Chapter 23
JANE
The party turned out to be a young crowd packed into a converted warehouse that was all exposed brick and steel beams. The entire place smelled faintly of paint, ozone, and money trying very hard not to look like money.
Modern art climbed the walls in deliberate chaos, oversized canvases, installations that looked like they’d happened by accident, and sculptures that felt more like dares. A DJ played pulsing, electronic music from a raised platform, bass vibrating through the concrete floor.
A bar stretched along one wall, slinging cocktails topped with foam that came in strange, trendy flavors that looked better on Instagram than they tasted.
I wrapped my fingers around the stem of my espresso martini and took a slow sip, letting the bitterness coat my tongue and deciding I liked it better hot—and as coffee rather than a cocktail.
From where I stood though, I watched Alex do his best to mingle and the sight made having to choke down the weird drink absolutely worth it. For the first time since I’d met him, he might actually be out of his element here.
On the other hand, he wasn’t lost. I didn’t think Alex Westwood would ever be lost, but he was definitely adjusting as he observed, trying to play it off as nothing. He smiled easily, nodded at some of the right moments, and laughed when the people around him did.
He sure looked the part, though. Wearing fitted jeans and a sweater, his posture was relaxed, that confidence of his like a second skin, but there was a subtle stiffness to him that hadn’t been there before.
I could be wrong, but I had a feeling it was because this wasn’t a boardroom or old money leather chairs and crystal glasses.
This was youth, noise, and art that dared you to question whether you were stupid for not getting it.
If I was being honest, I’d tell him that I didn’t get most of it either, but instead, I was enjoying watching him do his own, very sophisticated, very polished version of squirming.
Two men about his age cornered him near a massive abstract piece that looked like someone had spilled neon paint and then charged six figures for the privilege of owning it.
They gestured animatedly with their hands cutting through the air.
Alex listened, head tipped slightly and his expression attentive. Then he laughed.
It was so natural and disarming that one of the men clapped him on the shoulder, but even though he finally seemed to be making friends, he extricated himself from them smoothly a few moments later and made his way back to me like gravity itself had pulled him in my direction.
“Can I get you another drink?” he asked, leaning close enough that I could hear him over the music.
“I’m good,” I said, lifting my glass slightly to show him I was still not even halfway done with my wish-it-had-been-coffee drink. “Who were you talking to?”
He followed my gaze back to the guys. “One’s a gallery investor. The other is something vague involving tech and a family office.”
I snorted before I could stop myself. “So they’re trust fund babies.”
He smiled, those eyes crinkling at the corners as he glanced down at me. “You think?”
“There’s no way that any of this art is worth as much as they’re trying to sell it for, which means everyone here is rich enough to pretend it is.”
He considered that, his mossy green eyes flicking to a sculpture that looked suspiciously like a twisted ladder. “That seems like a fair assessment. I was starting to wonder if I just wasn’t young enough to get it.”
I took another sip of my martini. “Well, this is still a far cry from stuffy old-money clubs where wine and scotch are the only things on the menu and gossip from a decade ago is still hot on everyone’s lips.”
“And thank God for that,” he said lightly, suspiciously eyeing my drink. “Can I try that?”
“Have at it.” I handed it over without hesitation. He took a sip, eyebrows lifting in genuine surprise.
“That’s a lot better than whatever this is supposed to be,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the bar and then lifting his glass. “Do you want to try it?”
“What did you order?”
“The only thing that had whiskey in it,” he admitted. “It was bluish. That should’ve been my first warning.”
I laughed, watching as he took another sip of my martini and then handed it back. “Yours wins. Hands down. Are you sure you don’t want to try mine?”
“If it’s worse than mine, then no. Thanks, but I’ll leave you to suffer in peace.”
He let out a long sigh, shaking his head like he was disappointed in me before he chuckled and made a show of blocking his nose before he took his next sip. I could feel the weight of eyes occasionally flicking our way, but Alex Westwood didn’t blend in anywhere, no matter how hard he tried.
“Are you okay?” I asked once he’d downed the rest of his cocktail.
He glanced at me, surprised. “Yeah. Why? The drink was bad, but it probably wasn’t poison.”
“Not because of that.” I rolled my eyes at him. “You look like you’re trying to solve a puzzle and it’s not going very well.”
He let out a laugh I saw more than heard. “I think that’s exactly what I’m doing, actually.”
I tilted my head. “And? Is it going as bad as it seems to be?”
“Nah, I don’t hate this,” he said honestly. “It just isn’t familiar to me.”
“In that case, I think we need to make it our mission to find more experiences you’re not familiar with,” I said, only half-joking. “Same for me. We’re already out of our comfort zones, right? We might as well see what else is out there.”
He rocked his head from side to side, flinching when he glanced down at his empty glass. “Deal. As long as you help me navigate the alien cocktail menu.”
I laughed. “It’s not alien.”
“Jane,” he said seriously. “The whiskey was blue.”
When I laughed again, I realized that we were actually having fun. It felt like we were just a couple. Having a moment.
