25. Pierce
PIERCE
The party was at the Wentworth estate, and Hannah was in the car beside me.
I hadn't asked her to come. She'd said she was going, and I'd driven.
That was it. We hadn't discussed it. The divorce papers were still sitting in some lawyer's office, and she was still staying with Julia, and I was still living alone in a house that felt like a museum.
But she was here, in a dark green dress that didn't hide her pregnancy anymore, and I was afraid to say anything that might make her change her mind.
I couldn't tell if she wanted me to say something or if silence was safer. So I kept my mouth shut and my eyes on the road, and I tried not to think about the fact that this was the first time we'd been in a car together in months.
I parked in the circular drive, then came around to open her door. She let me. Her hand was bare — no ring. I had it in my pocket. I could feel it against my leg, and my throat went tight.
Don't bring it up. Not tonight. Not when she'd actually agreed to come with me.
The Wentworth place was lit up like a damn cruise ship, all those windows glowing gold against the winter cold.
Hannah pulled her coat tighter as we walked toward the front door, her breath misting in the air.
I wanted to put my arm around her. I didn't. She hadn't asked me to, and I wasn't going to assume I still had the right.
She stumbled slightly on the edge of the walkway, and I caught her elbow. Her coat sleeve was soft under my hand, and I let go as soon as she steadied.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
"Yeah."
Thomas Wentworth appeared in the entrance hall, booming my name like we were old friends. We weren't. I'd done business with him twice, and Hannah had seated his wife at four dinners I could remember. He clapped me on the shoulder, then turned to Hannah and his whole face changed.
"Mrs. Langford." He took her hand gently, the way men do when they've just noticed a woman is pregnant. "It's wonderful to see you. Come in, please. Eleanor will be thrilled you're here."
Hannah smiled. It was a real smile, the kind she used to give at our own parties before everything fell apart. "Thank you, Thomas."
"Let me take your coats." He gestured to someone I hadn't noticed. I helped Hannah out of her coat, and my knuckles brushed the back of her neck. She shivered. I pulled my hand away.
Thomas led us into the main room, a massive space with vaulted ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the dark expanse of their property.
A couple dozen people stood around with champagne flutes and tiny plates of food that probably cost more per bite than most people spent on dinner.
I recognized half the faces. Developers, a few lawyers, a few guests I knew only by name.
Our world. The one I'd built and she'd kept running without me noticing she was doing all the work.
People turned when we came in. A couple of the women smiled at Hannah, and one of them — Eleanor Wentworth, Thomas's wife — came over immediately.
"Hannah." Eleanor kissed her cheek, then pulled back and looked at her. "Oh my God, look at you. You're glowing."
Hannah laughed, a little embarrassed. "I'm getting bigger, that's what I'm doing."
"Nonsense. You look beautiful. When are you due?"
"Early February."
Eleanor touched her arm. "That's wonderful. First baby?"
"Yes."
"Oh, you're in for it, then." Eleanor smiled at me. "Pierce, congratulations. You must be over the moon."
"Thank you," I said. Over the moon felt like the wrong phrase for what I was — terrified I'd never get to be a real father to this kid, terrified Hannah would decide she was better off without me.
Eleanor pulled Hannah toward a group of women near the fireplace, talking about nursery furniture and pediatricians.
I followed, staying close. I didn't contribute much.
I kept my hand at the small of Hannah's back until she shifted slightly and I realized I'd put it there without thinking.
I moved it. She glanced at me, but she didn't say anything.
A man I half-recognized — Davis, maybe — came over and shook my hand. "Langford. Hell of a quarter you've had. Congratulations on the baby. I heard you handed off operations. Taking a step back?"
"Something like that."
He nodded, clearly waiting for me to elaborate. I didn't. Hannah was still talking with Eleanor, but I could tell she was listening to me too. She always did that, tracked two conversations at once. I'd never appreciated it before.
"Smart," Davis said finally. He took a sip of his champagne. "Family first, right? Especially with a baby coming."
"Right."
Hannah glanced at me again, just for a second. I couldn't read her face.
More people came over. A woman named Victoria Something asked Hannah if she'd found out whether it was a boy or a girl. Hannah shook her head.
"We're waiting to be surprised," she said.
We. She said we, and my chest went tight. I didn't know if she meant it or if it was just the easiest word.
"Oh, that's lovely," Victoria said. "I could never wait. But there's something romantic about the surprise, isn't there?"
Hannah smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah. Something like that."
I wanted to touch her. I wanted to tell her I didn't care if it was a boy or a girl, that I just wanted to be there. I didn't say any of it.
Don't push. Don't assume. Don't fuck this up.
Another couple joined us, younger than most of the people here. The woman asked Hannah when she was due, and Hannah told her, patient even though she'd already answered that question three times tonight. The husband asked me about work, and I gave him the shortest answer I could without being rude.
