I reach back, kneading my neck to loosen the tension.
Meanwhile, Vincent is all smiles now. “To confirm, then, this Energizer Bunny routineisabout She Who Shall Remain Unnamed?”
“A little,” I admit, before he grabs a foghorn and announces it to everyone in Ellswood.
He nods. “Fine. At least we’re getting somewhere now,” he says. Then, abruptly, he snaps his fingers and gestures for me to follow him outside to the terrace, where the landscapers are mowing down weeds and planting sod, trees, and flowers for the gardens set to flank the courtyard.
“It’s too loud,” I yell over the roar of a leaf blower.
But Vincent is undeterred in his mission, leading me to the far end of the property, where the noise is just muffled enough for him to interrogate me in peace.
“Whatever’s bothering you, I need to know now,” he says, dead serious. “Because your body has been in that ballroom all day, but I think we both know damn well your head’s been in the library. So, spill.”
Frustration sags through my limbs.
Ever since he and the crew didn’t show up for that initial tour with Cornelia and Hailey, and I later learned that Cornelia purposely misinformed them about a delayed starting time, something hasn’t sat right with me. Her motives don’t make sense. But listening to Hillary’s warnings earlier at Bean & Gone, and overhearing Ebony make plans with a freaking dating concierge, nothing feels cut and dried anymore.
You’re still running behind her, settling forcrumbs.
Maybe Josiah was right. Maybe Iampathetic.
“Aloud, please…” Vincent prompts me.
Because maybe I might need a little help sorting out my thoughts, and this caffeine buzz doesn’t seem to be fading anytime soon, I tell him everything.
Over the next twenty minutes, I bring Vincent up to speed on all the highlights of Ebony’s and my history. I start in high school as her tutor, skipping to the night we blurred the friendship line in college, and continue to that lunch we shared three years ago.
“Wait…” Vincent’s eyes are saucer wide. “No.”
I nod. “Mm-hmm.”
He averts his gaze, still shaking his head, his manicured hand clutched to his invisible pearls. “So…” He blinks, repeatedly. “That sleazy, slimy, no-good man was cheating on our girl”—Ebony’sour girlnow—“with not only Nora Whitfield, but Hillary Winston, too?”
“Yeah, and that’s why I was trying to warn her.”
“Nuh-uh.” Vincent gives me a slow, disapproving head shake, narrowing his dark eyes like he’s seeing red. Then he holds up a hand. “Wait, isn’t she the bride’s sisterandone of Ebony’s best friends?”
I give a single nod.
“Damn, these hoes ain’t loyal.”
A laugh rises from deep in my chest, rolling over me. “All right, with that little nugget of info, let’s go back three spaces,” I say, piecing it all together. Cornelia hiring Ebony and me separately, then this new “professional” version of Ebony that’s been emerging, not to mention the glimpses I’ve caught in herDivorcétante Chroniclesposts, and now, us working on-site together. Vincent—and the entire crew—already heard about the dating concierge.“So, while Hillary said to me earlier that, given the opportunity, I’d have broken up their marriage, that’s not what worries me.”
“Oh, shoot.” Vincent braces himself, seeming fully invested. “I can’t wait to hear this.”
“It’s more that she’s not married anymore, and she still doesn’t want me.”
It feels like adrop the hammermoment.
A huge, light-bulb epiphany.
But Vincent simply straightens, his expression a mess of pensive contortions.
For a second, I think,Hmm, maybe he didn’t hear me.So I say, again, “We’re both single, and she’s not jumping at the chance to be with me.” I throw my hands up.
It’s not like I expected her to be sitting around thinking about one stupid night we shared over ten years ago, before she was married. That would be ridiculous. But still, if there’s even the slightest chance we could get close again—maybe even more—I’m in.
Vincent lets out a sharp sigh.