Obviously, that was when Zara flounced up to us in all her gorgeous glory. She was impossible to miss, her lipstick a bright purple and a dramatic, matching coat slung over her shoulders.
“Jane!” she said brightly. Then her gaze slid to Alex and sharpened with recognition. “Oh. I know you.”
Alex blinked hard. “You do?”
She smiled like she’d just won something. “You’re Nate’s brother. Alex, right?”
His confusion was immediate and genuine. “I, yes. Nate is my brother. Do you know him?”
“This is Zara,” I said, amused that he’d claimed to like her, yet apparently didn’t even know what she looked like. “I thought you knew her.”
She laughed. “Nah, I know Nate. Your husband here usually only hangs with the big dogs. I’m glad you could both make it.” She gave him a onceover that felt both curious and dismissive, then leaned in to kiss my cheek. “I’ll find you later. Enjoy the party.”
And then she was gone, swallowed by the crowd, the noise, and the art. Alex stared after her for a beat, his eyes tracking her as she vanished. “She knows Nate.”
“Yes. That’s what she said.”
“I have a hard time believing he’s into this scene,” he said slowly. “Although Nate’s private life is incredibly private. After I got back from California, he was all grown up and not really interested in sharing his social life with his big brother.”
Unable to resist—and frankly, not even really trying—I reached for his forearm and tried to ignore how hard it was when I gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“That probably would’ve happened whether you’d left or not.
Colin and I don’t really share a social life either even though we’re close and we’ve both been in Chicago all along. ”
His chest rose and fell on a deep inhale, but before he could say anything else, he was intercepted by someone, then by another someone, until suddenly Alex was sucked into conversation with a cluster of artists and patrons who smelled opportunity like blood in the water.
I watched it happen with detached amusement as he was maneuvered toward a display, nodding politely while one of them launched into an impassioned explanation of texture and intention.
I stepped back until I was a safe distance away. When Alex shot me a helpful, pleading look over his shoulder, I lifted my glass and smiled sweetly. Not a chance, my darling husband.
He was hounded to buy something and I watched him fend them off with humor and charm, until eventually he sighed, looked at the piece in front of him, and nodded. “Fine. That one.”
I nearly choked. The painting went against everything I knew he liked. I’d been in his condo. The aesthetic was clean and controlled, yet this was loud and abstract, a gold-threaded mess that felt sharp and emotional, completely wrong for the way he lived his life.
When he joined me again with his receipt in hand, I stared at him, deliberately widening my eyes. “That’s what you chose?”
“What? I like it.”
“No, you don’t,” I countered, holding his gaze and daring him to argue with me. “You hate it, don’t you?”
“I don’t hate it,” he corrected. “I just don’t usually buy things that are so… disorganized.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “Where are you even going to put it? Your storage locker?”
“In our condo,” he said easily. “Right outside our bedroom door. You’ll have to look at it every morning when you wake up.”
That stopped me cold. Our condo. Our bedroom.
Since he’d told me there was no pressure to move in, I knew he didn’t expect it to happen immediately, but it looked like he still expected it to happen sometime. I didn’t know why that came as such a surprise to me, but it really did.
“Nah,” I said finally, deciding not to call him out on the whole our thing right now. “I think it should go in your office. On the wall behind your computer so you can see it whenever you look up. For how much you paid for it, that’s the only way you’ll get value for your money.”
He chuckled, grabbing another drink, an espresso martini for himself this time, too. We left not long after, sliding our coats on as we said our goodbyes.
Given the weather, we’d taken an Uber to cover the short distance between our rental and the venue, and as we left, I was suddenly aware that Alex was looser. Laughing more. Smiling at me like the whole night was an inside joke we were sharing. Things felt light as air and I didn’t hate it.
Until we stepped outside.
Several inches of snow blanketed everything in sight, freshly fallen and still coming down hard, the street transformed into a landscape that was both unrecognizable and seemed treacherous. Alex stared at it, then laughed softly.
“Well,” he said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “The Uber surcharge is going to bankrupt me.”
I burst out laughing then, and it wasn’t a polite chuckle or even controlled amusement. Instead, I laughed harder than I ever had, doubled over and breathless with tears stinging my eyes. Something had cracked open deep inside me and the sound poured out unchecked.
Alex froze, staring at me like I’d just changed the laws of physics. Seeing him look at me like that rewired my brain. I felt it happening in real time, my synapses misfiring and my carefully built walls trembling.
Am I… happy? Carefree?
The thought was so foreign, it almost scared me. Alex looked like he wanted to ask what was happening, but then the Uber pulled up, tires crunching over the snow and headlights cutting through the storm. The driver leaned over, rolling his window down to yell at us.
“You need to get in,” he said bluntly. “The drive is going to be real bad.”
Alex opened the door for me with one hand braced against the roof to shield me from the snow. I slid in, warmth enveloping me again, and he followed a second later, shivering once as he settled in beside me.
I glanced at him as the driver pulled away from the curb, muttering curses under his breath. Alex was still smiling, watching me like I was the answer to a question he hadn’t known he was asking.
Something fragile and impossible seemed to be taking root between us. I just didn’t know yet whether I wanted it to survive.