Adeline My lunch breaks at the gallery had quickly become routine. I would sit behind the front desk, scrolling through emails from my divorce lawyer or staring at photos my nanny, Amber, had sent of Jennifer and Lauren during their morning playtime. Those pictures of their sticky hands and uneven ponytails with huge smiles on their faces were always one of the highlights of my day. The only thing that topped it was actually getting home to them. But instead of doing any of that today, I was hailing a taxi. In the freezing rain. But the air itself was warm. Welcome back to Chicago, Adeline. Meanwhile, my umbrella fought for its life against a stiff breeze, threatening to snap inside out every few seconds. It was all I could do just to try to hang onto it while also ke eping my hair out of my face. I still hadn’t gotten reaccustomed to the tumultuous weather pattern of the Great Lakes yet. Especially not after all the years spent in the Hamptons as a glorified housewife. Even the weather there had always seemed pre- approved by a board of designer-clad moms who were rich enough to have a direct line to sunshine itself. Not here. That’s a fact. Thankfully, the next cab driver to pass took pity on me, skidding to a halt without even spraying water all over my shoes. I yanked open the door and dove inside, immediately flashing a grateful smile to him. “Thank you,” I said, speaking through the shiver that passed over me at climbing into the air-conditioning while damp. “I need to be at La Petit Fermiere in ten minutes if you can. Please.” The man met my gaze in the rearview mirror and nodded. “Not a problem. Buckle up.” After I did, he refocused on the street and pulled away from the curb. I relaxed into my seat, turning to face the window. Downtown blurred past the rain-streaked glass as we crossed the city toward the familiar avenues of the Gold Coast, where the restaurant Uncle Clark had chosen was situated. While I tried not to think too hard about why these streets were so familiar, the driver zigged and zagged through the midday traffic, parking in front of a ridiculously fancy restaurant just about twelve minutes later. I tipped him as well as I could, then climbed out and rushed into the restaurant. As soon as I st epped inside, I knew I should’ve taken a moment to collect myself before I’d come in. This was not the kind of place that welcomed people with stringy, wet hair who were dripping little puddles onto their floor.
It had linen napkins, muted lighting, and a view that told me no one who usually dined here had to check their bank balances before ordering. I straightened up a little, d eposited my umbrella at the coat check, and tucked my hair behind my ears, but that was about the best I could do right now. I gave the hostess my name and she didn’t stop me when I strode into the dining room. Uncle Clark sat at a table near the windows. As always, he wore a tailored suit with a tie and matching pocket square, his silver-gray hair perfectly styled. I didn’t think he had ever met a rain shower or a breeze that could make him look frazzled. A family trait I definitely hadn’t inherited. He smiled when he saw me, rising from his seat and opening his arms. I weaved my way around the other tables toward him, returning his smile and feeling a rush of genuine fondness for the man. “Adeline,” he said warmly. “Thank you for coming.” “Uncle Clark, I’m so sorry I’m late. I ran into some traffic, and the rain, and I—” “You’re here now, darling,” he interrupted gently, leaning in to kiss my cheek before giving me a quick hug. “Sit.” As I did what I’d been told, I noticed two other men sitting at his table. One I didn’t recognize at all. He was older, also wearing a sharp suit and a polite smile. The other, however, was brutally familiar. My breathing stumbled and my heart tripped over itself before sinking to my stomach when I locked eyes with Zachary Westwood. A slight buzzing started up in my ears, drowning out everything else for just a moment. Zach. My Zach. For a second, all I could do was stare at him, at those electric green eyes I knew he’d inherited from his mother and at the handsome, regal features I knew had come from his father. I forgot how to move, breathe, and speak for just that one second, only capable of taking in the face of the man I’d once loved. He looked the same as he always had, but at the same time, he didn’t look the same at all. The dark blond hair was just a bit darker now than it used to be, his features sharpened at the edges, like time had taken that boyish softness I remembered and wiped it away in favor of maturity. It had been eight years since I’d last seen him in person, and suddenly, my hands didn’t know what to do with themselves, so I folded them tightly in my lap. The stranger who was seated beside Zach stood and extended his hand elegantly toward me. “I’m Roark Wright,” he said. “It’s great to finally meet you.” Finally? I didn’t understand that at all, but I took his offered hand and shook it on instinct, still reeling from the fact that Zach was here. At my uncle’s table. “It’s lovely to meet you as well,” I said. “Adeline.” Zach hesitated for half a second before standing and extending his hand in turn. “Zach.”
