21. Jane Eyre
21
Jane Eyre
Evan
I spot Sophie long before she spots me.
She’s wearing a black dress that’s perfectly fitted to her body.
Like her, it’s a bit austere and a bit understated, with long sleeves and a skirt that reaches past her knees.
But the back is open, showing a triangle of smooth skin.
It’s just a glimpse, but it’s enough to make you look twice.
I look much more than twice.
She’s standing by a group of men and women, her back straight, her eyebrows drawn in a slight frown of concentration.
She probably doesn’t realise it, but she’s standing right on the edge of the circle, the furthest person from the group.
There’s a flute of champagne in her hand, which she’s barely drinking.
She’s not speaking a lot, but she’s listening intently, dark eyes tracking each speaker in turn.
When she finally speaks, her expression remains severe and earnest as usual.
The men she’s talking to lean in slightly.
One of them nods, another smiles at something she’s said.
They’re listening to her, but more than that, they’re noticing her.
Drawn in, just like I was when we were thirteen and she was explaining Romeo and Juliet , just like I’ve been ever since, every time I’m around her.
I’ve always noticed her, her presence a blazing beacon in the periphery of my life, casting everything else into shadows.
And now, she’s burning her way into everyone else’s notice, attention, esteem—and I’m the one in the shadows.
“She’s doing well, isn’t she?”
I turn.
Adele is holding two flutes of champagne, one of which she hands me.
I take it with a distracted nod, glancing back at Sophie.
“Of course she is. It’s Sophie we’re talking about.”
Adele pushes her shoulder into mine—an exact imitation of how Dad used to when I was younger and he was trying to get my attention.
“Are we going to say hi, or just stand there staring at her all night?”
I turn away from Sophie like I’ve been electrocuted, facing Adele.
“We can’t. She—” I hesitate for a second, stomach dropping.
I want to tell Adele the truth, but my deal with Sophie was that we’d tell everyone we’re no longer together.
So I wave a hand and mumble, “We broke up.”
Saying it feels like a curse, like speaking it out loud, even if it’s a calculated lie designed to keep me at her side, will somehow make it real.
I half-expect to turn and find Sophie vanished from the room—from my life—leaving nothing but a sweet-smelling curl of dark smoke behind.
For a moment, Adele is completely silent, blinking my own blue eyes back at me as she figures out what to say.
Probably something like “about time” or “good for her” or “it’s shocking she didn’t do it any sooner.”
But all she says is, “I’m sorry, Evan. ”
“Don’t be.” I give her a smile even though I can tell it doesn’t look remotely sincere.
“You said it yourself, right? She’s far too good for me. Always been.”
She shakes her head.
She’s wearing a deep blue dress and diamond earrings, her hair loose on her shoulders.
Five minutes ago, she looked sparkling and full of mischievous cheer.
Now, she looks thoughtful, almost sad.
“I don’t think that matters, Evan. Not between two people who love each other.”
“Maybe. But maybe there are more important things in life than love.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Adele smiles.
“I think it’s not a matter of what’s more important, but a matter of timing. Sophie’s got more important things in her life right now . But there will be a time when all her hard work pays off, and I think love will be very important to her then.” She sips her champagne and smiles suddenly.
“You know what her favourite book is?”
“ Jane Eyre ,” I answer automatically.
“Have you read it?”
Should I have?
I’d always assumed it was too complicated for me.
I shake my head, heat rising to my cheeks.
“No.”
“Poor orphan teacher Jane Eyre loves rich Mr Rochester, but she leaves him. She wouldn’t be with him until she was his equal.”
“She does?”
I glance over my shoulder.
Sophie is standing near two men who both seem very interested in what she’s saying.
A girl with black hair and an ivory silk dress leads her away; both men’s eyes follow Sophie.
I turn back, my stomach a black, churning pit .
“So what are you saying? That Sophie has to be rich to be with me, otherwise I’ll just be the obsessed rich guy who’s taking advantage of her?”
Adele rolls her eyes and scoffs.
