Chapter Thirty-One. Temperance
The atrium lights dimmed once her parents left the stage, and the small chamber orchestra began a string rendition of a five-year-old pop song. Temperance excused herself from the table, eyes still watering from the spotlight.
She needed to get the hell out of there, but a gauntlet of five hundred people stood between her and the exit. She’d made it five steps from her table when she was intercepted by a former fellow resident she’d gone out with a few times when they were both in their fourth year—she’d ended it after a good-night kiss somehow resulted in a sesame seed from his dinner stuck to her lip. Two more steps, and she was waylaid by a friend from her graduating class at Linden High who was one of the managing partners of the event-planning company running the gala. Then there was a neurosurgeon friend of her dad’s, who, despite looking astoundingly like a sixty-something Chris Pine, she couldn’t ever remember his name. “Why haven’t we seen you in past years?” he’d asked, and Temperance pled being too busy with residency. Explaining that she’d been disinvited from the complimentary ticket guest list after she’d rejected Capewell-Talbot money seemed like it might be gauche, considering the circumstances. Everyone was very nice, but Temperance’s tank for dissembling was completely dry.
Her bullshit tolerance had maxed out as soon as the sole of her mother’s left Louboutin had hit the stage.
Temperance excused herself by claiming she might’ve eaten a bad shrimp. She hustled toward the back stairway to the mezzanine. She’d never jogged in heels before, but half a lifetime as a runner had the unexpected perk of making her sure-footed even wearing four-inch stilettos. Without slowing down, she grabbed a salt-rimmed paloma from one of the passing waitstaff’s trays and lifted it straight to her mouth as she climbed the winding corner stairs. She’d go up, over, and out the staircase at the lobby end. Easy.
Layer upon layer of tension stacked in her chest, and it wasn’t the good kind that made her bloodstream bolt with adrenaline. It was straight-up anxiety. Temperance paused on the stairs and pulled her phone from her wristlet to text Maren.
You’ll be relieved to know that mom and dad are as awful as ever
Tell them I said hi, lol
They just announced to five hundred people that I was joining DORA
Aren’t you?
It’s complicated
Also, they seated me with Bodhi Rao
Tastykake? Big night for you.
I’m considering pulling the fire alarm
That’s a felony, honey
Think I can fake anaphylaxis in a room full of doctors?
Hang in there
Temperance was furious. Not only at her parents for the bait and switch, but at herself for falling for the bait in the first place. She’d taken on six figures of student loan debt to escape their influence, and none of it mattered. It was as if she’d spent years fortifying a bunker only to invite them inside and hand them a key.
She wanted Duncan.
There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that if she called him, that minute, and asked him to come get her in Philly, he’d be there before the top of the hour.
She bobbled the phone when she tried to stuff it back into her wristlet, and it fell face-down on the marble stair below her. When she lifted it, the glass was spiderwebbed, and the screen was striped with blue and black lines, unresponsive to the swipe of her finger. “Shit.” Temperance stuffed it away, gathered her dress in her free hand, and hustled the rest of the way up the stairs.
The mezzanine level was brighter than the main floor, with recessed lighting that showcased the silent auction items. Enormous dome-shaped crystal chandeliers on the low ceiling threw millions of tiny needles of light. Champagne-colored carpet was so plush it was difficult to walk on in her heels. She slipped the damned things off and let them dangle from her free hand.
Duncan was there.
Near the mezzanine’s marble railing.
Temperance couldn’t move.
Dressed in unrelieved black, he was almost a shadow if not for the horizontal fold of a crisp white pocket square. His hair crested back from his face in a single tidy wave, and his beard was trimmed in a tight contour around his jaw. He nudged his chin up to straighten the already blade-straight collar of the dark button-down beneath his slim-fit suit jacket, then with a swift jerk of his arm, he pulled his sleeve back to check his watch. Everything about him seemed tactical—his stance, his clothes, even the way he moved.
“Duncan,” she said, quietly.
He froze, hesitating for a moment before he raised his attention from his watch. By the time he looked up at her, she was halfway to him. This close, she could see the suit wasn’t black. It was the dense, empyrean blue of midnight in August.
Blue suit. No tie. For a black-tie event. It was so very Duncan.
She’d never loved him more.
“Hi,” he murmured.
He seemed far less surprised to see her than she was to see him.
“I have so many questions.” She dropped her shoes and reached up to run the narrow lapel of his jacket between her finger and thumb. Beneath it, his heart pounded hard enough she could feel the beat against her knuckles.
“I can think of a few of my own.” Duncan didn’t move, but he tipped his head down to watch her touch him.
