Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Winter
The bistro in SoHo is the kind of place that looks effortlessly chic—exposed brick, industrial light fixtures, a massive vintage mirror behind the bar that makes the space feel twice its size.
It's Sunday morning, late enough that the brunch rush has thinned but early enough that mimosas still feel acceptable.
I opted out of spending the rest of the weekend with Rowan and the family in the Hamptons.
I emphasized how I had a lunch appointment and needed to prep for my meeting on Monday morning.
But mainly I just wanted to get the hell out of that tense drama and seek refuge in a plate of pancakes.
Kate and Amy are already seated at our usual corner table when I arrive, the one by the window where we can watch the neighborhood wake up over coffee and gossip. Amy spots me first. She stands, wrapping me in a hug that smells like her signature bergamot perfume and feels like coming home.
"There she is. Survivor of another Sterling family event." She pulls back, studying my face.
"You look tired."
"I am tired."
"Sit. We ordered you coffee. The good stuff, not the regular brew." Kate pushes a cup toward me as I settle into the chair across from them. She's in her weekend uniform—oversized sweater, minimal makeup, blonde hair in a messy bun—looking like she just rolled out of bed, which she probably did.
"How bad was it?"
I wrap my hands around the coffee cup, letting the warmth seep into my palms.
"Scale of one to ten?"
"Obviously."
"Solid seven. Could've been worse."
"What kept it from being a ten?" Amy asks, flipping open her menu even though we all order the same thing every time we come here.
"No one cornered me about my biological clock ticking. So that's a win."
Kate snorts. "Did Diane at least ask about marriage?"
"Within the first hour." I take a long sip of coffee. It's perfect—rich, dark, exactly what I need.
"Wanted to know when we're setting a date. Very subtle implications about legacy and continuity."
"Legacy and continuity," Amy repeats, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Because that's what every modern relationship needs. The pressure of producing heirs for the family empire."
"To be fair, she wasn't that direct about the heir part."
"She didn't have to be. It's Diane Sterling. Everything is subtext wrapped in designer clothing." Kate leans forward, elbows on the table.
"What did you say?"
"The usual. We're both focused on careers. When the time is right. The script I've perfected over two years."
"And Rowan?" Amy asks.
"How does he feel about all this marriage pressure?"
I stare into my coffee. "He doesn't really... we don't really talk about it."
"At all?"
"Not lately. Not in concrete terms."
The waiter appears—Jacob, who's been working here as long as we've been coming—and takes our orders without us even opening our menus. Avocado toast for Kate, eggs benedict for Amy, the ricotta pancakes for me. Extra bacon all around. Another round of mimosas.
When he leaves, Kate fixes me with that look. The one that says she's about to ask a question I won't want to answer.
"Win. When's the last time Rowan asked about your work?"
The question lands exactly where she meant it to. I set down my coffee cup, buying time.
"He asks."
"When?"
"I don't know. Recently."
"Recently as in this week? This month?"
I replay the past few weeks. Rowan asking about my day, sure. But actually asking about my work—about the Chen project, about client meetings, about the things that matter to me professionally?
I can't remember.
"Okay, so not recently," I admit.
Amy leans back in her chair.
"Did you tell him about the Chen project? The contract you signed?"
"Yes."
"And what did he say?"
I remember exactly what he said. Can hear his distracted voice, see him barely looking up from his phone.
"He said 'that's great, babe.'"
"That's great, babe," Kate repeats flatly.
"Three and a half million dollars. Your biggest contract ever. The project that's going to put Winter Hayes Design on a completely different level. And he said 'that's great, babe.'"
"He was busy. The Brooklyn development—"
"Is always going to be more important than your career," Amy cuts in. Not mean, just matter-of-fact.
"Because to him, real estate development is real work. What you do is just... what? Decorating? A hobby that makes money?"
The word lands like a slap because it's true. I've heard it in Rowan's voice a hundred times, the way he refers to my work as "design stuff" with that slightly dismissive tone that suggests it's cute that I have a career but not serious in the way his is serious.
"He doesn't mean it like that," I say, the automatic defense rising up.
"Doesn't he?" Kate's voice is gentle, but her eyes are sharp.
"Win, I love you. You know I love you. But you're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"The thing where you make excuses for him."
