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Fifteen seconds later, we’re out of the ballroom. Winnifred calls the elevator and pivots in my direction.
“Why astronomy?” she demands.
“Why ast . . . ?” I stand between her and the closed doors of the elevator, confused. “Do not change the subject. Tell me more about the room.”
She shrugs. “I’ll do whatever I want. You’re the one at a point of disadvantage here.”
“How’d you figure that?”
“Because you want to know more about what happened with Grace and Paul, whereas I’m terrified of the truth.”
I don’t really believe her. I think she is just as fascinated with what happened between our lovers. But calling her out won’t change her stance.
“How’d you figure I’m into astronomy in the first place?” I turn the conversation back to her. I forgot to ask back at the New Amsterdam.
“There’s always an astronomy book tucked under your arm. There was one in Italy, when you were on the balcony, and one the first time you came to Calypso Hall. It’s almost like your anchor. It grounds you, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not a security blanket.” I scoff.
“I think it is.” She arches an eyebrow.
“Luckily you’re not paid to think, but to recite lines better thinkers have written.”
“Spare me.” She raises a hand. “If you thought I was this stupid, you wouldn’t giggle like a schoolgirl every time I made a joke. Now tell me about your fascination with astronomy.”
She is not going to let it go. I might as well throw her a bone.
“Astronomy is physics, and physics is absolute. It is factual, and therefore real. Some people turn to God for answers. I turn to science. I like the mystery of the cosmos. And I like to unravel it. Think about it this way—the Earth will explode in about seven billion years. By this time, most life on it will probably be extinct. Whoever is unfortunate enough to survive will have to watch their own demise as the sun absorbs the Earth, after we enter the red giant phase and expand beyond our current orbit. At this stage, it would be nice to have a plan B in place. No doubt neither of us will be here to execute it, but to think you and I could be a part of the solution—that excites me.”
And that’s when I realize no one’s ever asked me about my love for astronomy before. Grace treated my books, my degree, my passion, as if they were no more than a plastic houseplant. Riggs and Christian largely ignore it. Dad never understood the fascination—he never understood anything that couldn’t make him more money.
Winnifred actually cares.
The elevator slides open. We both walk inside. I have no idea where we’re going. Actually, I have no idea where she is going. This woman is not going to let me tag along, wherever she’s headed.
“So why did you opt for hedge funds? Why not NASA?” She studies me.
“I knew from a very small age that I’d inherit the Corbin fortune and portfolio. In order not to shit all over the family legacy, I needed to work in finance.”
“Do you care about your family legacy?”
“Not particularly,” I admit. “See, we Corbins have a curse. Two curses, to be exact. One of them is we always try to outperform the last person we inherited the empire from.”
“So you want to be better than your dad, even though he’s not here to witness it. Gotcha. Makes a lot of sense. And what’s the other one?” She tilts her head sideways.
Smirking, I lean back against the mirror. “We always fall for the wrong girl. In fact, all of the last seven generations of men in my family ended up divorcing their wives.”
“That’s really sad.”
“I could think of sadder things to torture your mind with.”
“I’m sure you can.” She smiles wanly. “You like torturing people, don’t you?”
“I actually don’t care enough,” I say casually. “Unlike you, who cares too much. The charities, volunteer work, the cookies, the smiles. You need to live a little more for yourself and a little less for everyone else.”
She stares at me, but doesn’t say anything. I hit a nerve, and I know she’ll think about it when we say our goodbyes. Nonetheless, we still have a few minutes to burn together.
“So tell me—what are you passionate about, Winnifred?”
She rubs at her chin, a tic she cannot conceal. “Mostly theater. Since I was a little girl, the stage has been my escape.”
“What did you escape?”
“The same thing we all escape.” She runs a finger over the rim of the elevator’s mirror, just to do something with her hands. “Reality, mostly.”
The elevator slides open. She is quick to get out.
“What was so wrong with Winnifred’s reality, growing up?” I’m a dog with a bone. I’m chasing her across the lobby, making a spectacle of both of us, and I don’t care. I won’t care tomorrow either. I never cared what people thought of me. It was always Grace who gave a shit.
