Page 30 of The Honest Affair

“Zola. Good to see you.”

“Been a while,” I confirmed as I shook hands with Tony, Eric’s head of security.

The big man looked down his list of people—the guestlist for this shindig was tight. No surprise there. Eric didn’t take any chances with his family’s security.

“Who’s this?” he asked, nodding at Frankie.

“My sister, Francesca Zola,” I said, waiting for him to locate Frankie’s name on the list. I’d messaged Jane about bringing her as a plus-one earlier this week.

“Got it. Have fun.” Tony winked at Frankie, who immediately turned red.

We walked into a party in full swing, and our coats were immediately checked by someone who introduced herself as Eric’s assistant. The party was also apparently a dual Christmas housewarming party of sorts since Eric had surprised Jane by purchasing the entire building and remodeling it top to bottom. They had been staying primarily with Eric’s mother since the shooting last May, returning here only when they needed space.

“Wow,” Frankie breathed as she looked around the massive dining room, which had been decorated in Jane’s signature eclectic style. The furniture was a mix of classic mid-century pieces combined with punches of color and textures, including several mural-sized pieces of modern art on the walls.

“See that one?” I pointed across the room. “That’s an original Gustav Klimt.”

Frankie’s eyes bugged. “You’re kidding.”

“It’s the most comfortable museum you’ll ever visit,” I confirmed. “But I promise, the de Vrieses are good people.”

“Drink, sir?”

We turned to find one of the cater waiters holding a tray of champagne flutes.

“Please,” I said, taking two for Frankie and me. “Hold on a second, kid.”

As one, my sister and I both downed the contents of the glasses like they contained shots of Cuervo, not Cristal. I quickly exchanged them for two more.

“Thanks,” I told the waiter. “Keep ’em coming.”

“I can’t believe you hang out with these people all the time,” Frankie said as she accepted her other glass.

I shrugged after taking another sip of champagne. “I wouldn’t say it’s all the time. I see them occasionally. Not for months, now.”

She continued looking over the crowd, then turned to examine me. “You know, you fit in here.”

I snorted. “Pull the other one, why don’t you.”

“No, you do,” she insisted. “We always make fun of you for your hats and your suits, but I’m looking at you. And in here, with all these fancy people. You blend right in, Mattie. You really do.”

“Give or take a billion dollars,” I joked back.

“It’s smaller than you think.”

Frankie turned to the crowd, who were all busily chatting and laughing. Eric and Jane were buried somewhere near the back. I caught Jane making large, animated movements with her hands. Her gold-rimmed glasses glinted under the lights of a modern chandelier, and when she saw me, she raised one hand and waved wildly, indicating for me to join them. I waved back, but I wasn’t in the mood to shove my way back there.

“Is she here?” Frankie asked.

“Who?”

Frankie gave me a look. “You know who. Her.”

I swallowed. I guessed I hadn’t been as discreet as I’d thought. Because no, I wasn’t scanning the crowd looking for famous faces from the Post. I was only interested in one face. A perfect face that had been scowling at me just a few days ago.

I frowned. We were almost two hours past the start time of the party. The visible living room and dining rooms that had been cleared for guests were jammed with people. Still, nowhere did I see the telltale gleam of bright blonde.

“I don’t think so,” I said. The churning in my stomach didn’t stop.

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