Page 49

LIA

I was at Alder & Vine precisely on the dot, at seven, in a new little black dress.

Sleeveless.

Because if this ship was going down tonight—which I very much hoped it was—I wanted to go down swinging.

The hostess saw me and took me to my seat immediately, and I was surprised to find that Marcus was already there. He stood up when he saw me, gave me a brief but tolerable hug, and then sat back down, across from me.

Although the location of our table was intimate, it was a large restaurant, and I knew anyone who cared to had seen me come in—and after the waiter took my drink order, I gave Marcus a look.

“Why are we here?” I asked him.

“Because if I back out now, I’ll look like a fool.” He gave me a calm smile, looking loving and attentive. “And also because I don’t think I want to.” I only had a moment to process that before he said, “Put your hand out.”

I did—and he put his over it, his thumb stroking the back of my hand gently.

“I think I signed something saying you can’t do that,” I murmured, and that made him laugh.

“Relax. People are watching.”

“I know,” I said, letting my shoulders settle. “They’ve been watching all day.”

“Welcome to a taste of the limelight. I would’ve thought someone as posh as you would love it.”

“Believe it or not, I come from quiet money.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

I did my best to disassociate the rest of my entire being from my trapped hand. “Why did you skip the interview for Notable Knot?”

“I was busy. I read it when came out this morning though. You looked beautiful in it—and Zane and Weston appreciated your ability to spar.”

“And what about today?” I asked. “When you sent me into that hive of bees?” I meant B’s—as in bitches. Our waiter came back with our first course, two Greek salads, which Marcus had apparently ordered before I arrived—and which gave me an excuse to reclaim my hand. “Those women hated me.”

“Of course they did. You’re everything they’re not.”

“How…so?” I asked, with a confused headshake.

“Rich—but not trapped. You’ve only got one generation’s worth of trauma wrapped around your neck—they’ve got four or five,” he said, leaning forward, stabbing a tomato with a fork.

“Which is why you don’t have to hide behind curated smiles and faked pleasantries.

You’re bold—you’re real. And none of them get to be.

I take it you didn’t read any of the comments on those articles? ” he asked, tucking into his plate.

I shook my head slowly.

“Of course, some people were assholes, it’s the human condition—but you also had strident supporters. People felt things, reading that story. People cared, in a very real way, about you—far more than anyone on the street has ever given a fuck about Maribeth, or maybe even me. You’re relatable.”

“Oh,” I said quietly, which gave him permission to continue.

“I think America’s seen enough beautiful women burned in effigy that they’re smart enough to want to stop it in real time when they get the chance. Free Britney, and all that.”

“Ohhhhh,” I said, fighting not to let my voice arc.

“So, none of that frightens me. And it shouldn’t frighten you,” he said, looking at my dress, deprived of sleeves. “Show things off. Start a charity. People will listen to you when you say things. Use that. It’s part of your power.”

“I don’t want this,” I said out loud. The words just came out of me, and I think some small childish part of me believed they would be like some sort of magic spell.

Marcus gave me a sad expression, and reached out to briefly take my hand again. “I know,” he said, and then kept eating.