“What are you—” She skimmed her hand down his arm. The fabric was so fine it almost had a luster to it in the velvety light. “Tonight’s tickets were a thousand dollars apiece. How—”
His low laugh was the darkest chocolate—deep and rich and a little bitter. He made a tsk-tsk sound with his tongue against his teeth. “Where are your manners?”
She leveled a cool glance at him.
The orchestra finished a piece, and a mellow sequence of chimes sounded from below to indicate the impending close of the auction. Duncan subtly glanced at his watch again. “Better not stand so close. Everyone will wonder who I am to you.”
Temperance moved in so her breasts brushed his lapels. “Then I’m not standing close enough.”
Duncan reached behind her waist and drew a finger slowly across the small of her back. Goosebumps rose in its wake. Her skin urged toward him on a cellular level.
Some of the tension eased out of him. His long exhale was hot against her hair. “I didn’t think you’d be here tonight.”
“I didn’t either. I had some business to take care of with my parents.”
“Same.”
She flattened her palm against his chest. “I don’t even know where to begin unpacking that.”
“Best not try right now.” He sounded distracted. Over her head, he watched tuxedoed event staff members collect the digital-bidding kiosks for each of the auction items.
Her belly turned over. “You heard their speech, didn’t you.”
“I did.”
“I’m not going to Atlanta, Duncan.”
A big, slow breath lifted his chest beneath her hand. “I believe you.”
Thank god.
“Where are you sitting?”
“Nowhere. I did what I came to do.”
She stepped back to look him in the eyes. “Please tell me.”
There was an odd mix of deliberation and vulnerability in his expression. Paired with the halting breath he took—and held—Temperance knew his body language like she knew her own reflection. He wasn’t going to answer her.
Hesitantly, he said, “I need you to trust me.”
Temperance deflated a bit. Her hand slid away from his chest, but he intercepted it and lifted her palm to his mouth.
“Not here.” His beard tickled her wrist when he kissed her. “We’re very overdue for a conversation, though—” His eyes lifted to look past her head, but his mouth remained on her skin.
“There you are,” Bodhi Rao said behind her. Duncan let go of her, and Temperance turned so fast her paloma sloshed over the rim of the glass.
Bodhi immediately turned his attention to Duncan. He extended an eager hand with a genuine smile. “Bodhi Rao. I’m an old friend of Temperance’s.”
Temperance turned sideways to accommodate Bodhi’s outstretched arm. She gestured to Duncan.
“Bodhi, this is Duncan Brady. He’s, ah—my—” Her brain stammered to a full stop. When Duncan moved beside her to receive Bodhi’s handshake, his eyes met hers for just a blink, and the noise in her head abruptly quieted. With his gaze still latched tight to hers, she said, simply, “He’s mine.”
Duncan didn’t look away from her, even when Bodhi snagged his hand and pumped it with unfiltered enthusiasm. His eyes were soft and dark as warm molasses.
“Great to meet you, man,” Bodhi said.
Duncan finally turned his attention to Bodhi. “We met a few years ago, actually. Good to see you.”
“You work with Temperance?” Bodhi’s answering grin was sincere.
A tight-lipped smile from Duncan. “I do not.”
Bodhi nodded encouragingly. “What field are you in, then?”
“I’m a contractor.”
“Oh, per diem? Locum tenens? Nice.” Bodhi crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels like he planned to stand there and chitchat all night. “Good money. Great flexibility.” Bodhi nodded and nodded—had he always nodded that much? Temperance wanted to grab him by the chin and tell him to stay still. “Primary care? Hospitalist? Which agency you using?”
“No agency. I’m not in medicine.” Duncan squared his feet with the width of his shoulders. “Construction contracting.”
“Ahh.” Bodhi’s earnest energy short-circuited. When awkward silence stretched long, he said, “Well. I’ll head back down. Nice seeing you, Duncan. Temperance, catch up later?”
She gave Bodhi a warm but noncommittal smile and wave. When she turned back to Duncan, she put her hand on his chest again. With him next to her, the ground seemed more substantial beneath her feet. “Can we leave?”
“Together?” A small smile hovered on his lips. “Think of the scandal, Dr. Madigan.”
Abruptly, his expression fell. With hooded eyes, he looked past her shoulder again, unblinking. The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose, and she knew.
Temperance turned to watch her parents approach. She took a step backward to bring her body into subtle contact with Duncan’s. He didn’t budge, and his body heat radiated into her bare back.
“Don’t leave before we’ve had a chance to thank you, Mr. Brady,” Corbin said. He was using the voice he used on waitstaff at the Linden Country Club. It had always made her uncomfortable as a kid, though she could never pin down why. In retrospect, adult Temperance knew exactly why. It was the early inklings of her bullshit detector.
Laine leaned in and gave her a right-left-right cheek kiss, as if she’d been born and raised in Europe instead of suburban Philadelphia. With her face still pressed against Temperance’s, she whispered, “At least you made it all the way through school. Better than your sister managed.”
