Chapter 5 - THE DATE HE REFUSED TO RUIN
Theo took me to a diner in Brooklyn.
After one thousand roses, I had expected something theatrical.
A rooftop.
A private chef.
Possibly trained doves.
Instead he picked a place with cracked red booths, laminated menus, and a waitress who called everyone sweetheart.
“I thought we were avoiding spectacle,” he said.
“You own flower shops.”
“I contain multitudes.”
I laughed.
It felt good.
Normal.
Theo ordered pancakes for dinner.
I ordered a cheeseburger.
For thirty minutes, neither of us mentioned Adrian.
Then Theo set down his fork.
“You’re in love with him.”
I nearly inhaled a French fry.
“What?”
“Sorry.”
“You cannot casually say something like that while holding maple syrup.”
“I could put it down.”
“The syrup is not the problem.”
Theo smiled.
Then his expression softened.
“I’ve known you seven years, Claire.”
“I am not in love with Adrian.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not.”
“Okay.”
“That tone is incredibly irritating.”
“What tone?”
“That peaceful, emotionally healthy tone.”
He laughed.
I looked out the window.
Rain had turned Brooklyn streets silver.
“He doesn’t even believe in love.”
Theo leaned back.
“I don’t think that’s true anymore.”
“You spoke to him for one evening.”
“I sell flowers.”
“That does not qualify you as a psychologist.”
“No. But it means I spend half my life around men buying things because they don’t know how to say what they feel.”
He pointed his fork at me.
“Adrian Whitmore is not confused about what he feels.”
My throat tightened.
“He’s terrified of what feeling it means.”
I looked away.
Theo let the silence stay.
That was one reason I liked him.
He never seemed afraid of space between words.
Eventually I said, “You sent me a thousand roses.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He considered lying.
I saw the temptation.
Then he didn’t.
“Because I knew you wouldn’t choose me.”
That surprised me.
Theo smiled sadly.
“I thought if I made a grand enough gesture, maybe you’d look at me differently.”
“Theo.”
“Not my finest hour.”
He traced the edge of his coffee cup.
“I’ve loved some version of you for years.”
Pain entered his smile.
“But friendship can make you greedy if you’re not careful.”
I reached across the table.
He covered my hand.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“You deserved an honest chance.”
“I got one.”
His gaze held mine.
“And now I’m going to be equally honest.”
I waited.
“I like you too much to become the man you use to avoid the man you actually want.”
My eyes burned.
“Theo—”
“No tragedy.”
He squeezed my fingers.
“I’m still stealing you for pancakes whenever necessary.”
I laughed through the ache.
“I didn’t order pancakes.”
“You made the wrong choice.”
He lifted his coffee.
“To bad romantic decisions.”
I tapped my glass against his.
“To surviving them.”
When I returned to Whitmore Manor shortly after eleven, the house was quiet.
Adrian’s car was gone.
I hated the disappointment that moved through me.
Then I saw Lily asleep on the sofa in the morning room beside stacks of cardboard boxes.
I nudged her shoulder.
She startled awake.
“Is it morning?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
She looked around.
“Then why am I wearing a shoe?”
“One shoe?”
She looked down.
Apparently this was new information.
“What happened here?”
Boxes covered the floor.
Each was labeled with the name of a local shelter, school, or community center.
Lily sat up.
“The gala.”
“What gala?”
“Our foundation fundraiser Saturday.”
I stared.
For six weeks, Lily and I had been trying to persuade Adrian to let the annual Whitmore Foundation gala support a women’s housing initiative instead of another elite museum renovation.
Adrian had refused to become involved.
“These are donations?”
“Thirty-two million pledged.”
I froze.
“What?”
“He called every major donor himself.”
“Adrian?”
“And he doubled the family commitment.”
I stared at the boxes.
“Why?”
Lily smiled slowly.
“Because you said three weeks ago that rich people liked solving problems they could name buildings after but ignored women who needed somewhere safe to sleep.”
I remembered.
I had said it in frustration while Adrian walked through the room.
I had assumed he wasn’t listening.
“He remembered?”
“He remembers everything you say.”
The front door opened.
Adrian entered, damp from the rain.
He stopped when he saw me.
His eyes went to the clock.
Then immediately away.
He was trying not to ask about my date.
That somehow made me want to tell him.
“It went well.”
His face gave away nothing.
“I’m glad.”
I almost smiled.
“He’s kind.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
Adrian took off his coat.
“I investigated him.”
I stared.
His eyes closed briefly.
“Right.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
A reluctant smile appeared.
“I deserved that.”
“Yes.”
He moved past me.
“Good night, Claire.”
“Adrian.”
He stopped.
“Thank you for the foundation donations.”
His shoulders shifted.
“It needed doing.”
“You didn’t care about it last month.”
“I was wrong.”
That sentence again.
Simple.
Almost impossible coming from him.
He turned.
Our eyes met.
I realized then that Adrian’s great wealth had trained everyone around him to praise whatever he did.
Nobody required him to reconsider himself.
Maybe nobody except me.
And strangely, he seemed to want me to.
“I’m not seeing Theo again,” I said.
Something flashed across his face.
He controlled it quickly.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
He waited.
I waited.
Neither of us moved.
Finally Adrian said, “I’m trying very hard not to ask why.”
I smiled.
“I can tell.”
“Is it working?”
“Barely.”
A silence.
Then I crossed the distance between us.
Not all of it.
Just enough.
“Theo said friendship can make people greedy.”
Adrian’s gaze stayed on mine.
“And?”
“I think fear can too.”
His breathing changed.
I could feel the almost-kiss from the greenhouse between us.
Still unfinished.
Still waiting.
Then Lily’s phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen.
Her face went white.
“Adrian.”
He turned.
“What?”
She held out the phone.
A news alert had appeared.
WHITMORE FAMILY EMPLOYEE LINKED TO DECADES-OLD ELEANOR WHITMORE SCANDAL.
Below the headline was my photograph.
And beneath it, another.
My mother.
Anna Bennett.
Adrian read the first paragraph.
His entire expression changed.
Someone had leaked the contents of the letters.
Someone who knew exactly what we had found.
May you like
And according to the article, my mother had not merely worked for Eleanor Whitmore.
She had been the last person seen with her alive.
