“It’s been… a lot,” I say after a moment, letting the words settle naturally.
“I can’t imagine,” she replies, then hesitates. “Phillip’s been a mess at home—” She cuts herself off abruptly, her eyes widening just slightly.
I nod, taking a bite, giving her the space to feel like she hasn’t already said too much. Chrissy doesn’t strike me as someone who knows how to hold information back once she’s started.
“So how are you settling in?” I ask lightly.
“Oh, I love it,” she says, then falters again, catching herself. “Everyone’s been so nice. Phillip just… needed me close. He’s under a lot of pressure. He’s not sleeping, and he’s been having these heart palpitations.” Her voice softens with concern. “I’m worried about him, honestly.”
I hum thoughtfully, letting a beat pass before I respond. “Trouble in paradise?”
She stiffens, her gaze flicking up to mine, guarded now. “It probably doesn’t look great,” she admits carefully. “But I swear, Phillip and I weren’t?—”
“Oh, please.” I wave it off with an easy smile. “I don’t care. I don’t ask questions, and I don’t judge.” I lean back slightly, letting my tone soften into something more conspiratorial. “I didn’t really know much about their marriage anyway. Whitney and I were neighbors more than anything. We met in college, ended up in the same place, and that was that.”
“Phillip said you were best friends,” she says, studying me more closely now.
“I guess we were,” I reply with a small shrug. “But what does that really mean? We spent time together, hosted events, kept up appearances. She never talked about her marriage. Forall I know, they could’ve had an open one.” I let out a quiet laugh, as if the idea is more amusing than meaningful.
Chrissy’s eyebrows lift, and then, slowly, she smiles. “I thought you’d hate me,” she admits. “The way he moved me in… I figured you’d be upset.”
And there it is.
The truth, offered up without resistance.
I return her smile, softer now, reassuring. “I told you. No judgment.” I pause, letting just enough warmth creep into my voice. “I do miss having someone next door to share a pool day with, though. Or brunch like this. We should do it again. Maybe dinner at my place sometime. Actually, I’m putting together a brunch for the children’s hospital soon. If you’re interested, I could use the help.”
“Oh, I don’t want to impose,” she says quickly. “If anything, I should cook for you. You’ve been so kind. I was honestly worried everyone here would judge me.”
“Oh, I’m sure they are,” I say lightly. “But fuck them.”
She laughs, covering her mouth in a way that feels almost girlish, and I can’t help but notice how easy she is to read. Open. Eager. Uncomplicated in a way Whitney never was.
I understand the appeal.
Whitney had an edge to her, a sharpness that cut through pretense and left very little room for illusion. Chrissy, on the other hand, is soft where Whitney was hard, agreeable where Whitney challenged, the kind of woman who makes things feel easy.
Men like Phillip prefer easy.
We finish the rest of our meal without tension, and by the time the waiter brings the check, something in me has settled. Not softened, exactly, but sharpened into clarity.
“This was fun,” Chrissy says, finishing her drink. “We should keep it going. Come over for drinks?”
I smile, letting just enough warmth reach my eyes.
“That sounds perfect.”
Because it is.
Chrissy trusts me now.
Even though I’m the last person she should.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The mansion is just as breathtaking as the last time I stood inside it. Every surface gleams, every detail curated to perfection, from the cool stretch of marble beneath my feet to the vaulted ceilings dripping in crystal. It should feel familiar, comforting even, but instead there’s something off in the air, something faintly wrong that settles against my skin and refuses to lift. The house hasn’t changed, not really. But the energy has. Or maybe I have.
I take a slow sip of my wine, letting it linger just long enough to steady the unease curling in my chest, and glance toward Chrissy, who is talking as if this is nothing more than a casual evening between neighbors. Her voice floats easily through the space, light and unburdened, as though she isn’t sitting in another woman’s home, drinking from her glasses, occupying her life.
