This, though… this isdifferent.
This is Julian’swife.
This is just a minor inconvenience, I think as I heat up some water for pasta.
It has to be.
It’s just a fleeting distraction that will pass with time. It has to be. Nothing else can happen—I can’t think these things about her. She deserves more than a fleeting glance from someone who is supposed to be a moral guide, and the ex-best friend of herhusband. But what if this isn’t just a passing storm? What if this is my punishment for everything I’ve done to disgrace God? The thought sends a shiver through me, and a mix of fear and exhilaration—the same one I get before my scenes, or whenever I do something I shouldn’t—pierces through me.
It only deepens my resolve to keep my distance.
From both herandher husband.
But the problem with distance is that it only makes you more aware of the space someone occupies. And right now, Sophieand Julian are starting to feel a little too close, like they’re pressing into corners of my life I didn’t realize were still empty.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE MISUNDERSTANDING
Sophie
There’s something so satisfying about watching all of my hard work fall into place. The glittering candles, the magnolia blooms spilling over every surface, the carefully chosen linens brushing the floor beneath the tables… it turned out better than I could’ve ever expected. A large part of me thrives on the chaos of planning—the orchestration, the details, the feeling of coming up with an amazing idea. I like the control of it all. In a way, it’s the same reason I learned how to braid horse manes as a girl. Each tiny section woven with precision until there wasn’t a single strand out of place.
For the past four months, I’ve poured myself into planning a night like this. Every tiny decision, from the champagne pairings to the imported truffles, was curated by me. Julian keeps calling mehis little project manager, and though he’s joking, I can’t help but wonder if he’s right.
My eyes take in howcleaneverything looks, considering how covered in dust everything was yesterday. I sip my champagne,adjusting one of the tall candlesticks that looks a half inch out of line.
The tables are full of our favorite English foods and champagne, the string quartet is playing in the courtyard, and Julian’s art arrived last week, which gives the whole place a lived-in feel, despite all the work only finishing two days ago. Plus, my collection of books is perched on every shelf space I could find, making me feel like I’mfinallyhome.
What will I do when this is over?
Can I spend my days in the library, getting lost in books? God, that would be a dream come true. I wonder if there’s a job that would allow me to work with books all day long—aside from being a writer, because I’m rubbish at writing.
Perhaps I should think about becoming a librarian. I’m sure Julian would love that, too. It’s probably a fantasy of his.
I let my eyes drift across the grand room. People are filtering in, and I make note of the attendants. We’d really invited everyone we knew: Julian’s art clients, a few friends from my Pilates classes, Kai and his brothers, as well as their partners, and a lot of people Stella had introduced me to over the last couple of months. And then there are also people we’d met at Inferno.
There’s excitement buzzing in the air, but something tugs at the back of my mind.
The party feels too perfect.Toopolished. That same feeling of claustrophobia clings to my throat, and I swallow the panic down.
Maybe that’s the problem. This house was supposed to be an escape from the life I left behind in London, but I can still hear my mother’s voice lingering in the formality of it all.
The party sparkles under the chandelier’s soft glow, but it’s like I can still hear her.
A lady never lets her guests see the cracks, Sophie.
Smile, even if the house is burning down around you.
I blink and sip my champagne, but the echo of her voice lingers, curling around the edges of the evening.
What happens after tonight?
The thought feels selfish, like a betrayal of all the work I’ve done. This is my home now. Ourpalacewithout the prestige that usually comes with a palace. The name is ironic… a play on his upbringing. It was supposed to be a grand project to nurture and fuss over, but the thought of waking up tomorrow without another party to plan or wallpaper to choose feels… hollow.
Maybe I need more than just parties and renovations.
Maybe I need something that doesn’t get packed away at the end of the night.
