Page 1

CHAPTER 1

VS. BROOKLYN

Anna

This darling child thinks I’m a queen. That’s not an ego-driven statement; that’s what Lucy, my best friend since childhood, Lenzin’s soon-to-be adopted daughter, has told me at least once a day since I landed here in New York City.

Lucy looks at Savannah, another Brooklyn Bears hockey player’s child, just toddling, but it’s clear she won’t let that stop her from trying to sprint. “See? We brought Anna. She’s fancy.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing as Hildy gives me an, I’m so sorry look… again. Completely unnecessary of course, I adore her and happily relive these moments when I am across the pond.

“I’m fancy?”

Lucy nods solemnly. “Very.”

“What makes me fancy?”

She looks me. “Your coat.”

“It is cashmere,” I tell her. “Very soft wool.”

I crouch in front of her, smoothing my fingers over the cuff of her camel cashmere coat. The wool is impossibly soft beneath my fingertips, but it has enough weight to hold its shape, the sleeve ending precisely at her wrist instead of swallowing her little hand. The stitching along the cuff is nearly invisible, every edge clean and perfectly finished.

“Look closely. The buttons are horn, the lining is silk, and nothing pulls or puckers when you move. Even the sleeves are the right length. Someone didn’t just make a coat. They made it properly.”

Lucy looks at her coat again, suddenly much more interested in the tiny details, yet tells me, “Your shoes are fancy.”

“My shoes?”

She nods, looking at them.

I gently take one of her little feet in my hand and turn it; she’s wearing sneakers, of course, black and red, because Lenzin has convinced his fiancée, Hildy, that Lucy needs a pair for every outfit. She tried to argue, but as she will soon learn, Lenzin never loses. Not because he’s a patriarchal tyrant, but because he doesn’t enter a fight without cause.

“You have beautiful footwear. The boots at your home are Italian leather. Hand-finished. Keep them polished, and they will still be perfect for when your brothers or sisters are born.”

“Not hand-me-downs, family heirlooms.” Her brows furrow in thought, and then she lightens the entire Fairfax media box with that smile of hers. “Be a good stewardess.”

Steward, but I won’t correct that. This child, I could just eat her up. Lucy is the sister of Lenzin’s fiancé, now pregnant, with twins no less. Hildy and Lucy have the same mother. She is garbage, complete and utter trash, yet she gave birth to two absolutely beautiful and highly intelligent girls, over twenty years apart.

“Feel how soft it is. See how even the stitching is? And they are polished.” She looks down at them, clearly pleased. “And your hair,” I add. Her hand immediately goes to it. “Your hair is beautiful without doing very much, but today we did a little more.” I smooth a shiny strand between my fingers. “Properly washed, conditioned, and brushed until it shines. Then we used a little product to keep it smooth.”

“What product?”

I laugh. “Now you are asking the important questions. When I head back to Germany, I’ll make sure you have some on your dressing table. But you only use a tiny drop.”

“Because expensive things should be used carefully,” she says from memory, and God, how my inner diva beams.

I smooth her hair behind her shoulder as I stand. “But expensive things don’t make you fancy.”

She looks up at me. “Then what does?”

“Knowing how to take care of beautiful things. Having good manners. Standing properly. Saying please and thank you even when nobody is watching. Knowing how to walk into a room without needing everyone in it to look at you.” Lucy straightens her back, making me smile. “And you never tell people how much something costs.”

“Why?”

“Because people who have to tell everyone what something costs usually want them to know they can’t afford it.”

She thinks about this. “So fancy people don’t talk about money?”