Page 58 of Cashmere Cruelty

Today, I get tosee them.

“Over here!”

I’d recognize June’s voice anywhere. I rush to the restaurant entrance with the speed of a cracked-out-on-sugar five-year-old at Disneyland. Who knew a pregnant woman with sore feet could run this fast?

Behind me, Grisha chuckles.

I pull June into a crushing hug. Then I turn to the third person in our party and do the same.

“It’s been too long, Apes!” Corey says, nearly picking me off the ground. Which, considering the extra Nugget in my body, is no small feat.

“God, I missed you both so much,” I squeak, throwing my arms around the two of them.

Truthfully, it hasn’t even been a week since I’ve last hugged June. But that tearful goodbye has us both swallowing back tears now, like a pair of mushy little schoolgirls.

“Ms. Evans,” Grisha greets, ever-polite. “Mr. Evans. I’ll leave Ms. Flowers in your capable hands.”

Corey mock-salutes. June makes a sound that might have been a giggle. I do a double-take.What the hell? Since when does Junegiggle?

“Thank you,” I tell Grisha. “I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”

An hour.That’s the most I’ve been able to negotiate for today’s get-together. Apparently, the safety risk is too great to linger on the ground floor for long. The penthouse is isolated, but anyone could walk in here. Anyone skilled enough to evade the security check, that is.

I suppose the people after me definitely qualify.

A waiter leads us to our reserved table, pulling out the chairs for both us girls in turn. June shoots me a look, but I can only shrug.

We sit down and pick up our brunch menus. “So,” June says, glancing back at the waiter, “lap of luxury, huh?”

“Pretty much.” It will never stop being weird—this sudden role reversal. From berated worker to potentially berating customer.

Which I’dnever,of course. But the awkwardness stays.

Corey wolf-whistles. “Snazzy place. Reminds me of the old days.”

“Right?” June nods. “It’s like that time Papa took us to the Four Seasons.”

With people like June and Corey, it’s easy to forget. A waitress and a publishing intern, respectively, both minimum wage earners counting pennies to make it through the end of the month.

It’s easy to forget that they come from money.

Like many wealthy families, the Evanses had everything money could buy. And because of that, they desperately wanted the one thing it couldn’t: a child.

After lots of struggle for “a child of their own”—something they never failed to word as painfully as possible—they finally swallowed the hard truth: only a miracle could give them that. Thus, they decided to go down the adoption road. That was how Corey came into the family.

Weighed down by expectations, Corey grew up among the finest things in life… and the coldest. Not a day went by that Mr. and Mrs. Evans would let him forget he wasn’t “theirs.” That he was the second choice. As such, they claimed, he had to work hard to “repay them.” In that loveless house, Corey spent the first five years of his life alone.

And then Mr. Evans packed up.

Of course, Mrs. Evans couldn’t let that happen. As a Hamptons socialite, she’d built her reputation around the image of a perfect, happy marriage. Divorce would have been a scandal.

So she made the miracle happen.

Nine months later, June was born. Mrs. Evans presented her to the world as her little miracle—and Mr. Evans was forced to come back from his “business trip.”

Problem was, Mr. Evans never believed in miracles. He knew the truth. And so he retreated to his studio and his cognac bottles. After a while, Mrs. Evans gave up trying to save what couldn’t be saved. Their rings stayed on their fingers, but it was never more than that.

And June was a miracle no longer.

---