Chapter 18
The library is humming when we walk in a few minutes after seven on Wednesday evening.
Judging by the number of people milling around with drinks in their hands and plates of canapés, it looks like pretty much the entire building has shown up.
Soft music permeates the room. The lights are dimmed, bathing the library in a warm yellow glow.
We stand near the door, unsure of ourselves.
The other attendees cluster in small, intimate groups, deep in conversation.
I find the whole thing intimidating and wonder why I ever agreed to show up.
It’s not like I’m a wallflower, but I’m hardly the life of the party, either.
Situations like this, social events full of strangers I need to schmooze with, practically give me hives.
I pull at my dress, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle.
Sam, who knows me almost as well as I know myself, leans in close. “We can sneak back out if you want. Go upstairs and make our own party.”
“We’re here now,” I say, fighting the urge to take him up on the offer. I glance toward a bar set up on the other side of the room. “Might as well get a drink, at least.”
“Fair enough.” He snags a small, round pastry from a passing server clad in black pants and a white jacket, pops it into his mouth, and takes my hand. But before we can move, I sense a presence over my shoulder.
I turn to find a couple in their thirties standing by the door.
The woman smiles at me. “You look about as lost as we do.”
“It’s our first time at one of these things,” I say, returning the smile.
“Us too.” The woman steps deeper into the room. “My name’s Belinda, and this is my husband, Craig.”
Craig nods a greeting before his eyes rove the room.
“We’ve just moved in,” I say. “It’s so fancy. I keep pinching myself to make sure it’s not a dream.”
“Fancy is one word for it,” mutters Craig. “Personally, I find this place a little bit creepy. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s haunted.”
Belinda nods. “I agree. I mean, look around. It’s like something out of a gothic horror novel. If I had to pick one word to describe the Glendale, I’d choose unsettling.”
“Why do you live here, then?” I ask, surprised.
“Oh, we don’t live here,” Belinda replies. “I work with Dr. Burgess at Mass General. He invited us. To be honest, I’m not sure why he did. I don’t know him very well. But he’s head of the department, so . . .”
A strained silence descends, because I’m not quite sure how to respond.
Instead, I let my gaze wander the room. Burgess is talking to Catherine’s husband, Ron. They are both sipping drinks from tumblers. When he sees me observing him, he nods, his expression stony, then returns to his conversation.
At that moment a server walks past with a tray of champagne flutes and cuts off my view.
“Ooh. Champagne.” Belinda quickly plucks two glasses from the tray and hands one to her husband, then looks at us when we don’t do the same. “You might as well. It’s free. And hey, it’s not like you have to drive, right?” She gives a nervous laugh.
“I think I’d like something stronger,” Sam says, eyeing the bar.
“Me too,” I say.
The server moves off. Another uncomfortable moment of silence passes between us.
Belinda shuffles her feet, then says, “We should probably go say hello to Dr. Burgess since we’re his guests.”
“Okay.” Deep down, I’m relieved. “It was nice meeting you.”
“And you.” Belinda takes her husband’s hand, and they set off toward the doctor and Ron.
As I watch them walk away, a thought occurs to me.
Why would the doctor invite a random coworker to a party that’s meant for residents of our building?
He’s clearly not trying to date her, since Belinda arrived with her husband.
It’s weird, and I say as much to Sam. He shrugs.
“Maybe he’s just trying to be a good boss. ”
“By inviting them to a private party where they won’t know anyone?” I reply. “You don’t think that’s a bit . . . odd?”
“I think you’re overanalyzing,” Sam says, his tone soft yet dismissive. “Want to get that drink?”
“Sure.”
We weave through the throng to the bar, where I order an espresso martini. Sam goes for a Manhattan. I look around for somewhere inconspicuous to stand where we won’t be in the way. I spot a vacant corner and nudge Sam, but before we can move, I hear my name being called.
It’s Catherine. She strides toward us, drink in hand, with another familiar face a step behind. Kalina.
“Jordan. Samuel. I was hoping you would come.” Catherine flashes a beaming smile. “How are you liking our little shindig so far?”
“We’ve only been here a few minutes,” Sam replies. “Just enough time to get a drink.”
“Well, I do hope that the two of you will mingle and take full advantage of the opportunity to meet your neighbors and their friends. That’s why we throw these little soirees. To foster a sense of family within the building and the wider community.”
“I’m sure that we will.” Sam sips his drink a little too fast. It’s half gone already, even though I haven’t even touched mine yet.
Kalina steps forward, extends a hand toward Sam, and introduces herself.
“Ah. The architect of that delicious cake,” he says.
“I’m so glad you liked it.” She drops her eyes briefly.
A demure gesture I find at odds with the confident woman who knocked on our apartment door.
Not that her outfit is even close to demure.
She’s wearing a tight black dress that looks just as much like it came straight from the Paris runway as the outfit she was wearing the first time we met.
It hugs her in all the right places and accentuates her figure, with a plunging neckline and a slit at the side almost to her waist. But that isn’t what draws my eye.
It’s her gorgeous earrings and matching necklace.
Each of them is made of yellow gold with a dangling stream of the most brilliant rough-hewn green gemstones I’ve ever seen.
There are at least eight stones in each, falling like sparkling miniature waterfalls from her ears and neck.
“Your jewelry is stunning,” I say, unable to contain my admiration. “Are the stones emeralds?”