Temperance didn’t lower her voice. “I’m thirty-four years old, Mom.”
“Indeed. Which is why I thought you’d know better.” Laine pressed closer and murmured, “Just, for the love of god, don’t let him get you pregnant.” Then she stood back and said, louder, “Temperance Jean. You look radiant. I’m so glad you didn’t wear your glasses.”
Duncan and Corbin were locked in a vise-grip handshake that made the tendons in their hands protrude. A squiggly vein popped out at her dad’s temple, but Duncan remained placid. At the edge of Duncan’s sleeve, some of his tattoos were visible—the lower part of a sneering skull doffing a top hat, and a scatter of stylized cherry blossoms. Her dad glanced at them and sniffed.
Like a curious cat, Laine clutched her wineglass to her chest and tilted her head sideways. To Temperance, she said, “So this is the reason you’ve been so hard to contact this summer.”
Without missing a beat, Duncan lifted the paloma from Temperance’s hand. He looked right at Laine and subtly slipped the edge of his tongue along the salt rim of the glass. Then he took a slow, deliberate sip. “I’ve kept her busy.”
For the first time in her life, Temperance watched her mother blush.
“Well played, Mr. Brady,” Corbin said. “All of tonight, really. I underestimated you for a long time.”
“One thing we have in common,” said Duncan.
“I’m very curious if Temperance knows of your passion for Austen.”
Duncan raised his chin. “We’re square now. We’re done.”
“Oh, for god’s sake. Just say what you mean. Both of you,” Temperance said.
“Would you like to tell her, or shall I?” Corbin said to Duncan.
Laine watched them over the rim of her glass.
A flush of prickly warmth began at Temperance’s scalp and flowed down her neck and shoulders. “What’s going on?”
Duncan’s composure slipped, but for only a second. When he met her eyes, his lips tightened against his teeth, and he swallowed hard.
I need you to trust me.
“Your suit is quite nice, Mr. Brady,” Laine said. “Isn’t it curious to you, Temperance, how a man like Duncan might afford a five-thousand-dollar Huntsman suit?”
“One might also ask—what would possess a man like Duncan to spend fifteen thousand dollars on Jane Austen novels?” Corbin added.
Temperance’s mouth went dry, and for a moment, the floor felt uneven under her feet. She snagged her paloma from Duncan and tossed back a piece of ice, pulverizing it between her teeth.
Softly, Duncan said, “They offered me money to stay away from you. And I took it.”
She swallowed the ice while some of the shards were still big, and she nearly choked. “When?” Her voice was hoarse.
“I was eighteen, Temperance—”
“So, you came here tonight to—what?” She was going to be sick. “Pay off your debt?”
“The original check was for ten grand, though,” Corbin said. “I assume you added the extra five for inflation, Mr. Brady? Truly—well played.”
A void of emptiness ruptured wide inside her. Temperance swung back to face her parents. “Well, shit. Fifteen thousand is a real bargain, isn’t it? Two million is my current valuation. Right, Mom? Fifteen thousand to two million in only fourteen years. That’s some pretty remarkable appreciation on a capital asset, wouldn’t you say, Dad?” Temperance was shouting now, and she didn’t care. “What is that—like, two hundred thousand percent?”
“Don’t be crass, Temperance,” Laine said.
Slowly, she turned to face her mother. “I’m not a pawn in your power game.”
“I’m surprised by your indignation, darling. Money is why you’re here tonight, too. Is it not?” Corbin said.
“Oh, fuck you, Dad.”
“Behave yourself, Temperance Jean.”
“Is this fun for you?” Temperance downed the rest of her paloma and set it down so hard on the nearby cocktail table that the ice rattled. “Is this the tense final-act moment where Duncan and I turn on each other? Argue in front of you two, so you can fan the flames? Control the narrative? Drive the young lovers apart?”
“Dear god.” Laine sniffed. “I have no idea how you and your sister turned out to be so dramatic.”
Temperance laughed. “Fuck off, Mom. You know what I think? You’re doing this to distract from the fact that you bait-and-switched me about the clinic. Did you ever mean to help me, or were you lying the whole time?”
Corbin looked down his long nose. “This is what’s best for you. It’s a win-win. The community will get the services they need, and you won’t have to be stuck here making sure they do.”
“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me,” Temperance snapped. Then she turned to Duncan. “And you. You’ve spent the last fourteen years upset with me for always doing what they wanted. But you did the same damned thing. You’re a hypocrite.”
Duncan stepped toward her. “Temperance—”
“No. You and I will talk about this later. Away from them. But right now, I’m going to remove myself from all three of you and go be pissed off for a while.”
She picked up her shoes and left.