I was 10 minutes late to my own housewarming party. When I finally walked in, Wren Halley, the 22 year-old college student my boyfriend had been “helping through a difficult time,” was standing in my living room greeting my relatives as though the penthouse belonged to her.
Chapter 3
Three days after Austin lost his job, Wren left him.
I learned that from Austin himself.
He called from a number I didn’t recognize.
“Please don’t hang up.”
I almost did.
Instead I waited.
“Wren’s gone.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“She used my personal card after the corporate cards were frozen.”
“How much?”
“Eight thousand.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“She thought we were going to some gala. She bought clothes.”
“And?”
“When I told her I lost my job, she walked out.”
There was silence on the line.
“Lily, she never cared about me.”
I looked at the documents on my desk.
“Austin, what exactly do you want me to say?”
“I was stupid.”
“Yes.”
“I got caught up in feeling needed.”
That, at least, sounded true.
He had liked Wren’s admiration.
Around me, Austin was simply my boyfriend.
Around my father, he was the young consultant hoping to prove himself.
Around his partners, he was one associate among many.
But around Wren, he was powerful.
Experienced.
Generous.
The man who could solve problems.
“I never slept with her,” he said suddenly.
I hadn’t asked.
“I need you to believe that.”
“Whether you did or not isn’t why we ended.”
“Then why?”
I almost laughed.
“You still don’t know?”
“Lily—”
“You gave away things that were never yours, and when I objected, you made me the problem.”
“I can change.”
“You might.”
“Then give me a chance.”
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“After three years?”
“Three years is why I know the answer.”
I ended the call.
Two weeks later, my parents and I attended the Belmore Autumn Foundation Gala.
I wore an emerald silk gown and my grandmother’s bangle.
When Mother saw it, she smiled.
“Good choice.”
“It belongs out in the world.”
“On the right wrist.”
The gala occupied the ballroom and courtyard of the St. Regis overlooking the harbor.
We had just crossed the terrace when commotion broke out near the entrance.
“Lily!”
I stopped.
Austin had slipped past the first security barrier.
He looked ten years older.
His suit was wrinkled.
His hair needed cutting.
Two guards caught him before he reached us.
“Please,” he called.
People turned.
I could feel my father stiffen beside me.
“Five minutes,” Austin begged. “That’s all I need.”
Dad started forward.
I touched his arm.
“I’ll handle it.”
I stopped several yards from Austin.
He stared at me.
Not really at me, I realized.
At everything around me.
The gala.
My parents.
The cameras.
My grandmother’s bracelet.
The life he had been certain would become his.
“Lily, I’m sorry.”
I waited.
“I was wrong about Wren.”
“This isn’t about Wren.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He struggled against the guards.
“My firm is pressing charges.”
“That’s between you and your firm.”
“My car is being repossessed. I’m losing my apartment.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You could stop this.”
“No.”
“Your father could call Richard.”
“He won’t.”
“Please.”
His voice broke.
“I loved you.”
Perhaps he had.
People can love you and still be wrong for you.
People can love what you provide more than they respect who you are.
Sometimes even they cannot tell the difference.
Austin dropped to one knee.
A murmur moved through the crowd.
“Please give me one more chance.”
I looked down at him.
Then I remembered the shattered portrait.
“Do you remember what you said when Wren broke my family picture?”
His face changed.
“You said, ‘It’s just a photograph. We can replace it tomorrow.’”
“Lily—”
“You believed anything replaceable didn’t deserve grief.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know.”
I adjusted the bracelet on my wrist.
“You didn’t understand what mattered until losing something affected you.”
He stared at me.
“Our relationship wasn’t a photograph.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“It was more valuable. Which is why I won’t hand it back to someone who treated it carelessly.”
The security guards began moving him toward the gate.
“Lily!”
I turned away.
“Three years!”
I looked back once.
“Yes,” I said. “Three years was enough.”
Then I walked into the ballroom with my parents.
Halfway to our table, Mother slipped her hand through mine.
“You didn’t enjoy that.”
“No.”
“Good.”
I looked at her.
She smiled.
“Revenge is satisfying for about five minutes. Good judgment lasts longer.”
That evening, I danced with my father.
At one point he asked, “Did I interfere too much?”
“You canceled his firm’s contract.”
“I did.”
“That was pretty interfering.”
He winced theatrically.
“Your mother said the same.”
I laughed.
Then Dad became serious.
“I never disliked Austin because he wasn’t born into money, Lily.”
“I know.”
“I disliked how impressed he was by proximity to it.”
I thought of the Porsche key.
The penthouse deed.
His certainty that marriage would turn access into ownership.
“You saw it before I did.”
“I’m sixty-four. I’ve had more practice.”
I rested my head briefly against his shoulder.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“For what?”
“For giving me time to figure it out myself.”
He squeezed my hand.
“That was the hard part.”
