7. Helen
HELEN
My head still throbs from the night’s events.
In the limo, Victor sits beside me, separated by the bulk of my skirt, while Alaska slowly falls asleep on my other side.
“The prick’s still not talking,” Victor says.
My fingers tighten around my clutch. “It’s Gordon Cane.”
He draws a breath. “I don’t mean to diminish what happened to Olivia, but Gordon Cane is nothing but a spoiled Columbia Law student.”
“He was expelled,” I snap. “Ruined, according to him. That’s motive.”
At least Olivia is out of reach. I just spoke to her and she’s fine.
Victor shakes his head. “That prick, and the other one, they didn’t move like campus toughs. They moved like pros.”
“Cane’s rich. He could’ve hired professionals.”
“Maybe,” Victor says. “But I doubt it.”
“What are you implying?”
“I’m asking.” His voice stays even. “Could this be about something else? Your past. Or your family’s.”
I turn toward him. “Where is this coming from?”
He hesitates, which is new. “Rumors.”
“What rumors?”
“I’ve been in this world a long time, Helen. Investments. Private capital. Things have a way of getting out.” He lifts one hand briefly from the wheel, palm open, as if laying out facts. “Your father—respectfully—wasn’t untouched by arrangements that don’t disappear just because a man dies.”
My head pounds harder.
Victor has always been blunt. I’ve never minded that. But not like this. Not tonight.
“Jag,” I sigh, “do you hear yourself?”
“I’m sorry.” He exhales. “That came out wrong. But I do hear things.”
My chest goes rigid. “Like what?”
“Nothing. Nothing.”
“Victor. What things?”
“Some unfinished business,” he says at last.
I shake my head. I don’t have space for rumors. Dad died five years ago. If there were problems, I would’ve known.
“It’s Cane,” I say. “It has to be.”
“All right.” His voice lifts, placating. “All right. Let’s focus on Gordon Cane. That son of a bitch. How dare he do that to Olivia. You know what I would’ve done if I’d been there, right? Wouldn’t have been the first time.”
“Yeah. I know.”
He had been a good voluntary bodyguard back then. That was how I fell for him in the first place. Human shield with good cheekbones was definitely my weakness. And tonight, he proved he still had it.
“You must admit I was useful.” He smiles sideway.
“Jagger, you’re more than useful. And I’m glad you’re here.” I rest my hand over his. “Truly.”
“I’ve been waiting to hear that all night.”
“Right now though, let the police handle it.”
“If you insist.”
“They’ll nail that Cane Toad,” I say. “I made that clear in my statement.”
He nods and keeps driving.
The limo pulls up to the curb just after 2 a.m. The living room windows are still lit.
Victor helps me with the dress while I scoop up Alaska. She’s sleepy but alert, ears twitching.
“Who’s a good girl?” I murmur, kissing her snout.
We head inside. I let Alaska loose, and she disappears, most likely to the kitchen to finish her dry food.
Anna is still awake. She looks up from the sofa as we take off our shoes, silk robe draped just right—like she’s been expecting us.
“Oh, look at you two lovebirds,” she says. “How was the ball?”
“Fine,” I reply.
“Oh, come on, Helen. I’m sure it’s more than fine.” She tilts her head, eyes flicking to Victor. “That’s hardly fair to the man who’s remembered you all these years.”
Then she sees my arm.
Her smile falters. She rises, crossing the room, her fingers hovering near the scratches without quite touching them. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I say.
Victor steps in. “Just an incident. Nothing serious.”
Anna exhales and waves it off. “Honestly, Victor, I’m more concerned about what she might have done to you.” Her gaze slides over me. “You know how she gets when she decides to be difficult.”
Victor smiles, too sweet for his own good. “She’s not being difficult.”
“Hey, do you want to come upstairs?” I ask him.
He’s been in my life longer than most men. Six years older. The boy who stepped between me and playground bullies. The one who taught me how to keep my head up. What girl wouldn’t fall for that?
We head upstairs, into my room.
“I did have a great time at the ball,” I murmur. The throbbing in my head slowly eases. “Despite the ending.”
He leans in and presses a brief kiss to my cheek.
I let myself fall back onto the bed, the mattress giving under me.
The velvet fans out across the sheets in dark waves.
The dress was his surprise. It’s thoughtful, and a mercy considering my wardrobe is just shirts and jeans.
Still, despite Iris’ attempt at the ball, the bodice clings around my ribs, the boning poking in every time I breathe.
Victor lowers himself to the edge of the bed.
“Next time,” I say, tugging at the bustline, “don’t buy a gown one size too optimistic.”
“Oh, Helen of Troy.” His lips quirk. “Always certain there’ll be a next time.”
“Come on. We both know there will.”
“I think that dress fits you very well,” he says, his gaze drifting with open appreciation. “But I’ll take the note.”
I laugh softly. “I missed you, Jag.”
He tilts his head. “Ah. So this is the dramatic reunion?”
“Too tired for that,” I say. “But I do have questions. We barely spoke on the way to the ball.”
“Go on.”
“You didn’t introduce me to Liam at the airport. I honestly thought he was your driver. I would’ve asked to borrow him.”
The image arrives—a ride in that sleek Aston, telling that very handsome vet to take me to Fifth Avenue, or Chelsea, or anywhere at all. I smile to myself. I’ve missed being this ridiculous around Jagger, though usually not with another man drifting into the fantasy.
