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Chapter Twenty-Five
Vivian
I’m inexplicably nervous for tonight.
Nate, as per his usual, is not nervous. How does he do it? Maybe I have nerve issues like those tiny, shaking dogs people carry around in shoulder bags. He’s more pit bull in nature. Determined, doesn’t fight unless forced, and a big belly-baring softie once you get to know him.
While I’m musing about what an unlikely dog couple we’d make, he answers a call on his cell phone. I’ve been ready to leave for five minutes. I’m dressed in a gorgeous chevron dress with gold threads and gold strappy shoes to match—not the horribly uncomfortable ones from before.
He’s in a suit, deep navy in color. No tie. He looks delicious—I use that word a lot, but it’s the best descriptor. We’re attending a silent auction hosted by his parents, what Nate calls “rich person bullshit.”
“Stop pacing,” Odessa reprimands with a cluck of her tongue. She finishes loading the dishwasher and starts the cycle. It hums almost silently. My apartment’s dishwasher sounds like a train barreling by.
“I don’t want to go.” I fold my arms and pout. Odessa chuckles. We’ve become close since I’ve been staying here. I like how much she loves her job. The house managers at my parents’ house were so proper. I found their cardboard outer layer off-putting. Odessa delights in what she does and it comes through in both her meals and her smile.
“You are beautiful, Vivian. Have fun showing off with Nate and smile for the cameras.”
“Cameras?”
“Lainey packs her Christmas letter with photos from the past year. Wait’ll you see it. All done via email so as not to ruin the environment.”
“Dammit. I really do like them.”
“Yes, it’s a shame isn’t it?” She smirks. She totally has my number. She unties her apron and hangs it on a hook in the pantry.
“You think I’m ridiculous because I haven’t moved in yet.”
“No. I think you’re stubborn for not moving in yet,” she corrects. “I think you’re ridiculous for not unpacking your toiletries.”
She has me there.
“As if not taking up a drawer in the bathroom will create some sort of magical boundary.” She wiggles her fingers.
“Agree,” Nate says as he steps into the kitchen.
“No one asked you,” I shoot over my shoulder but he only grins. It doesn’t bother me, which is telling. I’m already comfortable here. In his house. With him. With Odessa and soon, I imagine, with the Owens.
Hanging out with Nate’s family tonight will be intimate. I’m half worried I’ll be intruding. Who am I to pretend I’m one of them?
“Ready to leave, beautiful?” He kisses my forehead. Odessa smiles, and I consider stashing my toiletries in a drawer in the bathroom after all. I lean against Nate, so comforting. At least I can find solace in him if tonight overwhelms me.
The event is hosted at William and Lainey Owen’s house. I’m floored by the sheer size of it. A pair of columns two stories high flank a large overhang, and a massive chandelier twinkles through a second-story cathedral-style window.
“Wow,” I whisper to Nate, my hand in his. The sun is setting and painting the sky a lovely orangey-purple-pink.
We walked by a fountain and a rose garden on our way in. Several guests are seated on the massive seating area on the porch enjoying cocktails. The faint scent of cigar smoke hangs in the air.
“Am I to believe you’re impressed by this?” he asks me at the front door.
“This is a far cry from Chicago,” I admit. Tall buildings and swanky lobbies and modern furniture is one thing. Clear Ridge’s wealth is country chic amidst rolling green hills and lots of trees. The flower gardens aren’t limited to a box here or there. They are expansive and fragrant. “Peaceful.”
I tighten my hold on his arm as we step into the house. I hope that peaceful theme continues the rest of the night. Even though Odessa warned me about cameras, a photographer surprises me as I give my handbag to the coat checker.
“Look at each other, please,” he instructs, “and let’s see a smile.” The checker—a college-aged student with stunning skin and straight, silken black hair—and I put on our best camera-ready smiles and stare at each other for an awkward beat.
“Third picture he’s taken of me doing this,” she says between her teeth.
I like her already.
