Page 112 of The Perfect Mistake

After our conversation last night, I’d gone to bed alone. It had felt like the right move at the time, but I’d ended up lying in the bed that’s become mine, staring up at the ceiling and replaying his words in my head.

He doesn’t want more. Not the more that I want, that I’ve always wanted with him, the pipe dream I nurtured for years. I’ve never even told him that. How my heart would speed up every time he entered a room. How I’d linger around Connie if she mentioned her brother would swing by, just to get five minutes in the same space with him.

These last couple of months, I felt like we’d really gotten somewhere. He’d started to open up, to smile, to let me in… but he won’t. Here but no further.

Just sex.

I stare at the buildings outside as we pass by them in the car. The people on the street, more diverse here than anywhere else in the world. I’ve never taken that for granted about New York, despite being raised here. Every nationality is represented. Tourists from every corner of the world. Expats and diplomats and business delegates. Art, culture, languages, and… endless possibilities. Endless open doors.

I used to relish that. Now I feel like the only two doors I’ve wanted to walk through are closed.

Ballet.

Alec.

He’d been silent today too, focusing on the kids with the same intensity as I did. The words last night had broken the easy companionship between us, the security I’ve always felt around him.

Mac makes a turn and I recognize the long street of high-rises. We’re close.

“Hey,” Alec says. His fingers brush mine, resting on the empty middle seat between us.

I look down. At his large, broad hand resting over mine, the back of it lightly tanned. His hands are familiar to me now. Still just as masculine and attractive.

“I’ve always liked your hands,” I whisper.

His fingers curve over mine, hiding my hand from view. His lips part like he has more to say. But nothing comes out, and he looks down at our hands, too. His grip tightens.

Maybe that’s all there is to say.

Mac stops the car in front of a condo, and we get out. The November air is appropriately chilly now, but it feels good. Better than the tense heat in that car.

“Enjoy the night,” Mac tells us.

I smile at him. “Thank you. You, too.”

I haven’t forgotten what he told me, or why he did. I wonder if Alec knows about Mac’s past. Glancing sideways at him, I know the time to ask might have passed. Just sex. Maybe I won’t lie in his arms on the couch anymore, lazily watching Gilmore Girls and talking about nothing at all.

Connie and Gabriel’s apartment has been completely transformed. The large open-space living room, with its two story windows and giant bookcases, is hard to recognize. Now it’s a poker palace. Two large tables, covered in green felt cloth and attended by hired croupiers, have been set up in the center. The place is brimming with people. I can see at least twenty at first glance, and that’s not accounting for those outside the opened door to the terrace.

Alec sighs by my side. “This is…”

“Yeah,” I say. “They’ve gone all out. Wow.”

The large kitchen island is laden with appetizers, beautifully plated and displayed in a way that can only be arranged by an expensive caterer. I stop at the sight of a fancy ice sculpture.

“No way,” I mutter. I’ve known Connie for years. I know her well. But I’ve only been tangentially aware of this side of her, the Connovan side, the one with priceless heirlooms around the apartment as if those are nothing at all, the one who attends elaborate parties and flies in private jets and spends money like it’s a never-ending resource.

For all of them, for Gabriel and Connie and Alec, that’s reality.

Alec stays by my side. He feels stiff, and reluctant, and I understand why. He doesn’t go to these kinds of events unless he absolutely has to.

Connie spots us from across the room. Her smile is beaming as she heads our way. “You made it, both of you.” She pulls me into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. There are a ton of people I want you to meet.”

“There are?”

“Oh yes.” She turns to her brother and hugs him, too. He wraps an arm around her with a frown. “I’m also glad you’re here. I stocked the scotch you like.”

“Macallan?”

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