Page 53 of Blacklist

The focal point of the master bedroom is a king bed on a low-rise platform with a simple wood headboard sourced from a local artisan. A single nightstand from the same maker sits to one side. Two night stands send the wrong message when a woman stays the night. The linens, a favorite, were imported from a London company that also supplies Buckingham Palace. Quality trumps quantity at every angle.

In the closet, my suits hang evenly spaced according to color. A gallery light illuminates a selection of neatly rolled silk ties on display next to them. My shoes, mostly Italian leather, have been polished and lined on an opposite rack. The chest of drawers is filled with silk pajama bottoms, jeans, t-shirts, and the rest of my private wardrobe.

But while most of the house is simple with a stress on minimalism and bespoke pieces, my favorite room is full to bursting: the kitchen. The cuisine at the Eaton was excellent, but it’s not a home-cooked meal. I’d learned the value of that in Francie’s cramped kitchen in Queens. I’d clung to it in the barracks in Iraq. Cooking has always been my sanctuary, and I spared no expense here. The high-gloss, white cabinets are fully stocked with stainless steel cookware and French enameled cast-iron pots. A column of drawers neatly house every possible utensil needed to create my favorite dishes. The espresso machine is imported from Italy. I’ve learned how to pull a proper shot over the years. I run my finger along the sharp edge of a Wüsthof knife longingly before returning it to its slot on the block. The kitchen will have to wait, unfortunately.

Tonight’s required tuxedo hangs in front of my suits, freshly pressed by the hotel staff this morning. Sometimes obligation gets in the way of pleasure — a truth I’ve known for a long time. At least, this evening, business and pleasure will definitely mix.

17

Adair

The Alumni Club at Valmont University caters to its privileged former students with a palatial private restaurant and ballroom near the campus’s football field. In the spring it’s rented for weddings and galas. I’ve been to a dozen private events here since I was a student. Tonight it feels like I’m going back in time, though, because it’s the first time I’m going to see Sterling Ford on the VU campus in years.

I almost hate to admit Poppy was right about the dress. I haven’t worn a silk gown since my jean size reached double digits. Usually it clings a bit too much to my hips. This dress skims over me, just closely enough to showcase my ample curves without making me feel self-conscious. It’s either made of magic or I’m officially delusional, but regardless, I don’t care.

Less glamorous is the box of dog treat cookies I’m lugging into the kitchen in my Louboutins. Trust Poppy to remember what she’d previously forgotten at the last second. She meets me at the door, grabs the cookies, and deposits them with a passing volunteer. Poppy, never one to shy away from color, is radiant in a green satin gown that twists over one shoulder. Matching emerald earrings dangle from diamond hooks, nearly reaching her shoulder. They sparkle against the black curtain of hair that swings freely down her back. I’m about to compliment her when she grabs my arm and drags me into a walk-in pantry.

“He’s here,” she informs me in a low voice like the walls might be listening. “Cyrus saw him.”

“So?” I pretend this news doesn’t send my stomach plummeting to the floor.

“You were hoping he wouldn’t come,” she says.

“But I knew he would.”

“At least, you look fabulous.” She spins me around to examine her work.

“It doesn’t really matter how I look. He’s seen me before.” I refuse to let tonight become entirely about Sterling.

“He’s never seen you looking like this,” she says.

Maybe that’s why I’m so calm. Yes, I’m back here where everything started between us. But when I slipped on my gown I didn’t find a girl looking back at me in the mirror. So, it had taken a fair bit of fashion tape to keep the girls inside the dress’s lightly-boned bodice. No panties exist that could be worn with the closely draped silk skirt, but I felt powerful in the crimson number. Usually, I wanted to fade into the background at these events, eager to avoid the same crowd I’d known my whole life. Tonight? I want to be seen. I want him to see me. I want him to face what he left behind.

“Are you ready for this?” she asks.

“As I’ll ever be.”

We’ve been having some version of this conversation for the past two weeks. Together, we dissected every moment of the disastrous dinner at my house. I told her about my confrontation with him in the hall, but I might have left out the bit where he admitted why he came back.

For you.

I omitted that part because I’ve been trying to forget he said it. I haven’t had much success.

I don’t know what he meant by it. It’s not like he’s been beating down my door begging for another chance. Every moment I spend with him only leaves me feeling more confused, because until that night in the hall, I wasn’t sure I meant a thing to him.

And Sterling?

He’s my line in the sand—the defining moment of my life. Nothing was the same after I met him. There’s no forgetting him. My mother once told me that you never stop loving your first love. I asked her if she was still in love with the first boy who stole her heart. She’d just given me a sad smile. When Sterling left, I wondered how I would feel if I saw him again. Now I know.

I hate him—and the thing I hate the most about him is that part of me doesn’t hate him at all.

“I’ve been thinking. Maybe you two should talk. Really talk,” Poppy suggests. She holds up a hand before I can reject this idea. “Hear me out. There’s a lot you two left unsaid.”

“He doesn’t deserve it. I don’t owe him anything,” I shoot back.

“I’m not saying you do,” she says quickly, sensing my volatile mood. “It’s just that if you think he came back because of you — if you think this thing with him buying into your family’s company has something to do what happened between the two of you — then you need to get it out in the open.”

“He made his decision about us a long time ago.” I don’t need to remind Poppy about what happened. Sterling left after he blew up my entire world. Now he’s back playing some sort of game and acting like he didn’t inflict any damage years ago. “He should be begging me for forgiveness.”