Chapter 6 #2
“Nico, darling, you must tell me everything,” she stage-whispers.
“We’ve all heard about the terrible business at your club.
Gunshots! In River North! The entire neighborhood has been talking about it.
Arthur Pembroke says his son’s friend’s cousin was there and saw the whole thing. Something about a gang war?”
Arthur Pembroke is an idiot whose son is an even bigger idiot. Whatever story they’re circulating is undoubtedly riddled with inaccuracies. Still, the fact that the incident at Purgatorio has made it to the North Shore gossip circuit is concerning.
“Nothing so dramatic,” I say dismissively. “A dispute between two patrons that got out of hand. The media always exaggerates these things.”
Eleanor looks disappointed but presses on. “And the girl? She’s quite pretty, in an unconventional way. Not your usual type at all. You typically favor the statuesque model types, don’t you? The ones with legs up to their armpits and not much going on upstairs, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”
I don’t pardon it, but I maintain my pleasant expression. “Lea is a business associate.”
“A business associate who’s staying at your lake house?” Eleanor’s eyebrow arches higher. “Come now, Nico. I may be old, but I’m not naive.”
At that moment, Lea returns with a tray bearing a teapot, cups, and an arrangement of the muffins from Eleanor’s basket. She sets it on the table with practiced grace and pours the tea.
“Mrs. Davenport, Earl Grey as you requested,” she says, handing Eleanor a cup. “I added a slice of lemon, but I can bring milk if you prefer.”
“Lemon is perfect, dear,” Eleanor replies, watching as Lea pours a second cup and hands it to me. Our fingers brush in the exchange, and I see Eleanor note the contact with predatory interest.
“So, Lea,” Eleanor continues, “how long have you known our Nico?”
“We met through mutual business connections several months ago,” Lea replies smoothly. “Nico’s reputation in Chicago’s business community is quite formidable.”
Eleanor laughs, a tinkling sound like ice in crystal.
“Oh, his reputation extends far beyond business, my dear. Has he told you about the time he made Senator Harrington’s son-in-law cry at the Chicago Symphony gala?
Or about the bidding war he started at the Children’s Hospital auction just to drive up the price of a painting he didn’t even want? ”
Eleanor is deliberately painting me as some sort of eccentric—a characterization that’s not entirely inaccurate.
“Nico is a man of many facets,” Lea says, her tone teasing. “I learn something new about him every day.”
Lea places her hand on my forearm as she speaks, a gesture of casual intimacy that catches me completely off guard. It’s perfectly calculated; not too possessive, not too timid. The touch of a woman who is comfortable with her place in my life.
Eleanor’s eyes widen fractionally at the gesture, and I can notice her reassessing the situation. This is no longer just a business associate staying at the lake house. This is something else entirely.
“Well, well,” she says, leaning back with a sly smile. “It seems our Nico has been keeping secrets. How long has this... friendship been developing?”
“Some things defy conventional timelines,” Lea replies with subtle evasiveness. The careful non-answer.
Eleanor is not so easily deflected. “I must say, you must be serious about this one, Nico, to have her tucked away out here where no one can see her.” Her eyes gleam with mischief. “Is there something you should tell us? Are those wedding bells I hear, or just my tinnitus?”
The question is loaded with expectation.
I feel a surge of irritation. Eleanor has backed me into a corner with typical precision.
If I dismiss the suggestion too forcefully, I insult Lea and give Eleanor ammunition to spread rumors about my mistreatment of women.
If I’m too ambiguous, she’ll interpret it as confirmation and spread that rumor instead.
I need to end this line of questioning definitively, with a statement so final it will leave no room for further speculation.
The solution comes to me in a flash of inspiration—or perhaps desperation. I put my arm around Lea’s shoulders, drawing her closer to my side.
“Actually, Eleanor,” I say smoothly, “you’re the first to know. Lea and I are engaged.”
I feel Lea stiffen beside me. I squeeze her shoulder in warning, and to her credit, she recovers instantly, leaning into me.
I expect Eleanor to be stunned into momentary silence by this announcement. Instead, she gasps theatrically, her hand flying to her chest in a gesture of delight.
“Engaged, Nico, darling! Finally!” she exclaims with such volume that I’m sure the security guards at the perimeter can hear her. “This is the most wonderful news of the season! When did this happen? Where’s the ring? Oh, we must celebrate!”
Lea, playing her part to perfection, gives a demure smile. “It’s very recent. We’re still choosing the ring together. Nico wants me to pick out the style I prefer.”
The improvisation is flawless. I struggle to maintain my composure, caught between admiration for her quick thinking and alarm at how easily she slips into this false narrative.
“Ah, how modern and thoughtful,” Eleanor coos, reaching across to pat Lea’s knee. “You’ve found yourself a good one, dear. Difficult and complicated, to be sure, but a good man underneath it all.”
Lea looks up at me with such convincing adoration that for a split second, I almost believe it myself. “Yes, I know,” she says softly.
Eleanor vibrates with barely contained excitement. “This is perfect timing! You simply must come to my annual Summer Gala on Saturday. It will be a wonderful venue to announce it to everyone!”
