Chương 8
“You may not be the best person to decide either.”
Arabella held up a navy scarf. “This is his.”
“He gave it to you.”
“He left it in my car for six months.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Arabella dropped it into the box anyway.
In the bathroom cabinet, she found a bottle of medication prescribed after Nathaniel injured his shoulder skiing. The label was nearly a year old. She put it aside because expired medication should not be moved with clothing. The practical thought made her sit on the edge of the bathtub.
Mara remained in the doorway.
“I postponed the wedding because I was relieved,” Arabella said.
Mara said nothing.
“The first time, I blamed construction. The second time, his mother’s surgery was real, but we could have chosen another date.”
“You did not want to marry him.”
“I wanted to want to.”
“That is different.”
“I thought wanting stability was close enough.”
Mara crossed the room and sat on the closed toilet lid, still wearing her coat. “Stability is attractive when you have spent years cleaning up someone else’s instability.”
Arabella looked at her.
Mara had worked for Arabella’s father before the scandal, first as a scheduling assistant, then as the person who knew which calls he avoided. She had stayed after he resigned from the foundation and after several senior employees left.
“Did you stay because of me?” Arabella asked.
“I stayed because I needed a job.”
Arabella gave a small, unwilling laugh.
Mara continued. “Later, partly because of you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Serena?”
“I saw hotel charges. Late meetings. Changes in his schedule. I also saw you dismiss every concern about Nathaniel’s role because the foundation needed the partnership.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is part of one.”
Mara looked down at her hands. “Your father accused me of betrayal when I told the board about his undisclosed loans. Afterward, you thanked me in public and did not speak to me for six weeks.”
Arabella remembered. She had been twenty-three, exhausted, and furious at everyone who made the truth impossible to avoid.
“I was cruel.”
“You were young.”
“I was still cruel.”
“Yes.”
The word rested between them.
Mara adjusted her cuff. “I did not want to become the person who brought you another truth before I knew it was true. That was my fear, not my professional judgment. I should have told you what I observed.”
Arabella looked at the half-packed boxes. “I don’t know how to trust someone who decides what I can bear.”
“Then do not trust me in the same way.”
It was not an apology designed to restore comfort. It was better than that.
They packed until ten. Nathaniel sent no messages.
At ten thirteen, the townhouse intercom rang.
The security consultant checked the exterior camera. “Mr. Cross.”
Arabella stood in the front hall.
Nathaniel’s face appeared on the small screen beside the door, pale under the entry light. He looked less composed than he had at Quinn House. His hair was windblown. He held no flowers.
“I need my things,” he said through the intercom.
“They’re being packed.”
“I need to speak to you.”
“No.”
“You spoke to the press.”
“I answered one question.”
“You accused my firm of acting without authorization.”
“It did.”
“Open the door.”
The security consultant glanced at Arabella.
Nathaniel lowered his voice. “Please.”
For a moment, Arabella saw the man who had brought her coffee during renovation meetings, who knew she hated lilies, who once spent an entire Sunday repairing a broken kitchen drawer because she refused to replace the cabinet. Those things had happened. Betrayal did not erase them. It rearranged them into a life she no longer knew how to read.
She pressed the intercom button. “Your boxes will be sent to your apartment tomorrow.”
“I do not want to discuss boxes.”
“What do you want?”
“To stop this from becoming irreversible.”
“It became irreversible when you built plans around what I did not know.”
“That is not fair.”
“No.”
He stared into the camera as though he could see her through it.
“Serena was a mistake,” he said. “The fund was not.”
Arabella closed her eyes.
He had separated them again.
When she opened them, Nathaniel was still waiting.
“You should go,” she said.
“If the board freezes the partnership, we lose the Ellison commitments.”
“Quinn House may lose them.”
“So will we.”
There it was.
“What is wrong at Cross Capital?” Arabella asked.
“Nothing is wrong.”
“Then why do you need this?”
“We have obligations.”
“To whom?”
“I am not discussing firm matters through a doorbell.”
“You were willing to discuss my foundation in hotel rooms.”
Nathaniel’s face hardened. “Serena had nothing to do with investment decisions.”
“But she knew how the announcement would affect your investors.”
“She knew the communications strategy.”
“Which was?”
“To demonstrate institutional confidence.”
“Mine.”
“Quinn House’s.”
“My family’s name.”
“Arabella, open the door.”
She took her finger off the button.
The screen remained lit. Nathaniel stood there for another minute, then stepped backward. Before leaving, he looked up toward the townhouse windows. Arabella moved away though she knew the glass was dark.
The next morning, Serena’s attorney delivered six months of messages to Elena under a confidentiality agreement that protected Serena’s firm while the review proceeded. Elena summarized the relevant material for Arabella but refused to forward it all.
“He told her the engagement was functionally over,” Elena said. “He claimed you both intended to announce a private separation after the fund launched.”
“That is false.”
“Yes.”
“Did she believe him?”
“For a while.”
“What changed?”
“A message from her dated three weeks ago asks why you were still choosing wedding invitations.”
Arabella remembered Serena praising the weight of the paper.
“What did he say?”
“That you were maintaining appearances for donors.”
May you like
Arabella looked at the wall.
Elena continued. “Serena also asked whether the new committee structure had your approval. Nathaniel wrote that you would accept it once the benefits were irreversible.”
