Page 34 of The Honest Affair

But Nina’s touch brought me back from the brink. I turned around to face her; the only thing I saw was gratitude. Well, it was a hell of a lot better than the irritation I’d seen before.

Now apparently more concerned with missing the gossip than with being taught a lesson from yours truly, the two jackasses turned with the rest of the crowd to face Eric, who was standing on a stool that elevated him about two feet above everyone else. Jane stood next to him at regular height, looking resplendent in a bright red dress, a few matching stripes of color shooting through her black-brown hair.

“Everyone,” Eric called out from the head of the room. “First of all, we’d like to thank you for coming tonight. It’s a hell of a housewarming, I’ll give you that.”

There was a round of hoots and hollers, though the people in the room who seemed the loudest also seemed to be the youngest. Eric had more friends than I’d realized. Or maybe that’s just who comes out of the woodwork when you inherit seventeen billion dollars.

“This gorgeous woman and I are thrilled to announce that Jane has just been accepted on early admission to the Fashion Institute of Technology!”

There was a gasp behind me, then another round of deafening cheers, though I doubted any of these people really cared about Jane’s triumphs. I was happy for her, though. Jane needed this more than most, and she was talented. Better her than anyone else.

I turned to Nina to say as much and found her staring at Eric, eyes bulging, face reddened. While everyone shouted their well-wishes to the couple, she looked anything but happy.

Fuck distance. Fuck space.

“Hey.” I slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her close enough to hear me. “Are you all right?”

“Oh.” Nina pressed a hand to her heart as if she were in pain. “Oh, God.”

I didn’t have to know why she felt the way she did. Only that she did. And that I needed to help.

“Please,” she begged suddenly. “Out. Matthew, I need to get out.”

“You got it,” I said as the crowd swarmed forward to Jane and Eric. I grabbed her hand and immediately started towing her through the crowd, mindless of who or what I might be knocking aside with my shoulders and a few pointed elbows.

With a few curious glances, Tony and the security team allowed us past the barrier to the upper floors of the townhouse. Up, up, up we climbed, beyond the noise of the party, past the third-floor bedrooms where John Carson had been shot. We continued to a door at the very top, which opened onto the newly renovated rooftop patio. The rush of Central Park West and Seventy-Sixth Street were reduced to whispers, and the chilly air and cold night seemed to wrap around us both like a blanket.

“Here,” I said, immediately stripping off my jacket and wrapping it around Nina’s thin shoulders. “You’ll freeze without that, baby.”

Nina didn’t reply, just continued to gasp for several minutes, like she’d just emerged from under water.

“Lord,” she said as she sank against the now-closed door. “I just—oh, God, I just couldn’t.”

“You don’t want Jane to be a designer?” I asked, somewhat confused.

She looked up, that beautiful ferocity returned. “What? No! I already knew, actually. I only…”

Then her head drooped, full of shame. Quickly, I crossed the space between us, and tipped her chin up so she had to look at me.

“You what?” I asked quietly. “You can tell me. I won’t judge.”

She looked like she wasn’t sure about that, then exhaled again. Her breath was sweet, white in the cold December air, tinged with champagne. Suddenly I wanted to kiss her. Actually, I always wanted to kiss her.

“It was envy. And hate.” Nina shook her head. “Of that fact that she has the freedom to even do this in the first place. Aren’t those some of the seven deadly sins?”

“Just envy. But I think unless you start Single White Femaling Jane, you’re not going to hell or anything. You’re allowed to feel jealous for a minute before you feel happy.”

“I am happy for her. I love them—so much. And they deserve every bit of happiness they are getting. They’ve earned it.”

“Hate, though?” I prompted. “What’s that for, then?”

“Not them.” Nina shuddered, as if she was fighting the emotion welling up, like a volcano trying to fight its explosion. “I…oh, God, Matthew. I hate…I hate…”

She bent forward, pressing her face into her hands. “Everyone else in there. Those men—”

“Those ‘men,’ if you can call them that, were straight-up douchebags, Nina. They don’t deserve your hate. They don’t deserve anything.”

“Even so. I do. I hate them. All of them, the ones just like them. So…so much. They don’t care about Eric or Jane. They don’t care about her school or dreams or anything else but their own stupid lives, their own ridiculous reputations. I hate all of it. This world. This life.”

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