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“The Emir was very pleased with the vacation home I designed for his family,” Ethan said matter-of-factly. “This lifetime membership was an expression of gratitude. I even spoke to the senior partners at the firm about the ethics of accepting such an expensive gift. Mr. Grantham assured me that it was far worse to offend a client by refusing their generosity.”
“Is that what Grantham said about the oil shares, too?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. And I donated half of them to the firm’s charitable foundation.”
“That was nice of you,” Leo said. “But promise me you won’t donate your cigar lounge membership.
“I promise,” he said as he savored his cigar. Several of Ethan’s notable clients had gone on to request his designs for their vacation homes or for commercial properties as well. This had been very profitable for him, and getting to manage his portfolio—which was, as a result of his exclusive clients, much more lucrative and diverse than most thirty-something men could boast—was a coup for me professionally. Being entrusted with the wealth management of a multi-million-dollar investment plan right out of the gate was a major step to my advancement at the financial firm. I was able to prove my mettle without having to woo a client willing to take a risk on an untried manager.
“Does she look like Helen of Troy? Bella Hadid? I’m more of a Margot Robbie fan myself,” Ethan asked finally. “The baker?”
“She doesn’t look like anyone famous,” I said. “Trust me. You’ll meet her and the next thing you know, you’ll offer her the keys to your car or something.”
“She’s that persuasive?”
“No. She doesn’t want help. She doesn’t expect anyone to bail her out,” Leo said. “The shop has been her dream since she was like fifteen, and she worked shitty low-paying kitchen jobs for years to save up for her own place.”
“Sounds like you two had a good talk. Did you go to a group therapy session together or something?” Ethan said.
“No. She just told me.”
“It’s the Foster charm,” I said.
“Got that right,” Leo smiled and fist-bumped me. “You picked a good one this time.”
“Tell me this isn’t going to be like the two of you taking Celia LoVecchio to prom,” Ethan said.
“Most people would be glad their siblings didn’t mind sharing,” I pointed out. “Why complain?”
“It looked strange and invited comment,” Ethan said. “I got so many messages that night from people who watched the three of you stroll in together.”
“Did it embarrass your much more refined ass?” Leo teased.
“Yeah, it did. My little brothers acting a fool after I was gone.”
“To be fair, we acted like fools when you were still living at home,” I said, and we all chuckled.
“A Foster on each arm, it’s no wonder she won prom queen,” Leo said nostalgically. “Wonder whatever happened to her.”
“Celia? She’s, um,” Ethan cleared his throat, “she took holy orders.”
“What?” I asked.
“She’s a nun. Sister Mary Cecelia now, at the Sacred Heart of Jesus on 11thStreet.”
“No way!” Leo burst out.
“Did you want to call her up and ask her out again?” Ethan inquired.
“I just thought she—you know, like most of the girls from our neighborhood, she got married and had kids or something,” Leo said.
“Do you think we ruined her for other men?” I asked.
“Either that or she had a genuine calling to devote her life to holy work,” Ethan said. “I doubt it had anything to do with the two of you.”
“Don’t you have to be a virgin to be a nun? Not one to kiss and tell, but Celia wasn’t a virgin by any stretch of the imagination,” Leo said.
“You’ve got to be single. No kids. Didn’t you pay attention in catechism?” Ethan asked.