Then Thomas was back, pulling another man over to us. "Pierce, Hannah, you remember Alan Reeves, don't you? From the hospital gala last spring."
I remembered him vaguely. Tall, thinning hair, the kind of guy who talked about his portfolio at parties. He shook my hand, then Hannah's.
"Good to see you both," Alan said. He looked at Hannah. "Congratulations. Thomas tells me you're expecting."
"Thank you," Hannah said.
"When's the big day?"
"Early February."
"Wonderful. My wife and I have three. Best thing we ever did.
" He launched into a story about his youngest learning to walk, and I nodded along, but my attention was on Hannah.
She was laughing at something Eleanor had said, and her hand had gone to her stomach the way it did sometimes now, an unconscious gesture that made something in me ache.
She looked good. Tired, maybe, but good. Beautiful. I'd thought it two days ago at the doctor's office, and I'd thought it when she'd opened Julia's door tonight. I thought it now, standing in a room full of people who used to think this life was mine when it had been hers all along.
Alan said something I didn't catch, and I had to ask him to repeat it.
"I said, you throw the best parties in the city." He gestured around the room with his glass. "Wentworth's done a nice job here, don't get me wrong, but your place — those dinners you host — the food, the conversation, the atmosphere. It's always perfect. I don't know how you do it."
I felt Hannah go still beside me. Eleanor and Victoria had stopped talking too, and they were both looking at me with that polite expectant expression people get when they're waiting for you to accept a compliment.
My throat felt tight. I could feel the weight of Hannah's attention, the way she was listening. I could take the credit. I could smile and thank him and let it go, the way I'd done a hundred times before.
"I don't," I said.
Alan blinked. "What?"
"I don't throw the best parties. Hannah does." I looked at her, but I kept talking to him. "Every dinner you've been to at our house, every event, every seating chart, every conversation you've had with someone interesting because they were sitting next to you — that's her. I just showed up."
The silence stretched for a beat too long. Hannah was staring at me, her lips parted slightly. I couldn't tell if she was angry or surprised or something else entirely. Her eyes were too bright.
Alan cleared his throat. "Well. That's... You're lucky to have her, then."
"I know," I said. And I did. God, I did.
Eleanor jumped in, her voice a little too loud. "Hannah, you'll have to help me with the spring gala. I'm absolutely hopeless at seating charts. Last year I put the mayor next to his ex-wife's new husband and it was a disaster."
The conversation shifted. People laughed. Someone told another story. I didn't follow it. Hannah was still looking at me, and I didn't know what to say. I hadn't planned that. I'd just said it, because it was true and because Alan had given me credit for something I'd never done.
I wasn't going to point that out to her. I wasn't going to turn and say, See? I gave you credit. I'm trying. That would've ruined it. If I had to explain it, it didn't count.
So I didn't.
I just stood there and let the conversation move on, and after a minute Hannah looked away. Her hand brushed mine, so brief I might've imagined it. Her fingers against my knuckles, warm and soft. I didn't pull back. Neither did she.
The party went on. People kept coming over, kept talking.
Someone asked about the baby's name, and Hannah said we hadn't decided.
Another we. I didn't let myself hope it meant anything.
A woman I didn't recognize asked if we'd started on the nursery, and Hannah said not yet.
I almost corrected her — the nursery was done, I'd finished it days ago — but I caught myself.
She didn't know. And this wasn't the moment.
Thomas found us again maybe an hour later, pulling over another couple I'd met once or twice.
We talked about nothing. The market. The weather.
Someone's vacation to Aspen. I answered when I had to, but I wasn't really listening.
I was watching Hannah out of the corner of my eye, the way she smiled and nodded and played the part she'd played at a hundred parties just like this one.
She'd been here longer than I'd expected. Longer than she'd probably planned. I didn't know what that meant. But she wasn't looking at me like she wanted to leave.
She wasn't looking at me much at all. But she hadn't left either.
When the story ended and Thomas moved on, I leaned in slightly, close enough that she'd hear me over the noise. "Do you want to go?"
She turned her head, and for a second we were too close. I could see the faint freckles on her nose, the ones that came out in the summer and never quite faded. I could see the way her lips parted before she answered. My heart kicked up, hard and stupid, like I was twenty-five again.
"Not yet," she said.
"Okay."
I didn't ask why. I didn't ask if it meant she was having a good time, or if she was staying because she wanted to.
I just stayed beside her, and when someone else came over to talk, I let them.
I kept my mouth shut. I didn't explain myself.
I didn't tell her I hoped she'd stay, or that I'd noticed she'd been here longer than she meant to, or that I'd give anything for this to mean she might come home.
I just stayed.