“What kind is it?”
She smiled one of her rarest smiles. Pure joy that brightened the room. “I don’t know,” she said and laughed. “I left the party before I could try any.”
He got forks from upstairs. They ate the lemon raspberry cake slowly, leaning on their elbows at a folding table. She told him about the party, and he told her about playing LEGO with his nephew, the whole time thinking, Yes this. This is the way we should be. She smelled like expensive perfume and cigars. It made him want to press her against the table and breathe her in.
They were stretching out the time, taking smaller mouthfuls and longer pauses between bites. Once the cake was gone, he tried to think of something that would stop her from leaving. But all he said was “Thanks for stopping by,” like some clueless jackass with better things to do. For the rest of the night, Nathan picked at the scab of that moment, imagining all the ways he could have persuaded her to stay.
He was used to being alone. It was how he’d spent most of his life. But Rachel had slipped into his daily routine when he wasn’t paying attention. Now, he couldn’t go an hour without sending her a message. He was lucky that the increasing demands of the gala gave him an excuse to be in constant communication with her. The event had been sold out for weeks. Publicity requests seemed to take up more of his time than working on the art they were trying to sell. Which didn’t matter much, since so far, the only “work” he’d done was cursing himself while staring at a blank canvas and blowing off the freewriting exercises Rachel recommended to draw cheesy doodles of her name.
He was actually relieved when his mother called the next morning and asked if he’d do a last-minute photoshoot for some DC society magazine he’d never heard of. Nathan wore a white T-shirt and jeans, while Sofia posed in a fuchsia blazer with one hand on his shoulder, staring down the camera as her hair billowed in artificial wind. The photographer told Nathan to fold his arms and show his tattoos. “We like the contrast,” the jittery British man said. “Elegance meets street, or something. Maybe glare a bit more, and lift your chin so—”
“Excuse me,” Sofia said. “Could you shut up and take the picture.”
The guy clammed up after that and took a break.
“Thank you for doing this,” she said to Nathan.
“I was surprised you asked. I know you didn’t want to pick me for the gala.”
Her eyes shot to his. “Excuse me?”
“This is a big deal. You had a right to be anxious about them choosing me.”
“Because I thought they were pressuring you. Joe put you on the spot in front of all those people and I didn’t want you to feel obligated.” She paused. “Being associated with me and my work can be difficult. I’m an easy target and I didn’t want my critics aiming at you too.”
Nathan had seen the snide comments online about corruption and nepotism. His family was accused of using their money to buy corporate-friendly congressional seats. He’d ignored it because, honestly, some of it was true. And the worst stuff wasn’t even aimed at him.
“Rachel’s helping me tune out the noise and focus on the work. I’ll be fine.”
Her mouth twisted. “Rachel? Not Mrs. Abbott?”
“That’s not her name.”
Sofia pulled out a small gold compact from her purse and rubbed away a smear of lipstick. “That woman can be so difficult to read. Has been since she moved here. It’s unnerving.”
“You can be intimidating.”
Sofia snorted. “I doubt she’s intimidated by much. Did you see the dress she wore to our anniversary party? Looked like she’d skinned a calf. And then she needled her way into curating for the gala. So manipulative.” She shrugged. “I almost admire it.”
He had to change the subject before his desire to defend Rachel overrode his common sense. Beto could be ruthless, but that was all-business. When it came to her sons, Sofia had a vicious streak that was extremely personal.
Nathan never brought anyone home, so his dates were spared Sofia’s venom. Joe always looked like a soldier recounting war stories whenever the subject of Mia meeting Sofia came up. “Mom hates the Williams family. And me loving Mia made her hate them even more.”
Zara hadn’t fared any better, though she definitely tried harder to win Sofia over. She always arrived with a gift, something expensive and handcrafted that she’d picked up while she was filming. Nathan remembered the year she’d invited them all to Brooklyn for New Year’s and served six courses on an elaborately decorated table that was supposed to represent tranquility and rebirth. As soon as she left the room, Sofia righted a crooked candle and told Joe that his wife was trying too hard. “It’s supposed to look effortless, but we can all see the seams.”
Nathan wasn’t interested in hearing his mother go in on Rachel, so he quickly changed the subject. “How’s Beto doing?”
She pulled out her makeup compact again. He was starting to understand its function better now: a fancy fidget spinner. “Your father is your father. He works. I never see him.”
“Have you talked to him about it? Asked him to spend more time with you? Or to—”
“To what? Become the sort of dying man who counts his blessings? I’m not a magician, Nathaniel. Just the wife.” She ran a hand up and down his arm. “I’d rather focus on my boys.”
Abuelita used to tell Nathan not to believe his own eyes when it came to his mother. “I told your father not to trust a novela actress. Only a fool marries a woman who pretends to fall in love for a living.” She would grab her crucifix and rub it, like she was warding off the memory. “He didn’t listen. And he chose her, over me, every time.”
Sometimes, Nathan thought that was what his mother feared most: that stealing someone’s son created a debt you eventually repaid by losing your own.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Before Matt was launched into the public eye, the average person had probably never heard of the Abbotts, despite being on a Forbes list of America’s Richest Families. If it was up to Matt’s parents, things probably would have stayed that way. People with generational wealth understood the power of anonymity. They knew that shady offshore accounts and tax loopholes only mattered to anyone if you mattered to anyone. There were levels of invisibility: ignored and undetected. The Abbotts preferred being the latter.