still went to work, hung out with my friends, and dealt with wild client demands—but the details had changed. They were softer, more fluid, like moonlight slipping between the rigid blinds of my life.
I was quicker to smile and slower to anger. The air smelled fresher, and my steps were lighter. Everything seemed more tolerable with the knowledge that, no matter what happened, there was someone out there who called me his and who I called mine.
Some mornings, I lazed in bed with Xavier instead of waking up early for yoga; some nights, at his suggestion, I dipped my toe into horror films (hilarious—horror protagonists were almost uniformly dense) and slapstick comedy (not for me). Afternoons were either spent eating at my desk (on particularly busy workdays) or at a string of increasingly adorable bistros that Xavier found.
Routine became suggestion, and every suggestion became a touch more magical when Xavier was involved.
I was disgustingly happy, but even so, there were still a few rough patches of my life that needed smoothing over.
One of them was the situation with Pen and Rhea.
Two weeks after I ran into Caroline at Le Boudoir, I received a curt email requesting I meet her at my family’s penthouse. Xavier had gone to see Vuk, so I showed up alone, my heart giving a little twist at the sight of the building I’d called home for half my life.
It looked exactly the same as the last time I was here, down to the hunter green awning and potted plants by the entrance.
“Miss Sloane!” The doorman greeted me with a surprised smile. “It’s nice to see you again. It’s been a long time.”
“Hi, Clarence.” I smiled back, oddly touched that he’d remembered me after all these years. He used to sneak me little pieces of candy every time I came home from school. My father had forbidden me from eating too many sweets, and he’d been furious when he found some of the wrappers in my room. I’d lied and told him I’d gotten the candy at school. “It has been a long time. How’s Nicole doing?”
“She’s great.” He beamed brighter at the mention of his daughter. “She’s in her first year at Northwestern. Journalism.”
We chatted for a few more minutes before another resident came down, asking for a cab. I said goodbye to Clarence and took the elevator straight up to the penthouse. I didn’t recognize the housekeeper who answered the door, but when I followed her through the halls, I had to battle a surprising bout of nostalgia.
The oil paintings. The cream marble floors. The scent of calla lilies. It was like someone had preserved my childhood home in a gilded time capsule, and while I didn’t miss living here, I missed the happy moments I did have growing up.
Of course, there hadn’t been many of them, and they’d been overshadowed by my father or sister in one way or another.
That was all it took to bring me back to reality.
I shook my head and brushed off the last bits of understandable but unwelcome sentimentality before I entered the living room, where my father and Caroline waited for me.
Obviously, Caroline had talked to him as promised, but neither looked too happy to see me. That was fine; I wasn’t thrilled to see them either, though I was a bit surprised to see my father at home on a weekday afternoon. I supposed that was a perk of running your own company.
I sat on the couch across from them and arched a cool brow. I was dying to ask a thousand and one questions about Pen, but I wouldn’t give them the upper hand by speaking first.