Not Zachary. Just Zach. Even though he looked like the sort of man who would be going by Zachary now. Still, I guess it’s nice to know not everything has changed. Instead of saying any of that, I lifted my hand and slowly slid my palm against his, trying not to feel the electricity sparking through me as soon as my skin made contact with his. So many memories raced through me even just at this one simple touch. My entire body suddenly yearned to melt into him, but I managed to rein in that instinct. Hard. “Nice to meet you,” I managed. “Adeline Morris.” We let go at the same time, both of us too careful, like we’d never been closer to one another than strangers passing in a hallway. Which was ridiculous. But it looked like that was what we were doing. My uncle had to know about my history with him, though. Our breakup and my subsequent marriage had been all over the gossip rags at the time, but I supposed it had been eight years. Perhaps my current predicament was too consuming for my uncle to remember my previous relationship. Or maybe he was just ignoring it. Who knows? As a US senator, he certainly did have a good poker face. I could never tell what he was thinking unless he wanted me to. Uncle Clark sat down again, still smiling at me as he settled back. “If you don’t mind giving us a second just to wrap up, darling. I had to squeeze in this meeting with Roark before I head back to DC or it would’ve been months before we could get together again.” “Of course,” I said quietly. “It’s no problem at all.” Uncle Clark grinned. “Thanks, sweetheart. Roark and I go back years. We’re old friends. Zach here works with him.” Zach didn’t correct him or add anything. He just sat there with his face arranged into a stoic mask and his gaze aimed straight at Roark, who was talking now, explaining to me how he and Zach were connected. My heartbeat was too loud and too fast to pay any attention to what he was saying. Dizzy and less steady than I’d felt in a long time, I glanced at Uncle Clark, who was listening attentively to Roark and nodding along. I’d meant to catch his eye to signal that I was just going to pop to the ladies’ room— any excuse to get away from the table right now—but instead, I knocked my elbow right into the glass of water that had been sitting beside me. It tipped faster than I could process what had happened, hitting the table and then the floor. The water inside sloshed out in a sudden, humiliating arc. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry,” I murmured, my voice hushed with shock. I pushed back my chair and stood as fast as I could. Zach moved at the exact same time, clumsily launching himself out of his seat and suddenly appearing beside me. He dropped to his haunches, reaching for napkins just as I did the same.
“I’ve got it,” he said at the same time I said, “I can—” We both stopped talking, and for half a second, neither of us moved so much as a muscle, my gaze once again locked on those green eyes that had haunted my dreams for so many years. A waiter appeared a moment later, breaking our silent stare off. “Is everything all right here?” he asked, hovering over us with polite concern etched into his features. “Yes,” I said, even though it was a lie. “No. I mean, yes. I’m so sorry. I just—” “It’s fine,” Zach cut in, his voice steady and too calm. “I knocked it over,” I admitted. “I’m so sorry. I’m... this is completely my fault.” “Adeline, it’s a glass of water,” Zach said, crouched and not looking at me but still addressing me directly. “It’ll be dry in a minute.” “I know. I just need more napkins.” “It’s fine,” he r epeated. We spoke over each other again and then again, our words overlapping in a messy, impossible rhythm that made it all sound like gibberish. The waiter hesitated, then wisely retreated just as Zach reached for another handful of napkins—at the same time I did. Our fingers brushed, just a fraction of a second of contact, but he pulled back so fast, it almost looked like instinct rather than thought. “I should go,” he said but not to me. He was already on his feet, extending his hand to my uncle. “I have a meeting to get to, but it was wonderful to meet you, Senator. Roark, we’ll talk soon.” Roark nodded and checked his watch, then rose to his own feet after shaking Zach’s hand. “I’ll come visit you in DC soon, Clark.” “Do,” my uncle r eplied easily. “We’ll expect you.” “Good luck, Adeline.” Roark glanced at me briefly, his expression curious, but then he followed Zach out without another word. The second they were gone, it felt like someone had opened a window in a room that’d been sealed for so long, there had been hardly any oxygen left in it. I was still crouched beside the table with a bunch of soaked napkins in my hands and my heartbeat refusing to slow down. The waiter reappeared like magic, taking over from me and doing a significantly better job of mopping up the spill in no time at all. I pushed back to my feet and sat down again, flushing under Uncle Clark’s gaze as he looked at me. “I’m so sorry about that,” I said, suddenly feeling like I’d run a marathon in the wrong direction. “I hope you managed to wrap up your meeting before I barged in.”
