“Wait, wait. Evan Pierce? Holy shit.” Dixon started to unscrew his cuff links. “I mean, that’s fucked up. But why would Rowan care any more than the rest of you?”
Corinne bit the inside of her cheek. Sometimes she forgot how much she didn’t tell Dixon. “They’ve been seeing each other.”
Dixon’s mouth dropped open. “Wait a minute. James is the dude in the video?” He reached for his gin and tonic on the side table next to the couch. A slice of lime bobbed cheerfully on top. “I mean, isn’t that kind of messed up? Moving in on your dead cousin’s husband?” He raised an eyebrow at Corinne.
“Dixon. James is the one who’s at fault here,” Corinne said. “They were consenting adults—Rowan wasn’t moving in on anyone.”
Dixon chuckled. “She sure seemed in charge in that video.”
“She’s my cousin, Dixon. Did you seriously watch that?”
Dixon shrugged good-naturedly. “Me and the rest of America.”
Corinne shut her eyes, trying her best to let the comment go. “He’s been sleeping with someone else. Poppy’s best friend . . . and our wedding planner.” She rubbed her temples, suddenly realizing something. “Does this mean I should fire her? I probably should, shouldn’t I?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Dixon held up a halting palm. “We’re not firing Evan. The wedding is next week.”
Corinne stood up and walked to the large fireplace in the back of the room. She didn’t know why she was so indignant. She’d cheated on Dixon. She of all people knew how easy it was to do. How it could just happen.
“You’re acting as if no one did anything wrong except for Rowan. What about James? At least tell me that what he’s done is terrible. At least give me that.” Even as she heard the words coming out of her mouth, she felt like she was in a play, acting the part of Corinne Saybrook.
Dixon sipped his cocktail. “Wasn’t James always sort of a dog? Guys like that never change.”
His gaze returned to poker just as one of the players—a smug-looking kid in a hoodie—won a hand and took a bunch of chips. Corinne pressed her hands against the cold marble mantel and tried to breathe, but there was a fire burning in her chest. “So that’s how you rationalize it?” she asked shakily. “Rowan should have known better, so it’s her fault.”
Dixon set his glass back down. “Why are you picking a fight with me?”
“I’m not. I’m just—”
“Wait, wait.” Dixon held his hand up, pointing at something on the screen. The players were placing new bids.
Corinne swallowed a scream and walked out of the room. She counted to five, but Dixon didn’t follow her. She sank down into one of the high-backed wing chairs and laid her hands in her lap. But the chair wasn’t comfortable. A crowd cheered on the TV in the other room. Dixon applauded exuberantly.
Corinne knew what would happen: in a few minutes, he would come in here and say, “Hey, let’s go out,” in an attempt to smooth it over. And then they would go somewhere loud and expensive, and they wouldn’t talk about the argument because they never talked about their arguments, just like they never talked about anything real.
It hit her all at once: the whole time they’d been dating, she’d been waiting for him to become serious. Not serious as in I-want-to-marry-you serious, but serious in his own skin. Grown-up enough to have real discussions. Adult enough to want to spend a whole evening alone with her instead of inviting everyone along as though they were still in college. The more the merrier? Maybe it was because he had nothing to say to her.
And maybe she went along with it because she had nothing to say to him, either.
She stood up and pressed her hands to the window like a prisoner in a cell, watching the lights on Fifth Avenue change from red to green to yellow to red to green to yellow, the little don’t-cross hands blinking in perfect tempo. It was beautiful, actually. A mini symphony of lights below her window, and she’d never noticed it before.
Don’t you want to live an honest life?
Will’s face appeared before her, and all at once, she thought she could. She felt stronger, suddenly, as if she could break from the mold of what she was supposed to be. Poppy had broken that mold, it seemed—and hell, so had Rowan and Aster and certainly Natasha. It felt as if they’d all broken an important contract that every Saybrook woman was supposed to uphold. They were supposed to be faithful and upstanding. They were supposed to set an example.