Veronica dropped her head, avoiding her eyes. “I know but I plan to get close to Darlene. Otherwise, I won’t be able to find out a thing.”
Kathleen felt a stab of jealousy. How close did Veronica mean? She bit back a heated protest and watched Veronica. “You don’t have to do that," she murmured.
"Yes, I do," Veronica said, without looking up. "If I don’t, she gets away with it. I’ll accompany you to the cocktail party on Saturday night. Darlene will think you hired me for the night.”
Kathleen looked unconvinced but nodded.
Veronica swallowed the last of her wine and walked to the small kitchen to check on a pasta dish on the stove.
"That smells wonderful," Kathleen said
"The meal is the one thing I can control tonight," Veronica said.
They ate quietly, then cleaned up side by side, plates clinking in the sink, water running.
Kathleen leaned against the counter when they were done. "When this is over... what happens next?" she asked softly.
Veronica didn’t answer at first, then whispered, "I don’t know. I’ve lived in a grey zone for so long I’m not sure how to come out of it. But I want to."
Kathleen nodded, letting that land. It wasn’t a promise, but it was something.
Later that night, as they lay tangled together in bed after making love, Kathleen stared at the ceiling, her thoughts spinning quietly.
She had no idea how this was going to end, but she hated the thought of Veronica with Darlene.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Marise stepped out of the black Uber and gazed up at the stately townhouse on the Upper East Side. Lights glowed from the arched windows, and the low hum of classical music floated through the evening air.
As Marise helped Kathleen out of the car something caught in her chest. She looked beautiful, with the light from the streetlight catching the curve of her cheekbone, and shimmering on her hair that fell in waves to her shoulders. She looked radiant, a quiet kind of loveliness that couldn’t be replicated in a beauty parlour. Her dress, a deep teal that brushed her knees, hugged her in all the right places. She looked like herself, only more confident.
Since they’d met, Kathleen had changed, not in essence, but in presence. She stood straighter now and smiled more easily. Her shyness hadn’t disappeared, but it no longer seemed like a wall. Marise had watched her bloom over the past few weeks, as if something buried had been coaxed into light.
"Ready?" Marise asked, reaching for her hand.
Kathleen glanced at her, a nervous smile flickering across her face. "Not even close. But let’s go."
The Wainright residence was precisely what Marise expected from a man who chaired the board of the Atlantic Research Institute—grand but discreet. The townhouse was three stories of classic old New York wealth, all wrought-iron balconies, perfectly clipped hedges, and polished brass fixtures. The front entrance had been swept clean, and twin lanterns flanked the black front door.
Inside, the house opened into a wide foyer with a checkerboard marble floor and a gilded mirror above an antique sideboard laden with crystal. A uniformed waiter took their coats, and they stepped through double doors into a high-ceilinged room filled with chatter and laughter.
George Wainright stood near the fireplace, and when he spotted Kathleen entering, he made his way over immediately.
"Kathleen, the guest of honour," he said warmly, taking both her hands in his. "Welcome.”
“Hi, Mr. Wainright. This is my friend Veronica.”
Wainright gave her a curious but friendly once-over and nodded. "A pleasure, Veronica. Eve will be thrilled you’ve come. She’s somewhere about.” He chuckled. “Probably hounding the cook.”
At the mention of his wife, a small woman in a black cocktail dress who was talking to two men at the fireplace, turned their way. Her expression brightened when her eyes landed on Kathleen. She hurried over and hugged her. “Kathleen. I’m glad to see you came. Knowing how you avoid these things like the plague, George was under a threat to get you here.”
“Hi, Eve. Um… this is Veronica.”
Eve’s eyes widened for a second and then she said with polite charm, “You’re most welcome, Veronica.”
Marise studied Eve Wainright discretely as she talked. She was a small, petite woman in her mid-sixties, with greying hair swept back in a loose bun, and wearing a simple black designerdress, with minimal jewellery. Though clearly wealthy by the look of the house, she had the look of an academic rather than a socialite.
Eve smiled at Kathleen. "Your paper was absolutely fabulous. What a novel scientific breakthrough. Bioengineered plants that can store and release energy. That’s the sort of thing that changes the conversation entirely. George and I were talking—this could revolutionize how we think about sustainability."