Our mimosas arrive. I take a long drink, grateful for the interruption. The champagne is crisp and cold and gives me something to focus on besides the uncomfortable truth Kate's laying out.
"I'm not making excuses. I'm being fair. He's under a lot of pressure with this Brooklyn project. His father is finally giving him real responsibility, real recognition. That's huge for him."
"And what about what's huge for you?" Amy asks.
"The Chen project is huge. Winter Hayes Design is huge. You're huge. But when does Rowan celebrate that?"
I don't have an answer for that.
"Look," Kate says, her voice softening.
"We're not trying to pile on. We're just... we worry. You're the most tenacious, ambitious, badass woman we know. You built a successful firm from nothing. You're brilliant at what you do. But when it comes to romance—especially with Rowan—you have too many blind spots."
There it is. The thing I've been avoiding looking at directly for months now.
"I'm not blind," I say quietly. "I see what's happening."
"Then why do you stay?" Amy asks.
"Because I love him. Or I—" I stop, the words tangling.
"I don't know. Because it's been two years and walking away feels like admitting failure. Because my parents ask about him every time I call home. Because starting over sounds exhausting."
"Those aren't reasons to stay," Kate says.
"Those are reasons you're afraid to leave."
She's right. I know she's right. But knowing and doing are two completely different things.
Our food arrives, buying me another reprieve.
We eat in silence for a moment, the comfortable kind that comes from years of friendship.
These two have known me since college, since before I became the polished version of myself that navigates Sterling family events.
They know the girl who showed up in New York with more ambition than money, who slept on Amy's couch for three months while apartment hunting, who cried after losing her first major client and celebrated by getting drunk on cheap wine when she landed her second.
They know me. The real me..
"So," Amy says eventually, her tone shifting to something lighter.
"Let's talk about the elephant in the room."
"Which elephant? There are several."
"Knox Sterling actually showed up."
I nearly choke on my mimosa. "How do you know that?"
"Instagram, obviously. There are like fifteen photos from last night already. Your boyfriend's mom is very active on social media for someone her age." Amy pulls out her phone, scrolls.
"Look. There. That's Knox in the background, talking to some guy in a gray suit."
She shows me the photo. It's taken from across the tent, slightly blurry, but there's Knox—tall, dark suit, that profile that somehow photographs even better than it looks in person.
"He's stupidly attractive," Amy continues.
"I've said this before and I'll say it again. That man is aging like expensive wine."
"Amy," Kate warns.
"What? I'm just making an observation. A factual observation. Silver fox. Tall. Built. Those cheekbones. Come on."
"I'm aware he's objectively attractive," I say, taking another bite of pancake.
"Objectively?" Amy's eyebrows shoot up.
"Winter, the man looks like he was designed by someone who really understands bone structure and wanted to show off."
"Okay, yes. He's very attractive. Extremely attractive. Happy?"
"Were you in the same room with him?" Kate asks.
"Obviously. It's not that big of an event."
"Did you talk to him?"
"No. We've never really talked. I've seen him at maybe four or five family things over the past two years. We say hello. That's it."
"That's it?" Amy looks genuinely disappointed.
"You've been in proximity to that man five times and you've never had an actual conversation?"
"What would we talk about? 'Hi, I'm dating your brother who you apparently can't stand. Weather's nice?'"
Kate laughs. "Fair point."
"Although," Amy says thoughtfully, "that could be an interesting conversation. 'So, Knox, what's it like having a brother who clearly lives in your shadow despite getting all the family approval you rejected?'"
"I'm not asking him that."
"You should. I bet he'd have thoughts."
"I bet he'd politely excuse himself and find literally anyone else to talk to."
"I don't know," Amy muses.
"From what I've read, he's actually pretty direct. Not rude, just... doesn't waste time on bullshit. I respect that."
"You've read about him?" I ask.
"Obviously. He's on every eligible bachelor list in Manhattan. Forbes did a whole profile on him last year about building Sterling Luxury Developments from the ground up. The man walked away from his family's empire and built his own. That's—" she waves her fork for emphasis, "—that's hot."
"It's impressive," Kate corrects. "The word you're looking for is impressive."
"It can be both."
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. "You two are ridiculous."
"We're entertaining," Amy counters. "There's a difference. But seriously, Win. You were in the same room with him last night. Did you at least look at him?"