Chapter 18 Helena
My heart was pounding against my chest the whole taxi ride home.
My body seemed to know how close a call it had been and wasn’t about to let me relax—to say nothing of my guilty conscience.
And on top of all that, once I’d thanked Malia for her help and said goodbye, I was extremely late for dinner.
Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. How had everything gone so wrong?
I could still feel the disappointment on Jessiah’s face like so many pinpricks, and that stayed with me more than anything else.
Except perhaps the moment when we’d made eye contact over dinner, and I’d felt, more than ever, that there was something between us.
Something neither of us could explain, and yet we both couldn’t ignore.
I’d enjoyed our conversation so much—the laughter, his honesty, the way he’d looked at me.
Nothing about coming back to New York City had felt so good as that half hour.
I felt a punch to the gut when I realized he would never look at me the same way or talk to me like that again.
I could still hear him cursing through the apartment door as I ran toward the stairwell.
He was angrier than ever at me. And he didn’t even know that I wasn’t there for the hoodie; I’d come to steal a notebook from his dead brother’s personal items.
I exhaled heavily through pursed lips, staring out the taxi window. I shouldn’t care what Jessiah thought or felt. And yet I felt shitty for going behind his back.
My mother was waiting for me in the hall when I got back to the apartment. She was perfectly put together in a gray checkered ensemble and matching shoes.
“Where have you been, for goodness’ sake?” she asked fiercely. “Paige will be here with her parents any minute, and you look like you’ve been living on the streets. Didn’t I tell you to get rid of that jacket?”
“Sorry. The traffic was a disaster,” I lied, cursing myself for even wearing my leather jacket today. But I hadn’t planned on being so late to dinner; usually I was able to slip it off and hide it before my parents could see me in it.
“Well, hurry up, then. And put on the dress I bought for you, please.”
“You bought me a dress?” I frowned. It was only Paige’s family, and strictly speaking, they were below us in the social hierarchy. Why was Mom making such a fuss about this dinner?
“Yes, since you seem to have no interest in your own wardrobe. Now get a move on, Helena, or you’ll be unacceptably late to the party.”
I simply nodded and ran upstairs, clutching my bag tightly.
In my room, I took out Valerie’s hoodie and hid it, along with Adam’s notebook, behind the loose board in my closet.
If my mother found it, she’d only start worrying again whether it had been a good idea to bring me back.
I could pretend to have bought the hoodie for myself, since I also went to Columbia now, but Valerie’s sweater was too faded to pass for brand-new.
It wasn’t until I was done that the dress laid out on the bed caught my eye.
It was powder pink, with a tulle overlay and delicate lace sleeves—exactly the kind of style I used to wear before I left.
Seventeen-year-old me would have flipped out with excitement, but twenty-year-old me pulled a face.
I took a quick look at the label: Dolce I’ve really neglected my wardrobe. I’ll go shopping next week.”
“I’ll come with you, if you like. We haven’t done that in forever.”
I smiled at her. “That would be lovely.” Part of me was actually pleased she wanted to spend some time with me.
I’d often missed that over the last few years.
But I knew what my closet would end up looking like as a result.
Because my mother had no real interest in the person I was now—only the one she wanted me to be.
I was quiet through most of the appetizers, haunted by my visit to Jessiah’s apartment.
I could still taste the pasta in my mouth, hear his words in my ear, see his face before me.
I’d gotten some insight today into who Adam’s brother really was—and had actually found myself starting to like him.
But now he thought I’d tricked him. And it hurt. More than I expected.
“What’s happening with the Winchester plot, Tobias?
I heard there were difficulties.” We’d barely sat down to dinner, Mary’s venison in front of us, and Paige’s father Clive was already talking shop.
It was fitting, since the wedding was going to cement professional ties between our two families.
The Irvines were in the construction business, mostly known for renovating old buildings, and my parents and Clive had worked together on various projects for years.
“Nothing we can’t fix,” my father replied with a smile. “There’s a competitor interested in the site, and the owner is having a hard time deciding whose concept they prefer. But we have public policy on our side, so contracts should be finalized soon—in our favor.”
“Unless Trish Coldwell convinces the mayor to step in on her behalf,” Clive added. “She’s got him eating out of her hand as it is.”
My father frowned irritably. “If that woman thinks she can build another one of her tasteless monstrosities on that plot, she’ll find out what it’s like to go head-to-head with me.”
I looked up in surprise. I’d never heard my dad talk like that before, his tone so bleak and full of spite. Maybe it was because I’d been away for so long.
The more time I spent around my family, the more certain I was that Sunday brunch hadn’t happened in a long time—and likely never would again. My parents and brother were acting so businesslike around one another that it felt ridiculous to imagine them in pajamas at the breakfast table.
“She has no business in this town—I think we can all agree on that,” Paige’s mother Eleanor said with a nod. “But since the death of her eldest, she no longer has a successor, and CW might well be history soon. And then something good will have come of the whole tragedy after all.”
I held my breath.
“Mother,” Paige hissed, shocked. But nobody except the two of us seemed bothered that Eleanor had spoken so freely—almost positively—about Adam’s death—and, indirectly, Valerie’s.
My mom stared down at her plate and carried on eating, while my father took a sip of wine, and Lincoln dabbed his mouth with a napkin.
Why was no one saying anything? We were Westons, damn it!
Nobody insulted us—especially not in our own home.
I took a deep breath. “I’m sure Valerie would be pleased to know her death might have contributed to Trish Coldwell’s downfall,” I said sarcastically. “But I think you may be jumping the gun a little—she does still have two other sons, after all.”
Eleanor raised a plucked eyebrow before deciding to ignore my first remark. “Yes, but neither of them is capable of following in her footsteps. Elijah isn’t right in the head; he doesn’t even go to school on a regular basis. And don’t get me started on Jessiah.”
I couldn’t stop myself. “Why not?”
My brother seemed to have found his voice again. “He’s not interested in the family business, or in mixing with our circles. Jessiah avoids New York society like the proverbial plague. He’s never made a secret of that.”
“But he still goes to official functions with his mom,” I said, realizing from my family’s reaction that I should have engaged my brain before opening my mouth. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard,” I added quickly, taking a sip of water.
“That’s true.” My father fixed me with a stare, as if wondering how I knew. As far as he was aware, I hadn’t been to any events since coming back.
“Well, Trish obviously has him under control now, unlike before.” Eleanor put down her glass. “It still makes my hair stand on end, thinking about what he used to get up to.”
“Like what?” I asked, putting a forkful of beans into my mouth. I knew it was a dangerous question, but I was banking on the assumption that nobody here would suspect me of being in contact with Adam’s brother.