Page 59 of Ticket to You

He squirms under his seatbelt. “My mom’s house.”

I didn’t expect to be walking up to a house inthiskind of neighborhood withthislevel of ornateness. I knew Adam’s family was wealthy, but I didn’t imagine them as partying-with-the-Kennedys wealthy. Though I’ve rubbed shoulders with A-list celebrities and world-famous designers and went to a damn royal wedding just last week, I immediately feel out of place. Something about the opulence of Adam’s home life being so far from my own triggers a pang in my chest.

Adam opens my door for me. When I step out, I see the entire stretch of the long, looping driveway is filled with cars that scream money, most of them with crest-like badges I don’t even recognize.

Ivy creeps up the sides of the home, and the scent of blooming flowerbeds fills the air. Adam and I walk hand in hand past the manicured lawn, complete with a stone fountain, and up to the front door, which is a masterpiece in itself, with stained glass panels and intricate carving around the edges. This “house” is bigger than the high school I attended.

Adam squeezes my hand and kisses the top of my head before stooping down to look into my eyes. “Ready? It’s not too late to turn back.”

I can’t seem to find the words, so I try to smile and nod.

Adam opens the door slowly and we sneak in. Beyond the foyer, a crowd is gathered in the living room. Nobody seems to notice us at first, giving me a chance to marvel at the entryway, which is nearly larger than my entire apartment. Above the wainscoting, there’s baby blue toile wallpaper, Degas prints in wide-matted frames, and a large mirror that reflects the chandelier above us brilliantly.

We stand by the front door for a minute, observing the people in the room ahead of us. It’s a sea of khaki, white, and navy blue. I spot half-a-dozen pairs of Sperry Topsiders. Everyone has dressed in their best old-money fashion, and not one person is in jeans. Most of the women have blonde, bouncing hair with highlights so blended I couldalmostbe convinced they’re natural. Overall, most of the guests look like they’re ready to watch a tennis match or play polo.

It’s like we walked right into a J.Crew ad.

“Adam!”someone yells, and the entire house hums an excited welcome.

Next to me, Adam tenses like a mouse being cornered by a cat. Still holding my hand, he walks into the bustling room like he’s headed toward his demise.

There are no party decorations and no balloons, but apparently, no Abrams party is complete without staff. Yes,staff. They pass through the room with trays of shrimp tartlets, stuffed mushrooms, and artful canapés. Soft music waves in from what’s probably a Steinway & Sons grand piano, the perfect volume to be heard without impeding the cordial conversation and laughter. And, of course, it evensmellsamazing in here, like sandalwood and citrus.

Almost immediately, one of the only dark-haired women in the room approaches Adam and me. Even seeing her for the second time, I’m still awestruck by her and her glowing demeanor. Her dark curls are even shinier up close. I swear, she doesn’t have a single split end.

Eloise.

She wraps her strong, slender arms around me and holds me in a hug. It takes me off guard, but it’s near impossible to not feel comfortable around Eloise. I hug her back.

“Ophelia! I’m so glad you’re here,” she says. “I’ve been dying to talk to you formonths. And our last meeting doesn’t count.”

“For months?” I say with a laugh, still being held onto. “We’ve only been dating for…” My voice trails. I don’t even know if Adam and I are “dating.” That word somehow seems both too cavalierandtoo presumptuous of me.

“Oh, I’ve been waiting to meet you ever since you put Adam in his place at that Hoffman’s party,” Eloise says, releasing me from her embrace.

Adam told her about methatlong ago?

Eloise’s eyes, the same shade as Adam’s, seem to sparkle. I understand why she’s the family favorite.

She continues, “Adam needs someone who’s willing to call him on his shit, especially when I’m not around.”

“I can definitely do that,” I chuckle, instantly enamored by Eloise.

I glance at Adam. His eyes are already on me, and for the first time since we arrived, he seems somewhat at peace, with the slightest hint of a smile on his lips.

Eloise grabs my hand, pulling me away from Adam’s side. “Ophelia, you have to meet the rest of my brothers. But I’ll warn you, none of them measure up to Adam.”

She guides me through the room, and more and more people notice me. It’s not surprising, considering the fact that both Eloise and I stand taller than all the other women and plenty of the men. I try to ignore the whispers that follow us to the far side of the room along the wall of windows overlooking the bay.

There, standing like a lineup of suspects, are Adam’s brothers: doctor, doctor, dentist. Unlike Eloise and Adam, they each look quite different, though they all are undeniably handsome and have the same curious expression when they see me. I stand straight and keep my shoulders back, offering the brothers a small smile. I’ve rehearsed this meeting in my head dozens of times within the past week and already know what I want to say.

“Joel, Micah, Jude,” Eloise says, pointing to each one as she reminds me of their names. Then, she gestures dramatically at me, like I’m a prize in a game show. “Thisis—”

“Ophelia Brooks,” a rough voice interrupts. A fourth man, much older than the others, joins the line in front of me. Silver peppers his dark hair. Even his eyebrows, which peek out from behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, have flecks of gray. Seeing him is like seeing Adam in thirty years, and my chest tightens at the thought.

I offer my best smile and an outstretched hand. “Mr. Abrams.”

“Call me David,” he replies, taking my hand and shaking it. Unlike Adam, his hands are smooth and soft, devoid of rock climbing callouses and years’ worth of scars. “You look lovely. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. Adam tells me you’re a fashion editor.”

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