“Personally, I think Jane Eyre should’ve let Rochester burn in his bed and married her sexy cousin instead, but that’s what’s great about books, Evan. Everyone can make their own interpretations. Now, come.” She loops her arms through me and marches firmly away.
“We need to get that creepy old judge to make a massive donation, and I need you to distract him so he doesn’t stare at my chest the whole time.”
Part of me knows that she’s only giving me a mission to distract me from the conversation we just had—from Sophie, and from me waiting on the sidelines while she makes her fortune, or burning in a bed while she marries her sexy cousin or whatever Jane Eyre is actually about.
But another, bigger part of me is grateful for Adele, too.
I can’t exactly spend all evening staring at Sophie, can I?
“I’ll handle the judge,” I tell Adele, squeezing her hand quickly.
“You go speak to Olivia Langley, she’s richer than god but she looks at me like I’m a clumsy puppy who’s about to piss on her Louboutins.”
Adele laughs and kisses me on the cheek.
“Love you, kiddo.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave her off as she walks away.
“Love you too, sis.”
I’ve just walked away from the judge and stuffed two canapés gratefully into my mouth when a voice like the grinding of cracked nails on concrete creeps up from behind me .
“Your mother throws a nice party, Knight.”
I turn slowly, forcing my shoulders to stay relaxed.
Maximilian Fitzpatrick stands beneath the ostentatious light of a Baccarat chandelier—his own personal limelight.
His red-blond hair is pushed back in sleek waves, his mouth already curling in a way that makes me want to introduce his teeth to my fist.
“There are more useful people you could be brown-nosing than me, Fitzpatrick,” I answer him after taking my time swallowing my food.
I know perfectly well that’s not what he was doing, but I’m more interested in pissing him off than anything else.
“Shouldn’t you be sucking up to the Big Law partners and federal circuit judges or wiping off a Supreme Court clerk from your chin?”
Max plucks a flute of champagne from a passing waiter without so much as looking, his eyes, a pale brown like polluted water, fixed on me.
“Like your girl’s doing, you mean?”
Maximilian says it in such a friendly way that his words take a split second to land.
I know exactly why he says it and what he wants me to do.
And actually, our interests are aligned: Maximilian wants me to lose control, and I want to beat him until there’s nothing left of him but a pile of mush and blood with two shiny cufflinks in it.
But I muster all my self-control.
This evening is too important to Sophie, and I refuse to be the one who’ll fuck this up for her.
“You’re not usually so behind on gossip,” I tell him with a shrug.
“Or you’d have aimed a better shot than that, since I’m currently single.”
“Oh?” His eyes narrow ever so slightly.
“Did she figure there was bigger fish she could catch? ”
A poorly calculated shot.
Out of all the reasons Sophie would want to keep me her secret, or even break up with me, it could never be because she was trying to find herself a richer guy.
If anything, it’s the opposite: it’s the poor, humble guys that walk into her life I’d have to worry about.
“Maybe,” I say, throwing an exaggerated look around the room.
I scan the clusters of judges, CEOs, law firm partners—New York’s elite chattering over cocktails and bellinis.
“Good thing your father isn’t here tonight, Fitzpatrick: isn’t he exactly the kind of fish that likes getting caught?”
We both know why Senator Fitzpatrick’s not at the gala: he can’t go anywhere without being trailed with allegations of coercing inappropriately young women into having sex with him before paying them off.
My insult, unlike Maximilian’s, is a bullseye shot.
I watch him physically recoil at my words, his smirk wavering like the flicker of a dying lightbulb.
His jaw clenches, muscles twitching like he’s chewing broken glass.
Because if there’s one thing Maximilian can’t buy away or laugh off, it’s the fact that his father is a degenerate fucking predator.
“Last call on donations, so I better run.” I give him a smile that’s just his own earlier smirk thrown back at him.
“Enjoy my mom’s party.”
Max lets out a breathy laugh, a thin, reedy sound.
“Pride comes before the fall, Knight.”
I flash him a grin, tilting my champagne towards him in a mock toast.
“I’m sure you know that better than anybody else.”
And I walk away with the satisfaction of having his blood on my knuckles without ever raising a fist.