He waved me off and my breath stalled in my lungs. I was sure he was going to ask me about Zach and I had no idea what to say. But instead, he leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Don’t worry about that, sweetheart. It was just water. How are your girls doing?” “They’re as good as they can be,” I said, surprised as heck but not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. If he was willing to drop it, I was more than willing to let him. “The school here will be fantastic and they’re adapting faster than I thought.” “That’s great news. One has to be able to adapt to overcome.” He nodded thoughtfully, those blue eyes of his a little hazy before he refocused on me. “Have you given any more thought to what we talked about before?” So that’s why he wanted to have lunch today. “You mean have I thought more about moving to Washington?” “Yes, darling. You said you’d consider it.” Darn it. I should’ve seen this coming. In my generation, I was the only woman in a sea of Morris boys and I’d been my parents’ only child. No siblings to act as a buffer and no backup. So now that both my parents were gone, it was just me and two little girls who still thought the world could be made safe as long as I was beside them. “I’m fine here,” I said, but it came out weaker than I’d wanted it to. “Thank you so much for worrying about us, but we really are doing alright. Like I said, the girls are adjusting well to the city and there’s been more than enough changes in their lives for now.” He sighed. “Speaking of all that change, how’s the divorce progressing? Is the end finally in sight?” “It’s moving along, but no. I don’t think the end is in sight just yet,” I said carefully, knowing that neither he nor any of my other uncles were happy about the legal proceedings taking this long. “You know Louis.” Louis Weatherby, my soon-to-be ex-husband, had torn our lives to shreds, and he still wasn’t happy. He wasn’t just being difficult. He’d turned it into a freaking art form. “I do know Louis, which is why I extended the offer to get you in touch with a better lawyer,” Uncle Clark said. “Someone more experienced with high-conflict divorces.” “It won’t matter in the end,” I said. “I just want it to be over.” He studied me for a long moment. “You understand that the longer this drags on, the worse it looks.” “I do.” I nodded, understanding a lot more than just that. “I also understand what it does to the Morris name.” The fact of the matter was that as a senator, he was a public-facing member of my family, and right now, I was r eputational damage in human form. I had a disgraced father, a dead mother, a divorce in progress, two daughters, no husband, and no visible stability. Old families like ours didn’t only need money to survive. Perc eption was almost as important and the perc eption of us at the moment, because of me, was a problem.
Clark blew out a long breath and reached for his drink, a tumbler of amber liquid I was sure was whiskey that cost enough to pay my rent for two months. “I spoke to my father last week.” My stomach tightened. Shit, shit, shit. Clark Morris, Sr. was my grandfather, the man who’d arranged my marriage to Louis to begin with, and I was pretty sure he hadn’t spoken to my uncle about life or golf. If he was getting in volved again, I was in trouble. “I hope you’ll send him my love when you speak to him again,” I said, hoping he’d leave it at that. “We talked about you, Adeline,” he said, his gaze unwavering on my own. “About how it would be wise for you to be married again.” I felt like he’d punched me right in the airway, but again, I should’ve seen it coming. My divorce wasn’t even finalized yet, and here they were, already plotting the road to the next one. It was a pattern in families like mine, a system that worked for some but had failed me spectacularly. I couldn’t believe they were already talking about this, but simultaneously, I was already bracing myself for the inevitable. This is how it goes, isn’t it? One day, you’re struggling to stay afloat trying to divorce a man who ripped your life to pieces, and the next, you’re staring down the barrel of another match being arranged for you. I would’ve laughed right in his face at the mere suggestion of it, but one look at him told me that he was serious—and that I’d better be ready for them to intervene soon if I couldn’t push this divorce through soon.