Ashamed, I forced my eyes away and cleared my throat twice before answering, “I don’t know her.”
“Oh. I thought she might be your friend. Why did you defend her if you don’t know her?”
“Mutual flirting and willing seduction are one thing, but forceful leering and being the target of unwelcome objectification are quite another,” I answered offhandedly. “I defended human decency.”
Unable to help myself, I re-centered the woman in my vision, appreciating the curve of her narrow waist, the bewitching line of her jaw and neck, as I might admire the handiwork of an exceptionally gifted artist. She’d twisted around again, sending me chasing my breath. Her loveliness again jarring and startling.
“She’s pretty,” Madeline said. It sounded like a fishing lure, a comment meant for me to contradict.
I ignored it, instead focusing on the woman’s sad eyes. But also curious. And wise. They held depth of thought, of knowing.
No. The thought was unbidden. She’s a reminder that true and brilliant beauty exists in this world.
I shrugged, dazedly watching the captivating creature as she slipped into her seat, and replied clumsily, “I have a girlfriend.” It was more a reminder to myself than a response to the girl’s remark.
Madeline said nothing else.
I heard nothing of the lecture.
And when the class ended, I battled my guilt, keeping my eyes pointedly downcast in atonement for looking.
But mostly for noticing, and allowing myself to be intoxicated by the sight.
CHAPTER 4
Dear Husband,
You know I love you because I don’t murder your mother.
-Jenna
Post-it Note
United Kingdom
Married 22 years
~Present Day~
*Fiona*
Greg and I arrived at the party five minutes early. This was a miracle because we’d left our apartment fifteen minutes late; the kids were ecstatic to have their dad home and didn’t want to let him go. Also, we encountered blizzard-like conditions on the streets of Chicago. Recognizing the plight of our tardiness, Greg suggested I call Janie—another of our close-knit group, though she crocheted mostly—and ask if she could send a car to pick us up.
I rationalized this frivolity by reminding myself I was bringing the cake. It was the cake, not us, that warranted the fancy car ride.
Greg saw nothing frivolous in asking Janie to send a car, remarking, “What’s the good of having friends if you can’t exploit them for their resources?” This statement earned him a stern look because he was only half-joking.
I’d known Janie—savant, guileless, tall—in college; when I was a master’s student she was starting her freshman year. I was the resident advisor on the dorm floor. We’d kept in touch over the years. Janie and her husband Quinn—resourceful, stoic, covertly noble—live in a penthouse apartment in a building he owns, at the north end of Millennium Park. He is in the security business.
In addition to Janie and me, the remainder of our knitting group is as follows:
Dr. Elizabeth Finney, emergency room physician, twenty-nine, blonde hair, blue eyes, average height; Janie’s roommate from college; stubborn and, similarly to Quinn Sullivan, covertly noble. Married to Nico Moretti—aka Niccolò Manganiello—celebrity comedian, thirty, black hair, green eyes, medium build, and enough charisma to indiscriminately paralyze women, men, and house pets.
Dr. Sandra Fielding-Greene, child psychiatrist, thirty, red hair, green eyes, five foot seven; works with Elizabeth at the hospital; altruistic, fun-loving, wickedly clever. Married to Alex Greene, genius, world-class hacker, twenty-three, black hair, dark blue eyes, six foot two; mistrusting and resourceful.
Ashley Winston, pediatric intensive care nurse, twenty-six, brown hair, blue eyes, five foot eight; worked with Sandra and Elizabeth at the hospital until recently; sassy bookworm. Involved with Dr. Drew Runous, federal game warden, PhD biologist, thirty-one, blonde hair, blue eyes, six foot four; reserved and intense.
Marie Harris, freelance journalist and artist, thirty, blonde hair, blue eyes, average height, headstrong, food enthusiast. I met Marie when she was doing an article on women of the CIA and brought her into the knitting circle. She was involved with a chef for a prolonged period, David Carter, but they’d split about a year ago.
And lastly, Kat Tanner—aka Kathleen Tyson—administrative assistant, twenty-three, brown hair, brown eyes, five foot four. Kat had worked with Janie for a number of years at an architecture firm before Janie went to work for Quinn at his security company. Little known fact: Kat is the heiress to a vast pharmaceutical fortune, and her family was based out of Boston. She doesn’t speak of it, or them.