Chapter 30
30
K ensington Consolidated’s annual gala is being held at one of the fancy hotels downtown. The venue and date change from year to year, ensuring there’s plenty of speculation about both in New York society, along with who will score a coveted invitation.
I’d rather be somewhere else.
Outdoors at the very least. It’s stuffy inside, even with the air-conditioning blasting, and already crowded, with more people continuing to pour through the ballroom doors. They look around the decorated space with wide eyes and awed expressions.
Mom and Aunt Hannah took charge of selecting the location and coordinating decor. Their combined tastes are evident in the elegant floral arrangements and the patterns of lights projected on the walls. String lights hang in loose drapes from the ceiling, creating a soft ambiance.
I smooth the front of my black silk dress, ensuring it’s falling flat over the lace-edged slip underneath. I bought it for this event, and I knew it was perfect as soon as I saw it. It’s decorated by a painted skyline of the city, the Statue of Liberty standing proud in the center. It feels like I’m wearing a literal work of art.
A uniformed waiter offers me one of the evening’s custom cocktails—a Kensington Sour.
I take one, gulping half before I hear my name.
Asher’s wife, Sophie, is winding her way through the crowd toward me. She’s my godmother. She and Mom have been friends since meeting in business school.
I hug Sophie back tightly when she reaches me, then answer all of her excited questions about how my summer has been so far. She demands to see photos of Claremont Park and Chloe’s wedding, ooh ing and aah ing over the few I have on my phone.
We get interrupted after about ten minutes. The woman wants to talk to me, not Sophie. She smiles good-naturedly as I make polite inquiries about the woman’s kids and recent trip to Bern, well acquainted with the snobbery at these types of events.
I don’t work at Kensington Consolidated, but this event isn’t about the company. Not really. It’s about the brand—the interest in my family that I can’t escape. I know it’s about to expand since Uncle Oliver is announcing my dad’s new role tonight. More eyes will be on us than ever before, and it makes me want to leave for my next project as soon as possible. Flee the noise and find some quiet away from the Kensington legacy.
I talk to seven more people before spotting Bridget standing by one of the columns and excusing myself to rush over to her.
She giggles as I squeeze her tight. “A moment with New York’s princess? Lucky me.”
I roll my eyes as I release her. “Your dress is super cute.”
“Thanks. I love yours too.”
“Have you seen Fran or Tripp?” I ask.
Cal and Hugo arrived around the same time I did, but I haven’t seen our other friends. Jasper is in Atlanta on a work trip.
“Not yet.” Bridget sips her Kensington Sour. “You didn’t tell me Charlie was coming.”
My body freezes as my gaze darts around, scanning faces, until I find him. Talking to Tripp’s dad, John, near the French doors that lead out onto the balcony.
Wearing a tuxedo, looking every inch the dignified aristocrat, is Charlie. In New York.
“You didn’t know Charlie was coming,” Bridget realizes.
I gnaw on my lower lip, likely ruining my lipstick. “No.”
I was considering telling him about my trip to Dublin next week. Not in a hey, can I come visit you way, but more of a I got the job I told you about way. If he’d said Hey, why don’t you come visit? I probably would’ve said yes, but I wasn’t expecting it. I didn’t think we’d be in the same place anytime soon—possibly ever again.
I’m mad—hurt—about how he left France. But I also miss him.
He didn’t make then break any promises. I was too cowardly to tell him how I was feeling; that the time we’d spent together felt suspiciously like falling in love.
“Have you talked to him since …” Her voice trails off. She’s probably unsure how to state the truth in delicate terms.
“No.”
I haven’t talked to Charlie since he left Saint-Tropez. And he decided to come to an event plastered with Kensington —literally, it’s displayed everywhere—after telling me he wouldn’t be coming to New York anytime soon.
After leaving my bed in the middle of the night without even bothering to wake me up. What the hell kind of “urgent business matter” happens at four a.m.?
“Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise?” Bridget suggests in a blatant attempt to make me feel better.
“Maybe,” I mutter, glancing at the lectern on the stage before tossing back the rest of my cocktail.
I’m supposed to go up there when Oliver gives his speech about Dad returning to Kensington Consolidated.
I’m happy for Dad. Happy for him and Mom, embarking on this new, slightly simpler chapter of their busy lives. But I don’t love the attention it’ll draw to my family. The scrutiny that will inevitably extend to me with fresh speculation about who I’m dating and what restaurant I’ll be spotted at next.
“Why didn’t you mention you’d invited Charlie?” Hugo asks, appearing with a glass of scotch in one hand and a small plate of appetizers in the other.
I have no idea how he’s planning to eat anything with no free hand. Everyone’s still standing and mingling, the place settings at all the tables pristine.
Bridget’s shut up motion is quick, but I catch it.
“It’s fine, Bridge,” I say. “Yes, Charlie is here. No, I did not invite him, nor did I know he’d be attending.”
“Oh.” Hugo hurriedly takes a sip of scotch.
I go to drink more, then frown when I find my glass empty. “I’ll be back,” I tell my friends, then weave through the crowd toward the bar. The opposite direction of where Charlie is standing.
Four people stop me on the way. The first three are virtual strangers I exchange more obligatory, polite small talk with. The fourth causes a wide smile to break out across my face.
“Grandpa!”
My grandfather has smelled like tobacco and old paper and leather for as long as I can remember. The same aroma that fills the study he seems to spend most of his time in despite the size of the massive mansion my dad grew up in.
I inhale the comforting scent deeply as he hugs me, kissing the top of my head. I’m almost as tall as him in my heels.
His smile is fond as he squeezes my shoulder. “How are you, Lili?”
“I’m good,” I tell him.
I’ve always been closer with my dad’s father than my mom’s. The photo album of my early years, which Mom pulls out annually on my birthday, is filled with photos of me with Grandpa. Me asleep in his arms. Me perched on his lap behind his desk. Me playing with the blocks he set up in one corner of his study.
My brothers have always insisted that I’m his favorite, and I don’t think they’re wrong.
Maybe it’s because I was his first grandchild. Maybe it’s because I’m named after his late wife. Maybe it’s because I buy him a birthday gift each year, and Bash and Kit usually forget.
Maybe it’s because of that day at the cemetery.
Whatever the exact reason, we’re close.
Two men pass by, one of them calling out, “Wonderful party, Arthur.” Grandpa nods in acknowledgment, but his attention remains on me.
“How was Chloe’s wedding?” Grandpa asks.
“It was good.”
He raises both eyebrows. “An awful lot of good going around.”
“It was incredible,” I amend. “Wales was beautiful, and the venue Chloe picked looked like something out of a fairy tale. It was just … strange. I’ve known her since we were four. She was the first of my friends to get married.”
Grandpa nods. “Don’t be growing up too fast, Lili. You have plenty of time to accomplish anything you want to.”
“So do you.”
He smiles. “I’m glad you had a good trip. Even happier you’re back in New York. You’ll be at dinner next week?”
I shake my head. “Unfortunately not. I got an interview for the Dublin project. I’m flying there for a few days.”
“Congratulations. That’s fantastic news.”
I nod. “I hope so.” Glance at the stage again. “It’s a big night.”
“It is.” Grandpa nods, his expression now neutral.
My dad and Uncle Oliver have a very different relationship with Grandpa than I do. One I’ve only deciphered bits and pieces of, mostly from whispered conversations between Mom and Aunt Hannah about Arthur this and Arthur that . Enough to tell me that Grandpa might be a doting grandfather, but he wasn’t a doting father. Around me, Dad and Grandpa are always civil, often friendly, and occasionally strained.
For some reason, my dad deciding to return to Kensington Consolidated seems to be a strain.
