Lily opened her purse. “Here,” she said as she unscrewed a small bottle of wine. It was the kind you get when you’re flying. A glass for one.
I took it and gave her a smile and when she pulled out a second, I had to laugh. “Always prepared.”
“You know it,” she said raising her hand. “To rainy days.”
“And rainy nights.” I clinked her bottle.
“To new beginnings.”
“And old endings,” I said, and then I drank the wine.
All of it.
I needed it.
After a final gulp, I let my forehead fall to the window. The sound of faint raindrops that drizzled down it as I stared out into the night triggered something inside me—that lonely ache that I couldn’t seem to ever shake. And for the first time since I had woken up that morning, I allowed a melancholy wave of sorrow to wash over me.
I’d second-guessed my decision to end things with Dawson every day. So when I woke up this morning, I thought I’d be sadder than I had been.
But I wasn’t sad at all.
I was relieved.
I was ready for the shadow that had been looming over me since I broke off the engagement to be gone. Even after the wedding was canceled, the countdown to the big day was still there. Just because two people ceased to exist as a unit, it didn’t mean you no longer felt the other person’s presence in your life.
And Dawson Vanderbilt, even with his gallant stand-up and let’s be friends attitude, had felt like a constant mark of failure in my life.
The seemingly perfect man, a wedding planned with all the trimmings, and I still couldn’t go through with it. I knew the chemistry wasn’t there to sustain a life of happiness together.
I loved him, yet the spark I wanted to feel each time I saw him and the leg I wanted to kick back with a pointed toe when he kissed me—neither ever came.
My phone rang and glancing at the screen, I rolled my eyes.
“Your mother again?” Lily asked.
I nodded. “She’s called me every hour since I left her at lunch. She says she’s checking on me but I can’t help but feel like it’s more. Like she’s punishing me for not going through with the wedding by reminding me of all the things we would have been doing today.”
“She means well, you know she does.”
“I suppose,” I said as I glanced again at the ringing phone.
“Give it to me.”
I looked at Lily questioningly.
“Give me your phone.”
She powered it off. “Everyone you need to talk to will be right inside there.” She pointed to the large brick building we were coming up on in the Meatpacking District.
I gave her a weak smile and slipped my phone in my purse.
When the car slowed, Lily put her hand on my leg. “You sure you’re up to this? We could just go back to my place and watch another movie.”
I flashed her a huge grin, letting my pearly whites show as the black Escalade pulled up to the curb. “Are you kidding?” I chuckled. “And miss the funeral tonight?”
She giggled. “Speaking of, did you see Danny’s tweet?”
I shook my head.
She pulled out her phone, tapped a few buttons, and showed me. “May our ideals RIP. #Bestfuckingfriends #Somethingsshouldneverdie.”
“I really have missed him,” I sighed.
“Me too but at least his social media obsession keeps us up to date with his daily life,” Lily replied with a wink.
“That’s true.”
“Last chance,” she said.
For one moment, I thought about backing out but I plastered a smile on my face instead. “I’m fine. Now let’s go have some fun.”
The door opened and a big black umbrella was held above it. I placed my hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “I’ll take a cab home, so don’t wait up for my call.”
Hugh had been our family’s driver since I was eight years old.
“Miss Phoebe,” he said in his heavy English accent. “You know your father insists I see to it that you make it home safely.”
With one foot out the door, I tried not to laugh at the irony that even from his jail cell, my father still felt the need to watch over me. “I promise I will.”
He shook his head with a heavy sigh, conceding quickly before an argument arose that he knew he’d never win.
I gave him a little squeeze before dropping my other foot to the ground. “Have a good night.”
As of that morning, Hugh’s duties had been transferred from our family’s personal driver, to a driver for the Saint Hotel. He’d still drive my mother as well, of course. Poppy had all but refused to cut back and I knew losing her driver wouldn’t sit well. Soon enough she would be feeling the repercussions of not doing as I had suggested. The Hamptons house went on the market last year and sold right away so that kept her bank account full over the past year. But with no money coming in from The Saint Corporation, I estimated within a year she’d have nothing left.
The trust fund I had access to was also almost empty. My grandfather had divided the money in half—I got the first half when I turned twenty-one and the second when I turn thirty-one, which was still five years away. Most of what I had was used for my father’s legal defense when all of his and my mother’s assets were frozen. I was surprised that my father dragged the proceedings out as long as he did. I knew he was guilty. Everyone knew he was guilty. He’d been charged once before though, when I was little, and had gotten off. I think that’s why he refused to plead guilty. But this time it cost him—no us—a fortune. And he wasn’t acquitted as he was over twenty years ago. I had never thought of my father as selfish, but I did now. After everything, in the end, to receive a lighter sentence, he finally did plead guilty.
By then the St. Claire fortune had been nearly depleted. My parents had been living beyond their means for years anyway, so it didn’t take much to empty them once their accounts had been released.
I had to turn the company around. If not we were not only going to be penniless, we would be homeless. My apartment was a rental, with a steep rent. My lease would be up next month and I planned to move out of the Park Avenue apartment my mother had insisted on when I went to grad school. But my mother would never leave her home on East Seventy-Sixth Street until she was forced to. And a small part of me didn’t want her to. It was my childhood home after all. But the reasonable side of me knew that even after the second mortgage was paid off, the five-story home would sell for enough that she’d never have to worry about money.
And then I wouldn’t have to worry about her.
The open velvet rope was only a few feet away but it seemed so much farther. I grabbed on to Lily’s arm to steady myself. I was feeling slightly tipsy from the wine and my mind was running in a million different directions.
My mother.
My father.
My job.
I took a deep breath.
The cool air felt good in my lungs. It helped to shift my mind away from my problems. I looked at Lily; she was worried about me, I could tell. But I knew I’d be fine. Today I was allowed to be down but tomorrow I would pick myself back up. Still, I wanted to ease her mind. With thoughts of the flick we had just watched, more specifically of the very hot, very sexy Captain America, slamming into my head, I decided to do something to convince Lily I was okay.
So I held my phone to my ear in mock conversation and spoke loud enough for her to hear. “Hello, Marvel Studios, I really want to play the Black Widow in the next Captain America movie.”
She looped her arm through mine and her dirty-sounding chuckle was loud. “Gorgeous, all legs, and sexy vixen with a husky voice—yeah I’d say that part works for you.”
Flashing a smile at the bouncer, I stopped. “We’re Danny Capshaw’s guests, Phoebe St. Claire and Lily Monroe.”
He glanced down at his clipboard and nodded for us to pass.
Danny belonged to some entertainment circuit that had come to the city last year, called Jet Set. It was the hottest new thing—membership not only allowed exclusive weekend access into some of the city’s hottest clubs, it was the only way to gain VIP status. It was brilliant. Nothing the rich and famous valued more than exclusivity. And they were more than willing to pay—a lot. Membership fees were ridiculously high.