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Stubbornly—stupidly—I press her. “What did you do?”
“More than fetch daddy’s coffee.”
Scarlett is trying to piss me off. Ever since the night she got back from Paris—when I carried her upstairs and demonstrated an incredible amount of self-control by not stealing a glimpse of her naked—she’s been prickly and combative every chance she’s had. I have a feeling if I’d come home to find her in heels and standing, not curled up on the couch, the animosity might be dialed down a notch. She’s definitely not indifferent toward me. I’m not sure if this is an improvement though.
I got up for a glass of water at three a.m. two nights ago. Scarlett was standing in the kitchen in her standard attire of a dress and heels, making a cup of tea. I haven’t seen her in jeans since my bachelor party, much less sweatpants or pajamas.
She’s already turned back to her binders, but I feel obligated to respond. “I’m the Vice President of—”
“I don’t care, Crew. Do whatever you want at work. Do whatever you want when you’re not at work. Just don’t tell me when I can orcan’twork.”
“I didn’t tell you couldn’t work. I asked you about work, Scarlett.” I let some ire leak into my voice. Me being nice freaked her out. I can be short instead. “But let’s just sit in awkward fucking silence, same as we have every day since you got back.”
“Great. Let’s.” She flips a page so aggressively the corner tears.
I snort and look outside.
Tonight’s gala is being held on Carnegie Hall’s rooftop terrace. Our arrival attracts more attention than I’m expecting. This is our first official outing as a couple—much less a married one. Neither Scarlett’s parents nor mine are attending tonight, which makes us the sole representatives of New York’s two wealthiest families. Attention is something I’m used to. But the scrutiny feels different with Scarlett by my side. I battle the contrary urges to shield her and to step away.
Scarlett makes the decision for me. As soon as we’re inside, she snags a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and heads for a large group of giggling women. They accept her into the circle with ease, a few glancing back at me.
It shouldn’t surprise me. This is how we’ve acted at every other event we’ve both attended in the past. I doubt Scarlett considers any of the women she’s now chatting with to be friends, but you wouldn’t know it based on the way she’s laughing and nodding along to something one of them is saying.
I order a bourbon and start to make the rounds, beginning with the Rutherfords, who are hosting tonight. Donald Rutherford is the chair of the board at New York General Hospital. His wife, Jennifer, is an heiress involved with half a dozen charities around the city. I compliment them on the evening and hand Jennifer a check for the fundraiser before moving on and getting sucked into a conversation about upcoming events in the Hamptons.
My summers are spent in Manhattan. If I need an escape, I travel upstate or to Europe. Our Hamptons house is the only one of my family’s many properties that contains clear memories of my mother. I spend as little time as possible there. Being there with Candace and the current state of my relationship with my father and brother would be like spilling water on writing. I want to preserve my memories, not ruin them.
When Daniel Waldorf mentions the Ellsworth Fourth of July party next weekend, I realize I might not have much of a choice. Scarlett hasn’t brought it up to me, but there’s no way her parents won’t expect her—won’t expectus—to attend.
Daniel is describing his new sailboat to me when Hannah Garner sidles over to us. “Nice seeing you, Crew.”
Daniel smiles and bails, leaving me alone with Hannah.
She doesn’t spare Daniel a glance, assessing me with clear blue eyes. Hannah is probably the closest I came to willingly entering into a committed relationship. Her family is wealthy and well-connected—her father founded a sports agency that represents a whole host of athletes set to become future Hall of Famers. He also owns the Los Angeles Titans. Last fall, Hannah and I attended a game together. She deep-throated me during halftime. That’s how our involvement has always been, picking up when it was convenient and nonexistent when it wasn’t.
“Hello, Crew.” Her long, blonde hair is curled tonight. One piece dips between the valley of her breasts, pulling my attention to her cleavage. She smirks, tracking my gaze.
“Hannah,” I reply. “I didn’t realize you were in town.”
“I convinced Dad to let me handle some business. There’s a guy on the Mets he wants to sign.” She pauses. “I would have called…but you gotmarried.”
There’s no mistaking the bite in the word, but I don’t owe her an explanation. “Were you at the wedding?” I’m guessing the Garners were invited.
Her whole expression tightens. “Couldn’t make it.”
“That’s a shame.”
“You never said a word.”
I sip some bourbon. “Would it have mattered, Hannah?”
“Scarlett Ellsworth?Really, Crew?”
“Kensington,” I correct. Hannah’s brow furrows. “Her name is ScarlettKensingtonnow.”
At that, she scoffs. “Changing her last name doesn’t change the fact she’s uppity and entitled, with the emotional capacity of an iceberg. You could have done better.”
The rush of anger takes me off-guard. Our sexual escapades aside, I consider Hannah a friend. I rode here next to evidence that Scarlett is cold and closed-off. But iceberg or not, she’s still my wife. I tighten my grip on the glass, allowing plenty of ire to infiltrate my voice. “Insult my wife again, and this will be our last conversation, Hannah.”