“You wanted Dad to keep working in LA?” I ask.
Grandpa studies me, visibly weighing what to say. We usually confine our conversations to lighter topics. He’s started gardening since he retired, so we talk about the outdoors a lot. Or books he’s read and I’ve listened to. He’s the one who recommended Middlemarch to me.
“I wish your father had never moved to LA,” he finally replies.
“Then … aren’t you glad he and Mom are moving back?”
“I am.” Grandpa nods. “But I convinced myself leaving was what your father truly wanted. If that was the case, he wouldn’t be coming back.”
I think back to what Mom said, about her and Dad forging their own paths.
“Maybe he had to leave to know he wanted to come back.”
Grandpa studies me, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’re very wise, Lili.”
I shrug modestly. “I am Arthur Kensington’s granddaughter.”
He chuckles.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Crew.”
I turn from Grandpa to smile at my father.
His eyes soften when he looks at me, and then his jaw tightens when he glances back at Grandpa. “Oliver is looking for you. He has some business associates who would like to meet you.”
Grandpa kisses the top of my head again. “We’ll talk later, Lili. I want to hear more details about your trip. And that Irish project.”
“You know where to find me,” I tell him.
He chuckles again before disappearing into the crowd.
Dad kisses my cheek. “You look beautiful, honey. Speech starts in a few minutes, okay?”
“Okay,” I reply before he disappears back into the crowd.
I continue toward the bar that was my original destination, playing with the diamond bracelet on my wrist that belonged to Dad’s mom.
Cal is leaning one elbow beside the display of wines for guests to choose from, waiting for the bartender to finish mixing his drink. I order, then stop beside him.
He smirks. “Having fun?”
“Sort of. You?”
“This is the highlight of my summer, Kensington.”
I roll my eyes. “How sad for you.”
“Tripp said you got an exciting offer in Ireland. Congrats.”
“They haven’t formally offered me the position yet. But thanks.” It’ll be embarrassing if I don’t get it, considering the number of people already congratulating me on it. I take my drink from the bartender. “How’ve you been?”
He slides a glance my way, like he’s checking to see if I’m asking about what he thinks I’m asking about. Nods. “I broke up with Violet.”
“Yeah. I … heard.”
Fran told me when we had brunch a few days ago.
Cal nods. “I figured you had.”
“Do you … want to talk about it?”
He exhales. “I liked Violet. But I started dating her to make myself move on from you. And turns out … that isn’t exactly the most solid basis for a relationship, so …”
“Sorry,” I say. Not sure exactly what I’m apologizing for but feeling like I owe him one anyway.
“Don’t be. You were right about us. Right that we weren’t right for each other, I mean. Seeing you with Charlie … you never acted that way with me.”
My stomach roils at the sound of his name. I chug a healthy amount of my drink to force it to settle.
Cal lifts both eyebrows, silently questioning my sanity.
“He’s here,” I explain. “For some fucking reason.”
“Uh, for you?”
I scoff. “Not bloody likely.”
“You sound British,” Cal comments.
I glare at him. “Whose friend are you?”
He lifts both hands in a peace-making gesture. “Yours. Just saying … that’s my guess. Why else would he come all this way?”
“Work?” I suggest.
I’m still not clear what the job description for a duke is, but it seems to take up a lot of his time. And Charlie had a meeting at Kensington Consolidated the last time he was in New York. He’s somewhat connected to this business world.
I swallow another sip of Kensington Sour, avoiding looking toward the doors.
“If he’s not here for you, he’s a fucking fool, Lili.”
I reach over and squeeze his forearm. “You’re a good guy, Cal Winston.”
“I know. It’s exhausting.”
My laugh is a soft huff as I watch my parents walk toward the stage with Oliver and Hannah. Grandpa follows with Bash. No sign of Kit yet.
Showtime.
“I’ll see you later,” I tell Cal, catching his nod before heading for my family.