“Thank you.” Kalina lifts a hand and touches one of the earrings. “And no, not emeralds. The stones are tsavorite, which is actually a type of garnet despite the green coloration. The set is one of a kind, handmade by a talented artisan from a small village in the Carpathian Mountains.”
“Romania,” says Sam.
“Correct. It’s my birth country, and most of my family still lives there.”
“But not you.”
“No. I came here to attend college many years ago, just like my brother before me.” She looks at Sam. “The photograph on your mantel doesn’t do you justice. You’re much more handsome in person.”
Sam smiles and glances at me, clearly uncomfortable. He clears his throat. “Thanks.”
Catherine steps in, steering the conversation back into less delicate territory. “Samuel works for a nonprofit dedicated to saving and restoring historic buildings.”
“Really? Then it appears we have something in common.” Kalina’s eyes are still locked on my fiancé’s. “I have more than a passing interest in that subject myself. Tell me, what is it you do at this nonprofit?”
“I’m a lawyer. I stand up to developers when they want to demolish or otherwise destroy our heritage. In Boston alone, hundreds of historic structures have been lost over the years. The Arlington, the Old Howard Theatre, and the Madison Hotel, to name a few. I could go on—”
“But he won’t,” I say quickly. “This is a party, not a lecture on historic preservation.”
“Actually,” says Catherine, “I wanted to introduce Kalina to Sam specifically because of his work. She has something of a thorny problem herself when it comes to historic buildings.”
“In particular, one historic building,” Kalina says. “The Wainwright in Cambridge.”
Sam’s eyes light up. “I know the Wainwright.” He looks at me. “It’s been sitting empty for years. We’ve been keeping our eye on it in case some unscrupulous developer scoops it up and wants to demolish it. Every historic building that we lose strips away more of the city’s cultural heritage.”
“Which isn’t going to happen,” Kalina says. “I can assure you of that.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” Sam says. “But unfortunately, I’ve seen that exact scenario way too many times.”
“In this case, Kalina is speaking from a position of authority,” Catherine says. “The only way the Wainwright would suffer such an ignominious fate is if she agreed to sell it to one of those unscrupulous developers.”
“Wait. Really?” I can tell that Sam’s interest is now at a fever pitch. He has the look he always gets when he’s excited. “You own the Wainwright?”
Kalina smiles demurely. “More like my family owns it. They bought the building as a project many years ago for my brother after he graduated college as an architect. They figured that breathing new life into the building would give him a good start in life, along with some practical experience. A place like that, with so much historic charm, would look great on his résumé.”
“So what happened?”
Kalina looks away briefly. “Let’s just say that it never came to pass. My brother, he . . . he . . .”
Catherine places a soothing hand on Kalina’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought this up.”
Kalina shakes her head, wipes away a tear. “No. It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” She looks at us. “My brother passed away.”
“That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” I wonder how he died, but I don’t have the nerve to ask.
“Thank you, but like I said, it was a long time ago. We probably should have sold the building back then, but we just couldn’t let it go. We still can’t, which is why I convinced my parents that we should finally move forward with the project, as a tribute to my brother.”
“That’s such a wonderful gesture,” Sam says.
“It would be,” Kalina says. “Except that the city has bogged our plans down in red tape. They won’t let us touch the building. To be honest, it’s all been very frustrating.”
“Maybe Sam can help you with that,” Catherine says, looking between the two. “After all, he is a lawyer, and he does work for a nonprofit that saves buildings like yours.”
“No.” Kalina shakes her head. “That’s too much to ask. It’s too presumptuous, especially since we don’t even know each other.”
“Nonsense,” Catherine says. “Jordan and Sam are part of the Glendale family now, and at the Glendale, we look after each other.” She turns to Sam. “Isn’t that right?”
“Sure. I guess,” Sam says, his face lighting up. He lives for this stuff. “I’d love to help.”
“Really?” Kalina’s eyes grow wide.
“Really. I mean, it would have to be on an informal basis outside of work hours. Obviously I couldn’t involve the nonprofit, since it isn’t an official project, but sure.”
“That would be such a relief,” Kalina says. “And naturally I would compensate you for your time.”
“We can talk about that later.” Sam waves a hand. “For now, how about you tell me about this red tape.”
I glance toward the bar, contemplating a second drink. I can tell we’re going to be here for a while. But before I can follow through, Catherine intervenes.
“Jordan, my dear, perhaps we could discuss a small project of my own while your fiancé is otherwise occupied. I would love to tap your expertise if you’re amenable.”
“Sure.” I remember Kalina telling me that some of the other residents could use some help with their decor. It would be nice to expand my clientele beyond my mother’s friends, and a renovation in the Glendale would look great on my website. “What is it you need?”
“I think it would be better if I show you. It won’t take very long. I’ll have you back to the party in no time, I promise.”
“Um, okay.” Sam is deep in conversation with Kalina, who’s hanging on his every word.
He doesn’t seem to notice when Catherine places a hand on my shoulder and steers me toward the door.
As we exit the library, I glance back in time to see her step closer to him, run a hand through her lustrous dark hair, even as she laughs at something he says.
And in that moment, I’m overcome by an irrational thought that leaving Sam alone in her company is a mistake.
But Catherine is already whisking me out of the library and toward the lobby, chatting merrily as we go.
I’m only half listening, though, because my thoughts are back in that room with Kalina and my fiancé, and whether his professional opinion is all that she’s interested in.