Page 131 of The Perfect Mistake

“I’m not lying about anything.”

“You’re avoiding answering, and that’s practically the same thing,” she says. “So… he’s pretty rich, huh?”

“Yes,” I say. There’s no point denying that, not when she’s slept the night in the penthouse. But it still feels uncomfortable to admit. Elena is part of my family, my home life. Not of my ballet, Constance Connovan-as-a-best-friend life.

It’s two worlds meeting.

“And not rich like the Cohens down the block from Mom and Dad rich. No, like Bill Gates rich. Doorman and housekeeper and private plane rich.”

“He doesn’t have a private plane,” I say. But then I frown. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“Isabel.” She shakes her head, and her eyes are sparkling. “I can’t believe you’re having an affair with this man. You!”

“We’re not having an affair. That implies we’re doing something… wrong.”

“Okay, so you’re hooking up with him,” she says. “Right? Because the way he looked at you last night… he looked destroyed when he came out of that car. Like he expected to find you dead on the sidewalk or something.”

I dig my teeth into my lower lip. I’d seen that look, too. “Yeah, we’re in a relationship. Kinda. I think.”

Both her dark eyebrows rise. “A relationship?”

“Yeah, something like that. It’s still really early. And he’s…” I trail off, shaking my head. I don’t think he’s still hurting from his wife’s death, but last night had made it clearer than ever what scars it had left. Scars that affect his decision-making to this very day.

Yesterday was also the closest he’s ever come to saying that he cares for me. But he had showed it, with every look and every touch of his hands, and that means more than mere words.

I press my hands to my cheeks. “He’s pretty hard to read.”

Elena’s eyes widen. “You really like him.”

“Yeah,” I murmur. “I really do.”

“Wow. Damn.” She shakes her head slowly, lips turning down. “Are you sure that’s wise? I mean, you do what you want, but this guy… he’s so much older than you. He’s like, middle-aged.”

“He’s forty,” I say. Turning forty-one in just a few days, actually. I’d seen it on the schedule. Katja said he never wants his birthday to be a big deal, but that the kids love surprising him in the morning. He begrudgingly agrees to celebrate every year to make them happy.

“Yeah. Like I said. Middle-aged.”

“He was thirty-nine last year. Would it have sounded better if he had thirty in his age number?”

“Yes,” she says without hesitation. “But that would still be old. He’s… Your birthday is in December. So he’s…”

“Fifteen,” I say dryly.

Her face lights up. “Right. Thanks. Fifteen years older. Isabel!”

“Elena!”

“Mom and Dad will freak.”

I sink down on the desk chair. Her words cause a knot of worry in my stomach. “You think?”

“Of course. You coming home with an old, rich Upper East Sider who already has two kids and a housekeeper?” She puts her hands together in a praying gesture. “Buena suerte.”

I cover my head with my hands. “No, they’re not allowed to freak out. Or he’ll freak out even more.”

“He’s freaking out? He was the picture of angry competence last night.” She drops her voice into a mock baritone. “Here’s my phone. Cancel all your cards.”

“Yeah, he does that sometimes. But I’m pretty sure the whole age gap thing bothers him a lot, more than he’s letting on. And his wife died really suddenly. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”

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