This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.
The last thing I need is to parade Lea in front of Chicago’s elite while lying about our relationship.
Moretti might be on the low, but the security risks alone make it an impossible proposition, not to mention the complications it would create with our actual arrangement.
Lea’s complete obedience in return for protection.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to decline,” I begin. “We’re in the middle of some sensitive?—”
“I simply will not take no for an answer!” Eleanor interrupts, her voice keeping its pleasant tone but taking on a steely quality that has cowed board members and politicians alike.
“Everyone who matters in Chicago will be there. It would be noticed and remarked upon if you weren’t, especially now that you’re engaged.
People would talk, Nico. You know how they do. ”
It’s a veiled threat, expertly delivered. If we don’t appear at her gala, Eleanor will ensure that our absence becomes the subject of speculation throughout her considerable social network. And with the recent incident at Purgatorio already circulating as gossip, I can’t afford additional scrutiny.
Got me. Trapped. All thanks to an old socialite with nothing but questions and manners as weapons.
“We would be delighted to attend,” Lea says before I can respond. She places her hand over mine, a gesture that appears affectionate but feels like a challenge. “Wouldn’t we, darling?”
She turns to look at me, and there it is—the flash of triumph in her eyes, so quick I almost miss it. She knows I’m pushed into a corner. Worse, she’s enjoying it.
“Of course,” I reply, squeezing her hand with just enough pressure to communicate my displeasure. “We wouldn’t miss it.”
Eleanor claps her hands in delight. “Wonderful! Saturday afternoon at three. Black tie, of course. And Lea, dear, if you need any help finding something suitable to wear, I’d be happy to introduce you to my personal shopper. She’s a miracle worker.”
The subtle dig at Lea’s presumed lack of appropriate attire doesn’t go unnoticed, but Lea responds with perfect grace. “That’s very kind, Mrs. Davenport, but I believe I can manage.”
“Eleanor, please. We’re practically family now.” She rises from her chair with the air of a general who has secured a decisive victory. “I should let you two lovebirds get back to your day. So much to plan for, I imagine.”
I stand to escort her back to her golf cart, grateful for the impending end to this ambush. Eleanor leans in as I help her into the vehicle.
“There’s something substantial there,” she murmurs, her shrewd eyes assessing me. “Don’t mess it up, Nico. Women like that don’t come along every day.”
Before I can respond, she’s starting the engine and gives a cheerful wave. “Saturday! Three o’clock sharp! I’ll be watching for you both!”
I stand on the driveway, watching as the golf cart disappears down the private road, torn between admiration for Eleanor’s tactical skills and fury at being so thoroughly outmaneuvered. When I turn back toward the house, Lea is standing on the porch, arms crossed, watching me.
I approach slowly, studying her face. “Some performance,” I say, my voice neutral.
“Which part?” she replies, a hint of challenge in her tone. “The devoted fiancée or the one where I saved you from a social catastrophe?”
“Both,” I admit, stopping at the foot of the stairs so that I have to look up at her. A rare position for me. “You improvise well.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted. For me to play along with whatever scenario you create.” There’s an edge to her voice now, the first genuine emotion I’ve heard from her in days.
“I didn’t create this scenario,” I point out. “But we’re in it now.”
She uncrosses her arms, her posture softening slightly. “So what happens next, Nico? Do we practice being a happy couple? Should I start calling you ‘honey’ and ‘sweetheart’? Should we coordinate our outfits for Eleanor’s gala?”
The mockery is subtle but unmistakable. I climb the steps until I’m standing directly in front of her, close enough to feel the warmth of her body.
“What happens next,” I say quietly, “is that we both remember what this is. A lie. Necessary fiction. Nothing more.”
She meets my gaze without flinching. “Of course. After all, I’m just a pawn in your game with my mother, right? Not fiancée material at all.”
There’s something in her eyes. A spark of the old Lea, the one who challenged me at every turn. It’s both refreshing and concerning. If she’s allowing herself to show this defiance, what else is she planning?
“We’ll attend Eleanor’s gala,” I continue, ignoring her barb. “We’ll play the happy couple for exactly three hours. Then we’ll make our excuses and leave. End of story.”
She tilts her head slightly, studying me. “And you think it will be that simple? That we can just show up at a high-society event, announce our engagement, and disappear without consequences?”
“I’ll handle any complications,” I say firmly.
A small, knowing smile plays at the corners of her mouth. “You always do, don’t you, Nico? Handle things. Control the variables. Except this time, you didn’t. Eleanor Davenport just outplayed you in your own home.”
The observation stings because it’s accurate. I was outmaneuvered, and by a social gadfly no less. The realization settles uncomfortably in my chest.
“Perhaps,” I concede. “But the game isn’t over yet.”
She steps closer, her expression shifting to one of practiced adoration, so convincing that for a moment I forget it’s an act. She reaches up and straightens my collar, her fingers brushing against my neck in a gesture that’s as intimate as it’s calculating.
“No,” she agrees, her voice soft but her eyes hard. “It’s only just beginning, fiancé.”