He laughs. “And here I was thinking you genuinely missed me.”
I reach over and press my finger to the tip of his nose. “So all these years, you never came back to New York?”
“Once or twice. In and out, strictly business.”
“And you never said hello?”
“Only the people involved ever knew.”
My mouth twists. “You couldn’t even send a pigeon?”
He smiles and trails his thumb along my lower lip, smoothing the twist. “I didn’t plan on breaking your heart all over again.”
“You didn’t think I could take it?”
“To be honest? No.”
I huff, dragging a hand over my head. His answer is irritating, but right.
Back then, I would’ve followed him anywhere, called it love, and meant every word.
But he saw what I didn’t, and walked away before I could make a mess of it.
For a while after he left, we kept in touch through emails and messages.
Not seeing him in person made it easier. Then, he just disappeared.
“Why did we stop getting in touch?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Distance and life tend to do that.”
“Did you keep in touch with Anna?”
He frowns. “What? No. Why?”
“She mentions you,” I say, omitting the fact that it comes up only when the subject is money.
Then I go with my million-dollar question. “Is it true you got married?”
He almost growls, like I’ve caught him mid-crime. “Yes, Helen. I did. And a couple of weeks ago, we filed for divorce.”
“Shit, Jag. I’m sorry.”
“You’re not.”
I scrunch my face. “I am.”
“Thanks.” He exhales. “It just wasn’t meant to be.”
“What was her name?”
“Jessica.”
“You left me for a Jessica?” I jab.
He huffs a laugh. “Helen. I didn’t leave you for anyone. I left us for our sake.”
“I suppose you did. You were always the wise one.” I shrug. “Still…”
He studies me from where he sits at the edge of the bed. “So. Besides photographing animals, what are you doing with yourself?”
“Nothing spectacular.” I stare at the ceiling. “I should probably invest. Like you. Get rich overnight.” I rub the back of my neck. “But I’m not my father. He was a genius.”
“He was,” Victor agrees. “And those skills are teachable, you know. I could show you. Bitcoin isn’t half as frightening as people think. It’s the easiest entry point.”
“No. I’ll lose a limb.”
He barks out a laugh. “You won’t. Start small.”
“How small?”
“Fifty grand.”
I stare at him. “Fifty…grand?”
“Oh.” His mouth stalls on the word. “We can start smaller, of course.”
“Forget it,” I say, though I’m smiling now. “Not forever. I might have more income soon.”
He grazes my palm. “See? You’ve got a plan.”
“I do. I’m just not the kind of person who jumps without a safety net.”
“Didn’t I teach you better than that?” he murmurs. “Tell you what. I’ll seed it—one hundred grand. No strings. We open a wallet. Two signatures. Nothing moves unless we both approve it. When you’re ready, you add more.”
It sounds careful. Shared.
I’ve seen what people claim to make off Bitcoin. But I shake my head then roll onto my side.
“Let’s skip the boring stuff,” I say. “Why are you really here, Jag? In New York?”
“To start again,” he says. “With the city. With you.”
The room goes quiet.
He’s close enough that I can see the line at the corner of his mouth when he’s serious. I remember exactly how this used to go. He leans in—
“Alaska!” Anna’s voice slices up the staircase.
“Oh, shit,” I breathe. “Sorry.”
Victor huffs, pressing his lips. I get up and hurry downstairs.
Alaska stands proudly by the shoe rack. One of Anna’s slippers lies in a dark, unmistakable bloom.
“That’s silk!” Anna shrieks.
“I’m sorry, Anna. She’s probably still shaken.”
“Shaken my ass!”
“It’s been a long night.”
“Yes,” Anna snaps. “Whose fault is that?”
“I’ll take it to the dry cleaners.”
“Forget it,” she mutters, turning toward her room just as Victor comes down the stairs.
“Oh. You’re not leaving already, are you?” she asks, instantly composed.
“Well,” Victor says, “it is late.”
I step toward him and wrap my arms around him. “Thank you for tonight.”
He kisses my forehead. “You made me look very good.”
I adjust his bowtie. “Enjoying your hero moment?”
He winks, then says his goodnight to Anna. The door closes behind him.
Anna nudges me. “You could’ve tried harder.”
“Unlike you, I have patience,” I say. “I don’t go straight for the jugular.”
“Patience? Huh!” she scoffs. “You know, I loved your father very much. But sometimes his so-called patience drove me crazy. And you’ve inherited it.”
“Not ashamed of it,” I say proudly.
“You had a perfectly eligible man escorting you tonight.”
“Oh, I noticed.”
“I’m just saying,” she continues. “It’s not too late to make a sensible decision, Helen.”
I head for the stairs. “Good night, Anna.”
A beat passes while she considers pushing again.
She lets it drop.
Upstairs, I finally sit. I wipe the makeup from my eyes and stare at my reflection.
The past has a way of knocking. The real question is whether it can simply resume where it paused—or whether I owe the present a second look.
It’s easy to promise forever at eighteen, when the boy holding your hand has always been there.
When forever feels believable because it’s all you’ve ever known.
Back then, love wasn’t a decision. It was gravity.
So far, the past and present are sliding together smoothly. I just don’t know yet whether that’s alignment or habit.