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“It’s good to have you back.” I finger the mirror, smiling. “Now, can you please tell your new self you need to get checked?”
I blink, and in a heartbeat, it’s all gone. It’s me again. Winnie Ashcroft. Sunken cheeked and beaten up by life. Betrayed and unsure.
Only this time, I know exactly who I need to be to get my life in order.
Winnie Towles.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ARSÈNE
Two weeks later, I sit in front of Archie Caldwell at a restaurant. Archie is an old acquaintance from Andrew Dexter Academy. He lives in London, and whenever he’s in New York, he drags me to the most awful establishments. Michelin starred, with extra-white tablecloths, minimal designs, and food that looks like Costco samples served on oversize china.
“How are you handling the whole ... you know.” Archie makes a face.
“Death of my fiancée?” I supply blandly, taking a spoonful of caviar nestled in a bowl of ice. “Life moves on,” I drawl.
“Now, that’s the spirit, mate.” He reaches across the table to pat my arm awkwardly. “It’s not the end of the world. Oh, I suppose for her, it is. Anyway, shall I order us another grapefruit rosé and some dessert?”
“You can, if you wish to seduce me, but I’ll be honest, Archie. You’re too married and I’m too straight. Your chances aren’t looking good.”
Archie and I, although friendly, haven’t been close in years. Which means he called me here for a reason. I can sniff people’s intentionsfrom miles away. Archie’s here to present a business offer. I’d like to hear it more than his mindless chatter about I bonds and stock dividends.
Archie chuckles and scratches the back of his neck, not used to being called out. “Fair enough. If nothing else, I can appreciate your bloody honesty. The truth is ... well, let’s start from the beginning.” He clears his throat, signaling a waiter for the check. “Sadie and I are moving to New York this January.”
“You are?” I ask dispassionately. Sadie is his wife. Third wife, to be exact. He goes through them like socks.
“Yes. See ... we’ve had our own little tragedy happen in our family.” Archie’s face is crestfallen.
“Oh.” I sit back.
“We lost our dear, dear Daisy prematurely.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I hadn’t realized you and Sadie were expecting.”
“Expec ...?” Archie’s face twists in confusion before he waves his palms around. “No, no, you misunderstood. Daisy was Sadie’s King Charles spaniel. Such a darling dog. I gifted her Daisy for Christmas, but the poor pup died of canine distemper shortly after. Sadie took it hard. She was an absolute wreck for the longest time.”
A dog.
He is comparing Grace’s death to adog’s.
My face is expressionless, I know—I’ve practiced the art of not giving a fuck for many years—but inside, I’m burning with rage.
“Please.” I raise a palm. “The story cuts too deep. Say no more. So you’re moving to New York?”
Archie, picking up on the sarcasm, looks flustered. “Well, yes, and see, Sadie is going to be so very bored here while I help Papa with that god-awful building he is trying to buy—”
“Bottom line, Archie.” I glance down at my watch.
“... and I heard through the grapevine—mates from Andrew Dexter who frequent New Amsterdam—that you’re in the market to sell that quaint little theater of yours. Calypso Hall, was it? Sadie always hada passion for theater—she loves the West End—and withThe Seagullalready a smashing success, I think it’ll give her something to do while she’s here. A sense of purpose, if you would.”
I stare at him, wondering idly what makes him the way he is—an abundance of stupidity, or privilege? Perhaps a combination of both. I’ve no doubt his family’s name is on Cambridge’s library, where he went for higher education. There’s no way this dimwit got in on merit.
I open my mouth to answer him, but he beats me to it.
“Before you say anything, I have an offer you cannot possibly refuse.”
“Sounds like a challenge.” I smirk.
