Pieces

"He's downstairs, Lu."

Sasha was at the gallery door at four in the afternoon. I was in the back office reviewing a Maren Olsson valuation for a Lauder family acquisition. The third Monday since the wedding. The first week was over. The press had moved on. I'd had four days of work I hadn't been able to do in October because Carter's mother had wanted me at three luncheons.

"Who's downstairs?"

"Carter. He's at the door."

I set the valuation down. I looked at Sasha. She was holding her phone. She'd already pressed something.

"You called Theron."

"I called Theron's office. They are sending the security detail."

"How long."

"Two minutes. Maybe less."

I stood up. I walked to the window of the back office. I could see down to the sidewalk on Orchard Street. Carter was on the curb in a wool coat and the kind of unshaven face he hadn't worn at the wedding. He was holding a bouquet of white roses. He'd never bought me peonies in three years.

"Did you let him in?"

"No."

"Don't."

The security detail wasn't in two minutes. It was forty seconds long. A black SUV pulled to the curb. Two Marchetti security men got out. They didn't speak to Carter. They stood between him and the door. A third man, smaller, in a charcoal coat, came around the SUV with a phone to his ear. I recognized him from Sunday morning. Theron Vance had sent his own.

Carter said something. I couldn't hear it through the glass. Theron's man said one sentence. Carter said something louder. The man said the same sentence again. Carter dropped the roses on the sidewalk and walked east toward Bowery without looking back.

I watched the roses on the sidewalk for a long count. Then I walked back to the desk and picked up the valuation.

Sasha was watching me.

"Lu."

"It's fine."

"It's not fine. He came to your gallery."

"It is fine. They handled it. Don't say anything to my mother."

"Theron's office will call your mother whether I say anything or not."

"I know."

She left. I worked until six. I closed the gallery myself at six-fifteen. The Marchetti car was at the curb when I came out. The driver was new. He hadn't been the one who'd brought me uptown last week. He nodded once. He opened the door.

In the back of the car, my phone lit up. Margot.

"Lu."

"I know. Sasha called you."

"Sasha didn't call me. Vivienne did."

The car pulled away from the curb. I sat very still.

"Vivienne is in Boston. She moved last week. She's at her sister's. She's been in and out of an inpatient program for ten days. She called me at four o'clock this afternoon."

"What did she want?"

"To pass a message to you. She wants you to know two pieces. First, she is sorry, and she isn't asking for your forgiveness. Second, Carter scares her now. He has been calling her. She blocked him. He has been calling her sister."

"Margot."

"I know. I told her to call her parents and stop contacting me."

"Did she say anything else?"

A long count.

"She said Caine Voss has been calling Carter. She heard about it from a cousin of hers who works at a brokerage that does business with Voss Industries. She wanted you to know."

I sat with that for the length of three city blocks.

"Tell Atlas," Margot said.

"I will."

I hung up. I didn't put the phone down. I looked out the window at Fifth Avenue going past. The driver had taken the eastern route up to Tribeca. The sky over the East River had gone the color it goes in late October when the city has decided what kind of night it's going to give you.

Atlas was at the kitchen island when I came in. He'd been home for half an hour. He had a folder open in front of him and a glass of water. He looked up.

"Theron called me at four-twelve."

"I know."

"Carter at the gallery."

"Yes."

"And Vivienne to Margot."

"You know that too."

"Theron called me at four-thirty. He has had eyes on Vivienne in Boston for six days. He saw the call to Margot before Margot heard it."

I set my keys on the marble. I didn't sit. I stood across the island from him.

"She told Margot Caine has been calling Carter."

"I know that too."

"You know everything I know within ten minutes of knowing it."

"Yes."

"Atlas."

"Lu."

"I'm not asking you to stop. I'm asking you to tell me when you know something I haven't asked about."

He looked at me for a long time.

"I will. Within reason. There are some things I won't tell you yet."

"Yet."

"Yet."

I let that one sit. I sat down opposite him. He went to the refrigerator and brought me a glass of water and a small plate of what Marisol had put together for me before she'd left at four.

"Eat," he said. "We have a public event on Saturday."

"Sterling Hospital."

"Yes."

"You told me already."

"I'm telling you again because I want you to wear the black silk Sofia Renzi has on the rack at her studio in your size. I want it delivered Friday morning. Cosima has approved it. Margaret Tang has seen it. Camilla Sterling is hosting."

"Atlas. That dress is fifteen thousand dollars."

"It's a wedding present from me. The first one. Wear it Saturday."

I ate. He watched me eat. He didn't pretend not to. Outside the south windows, the sun went down over the river. The grandfather clock in the hallway struck seven.

He pushed a small envelope across the marble toward me.

"What's this?"

"Open it."

I opened it. Inside was a single sentence in Cosima's hand on a piece of her stationery.

Cara. Three pieces of news for you to know before Saturday. Atlas will tell you what I can't put in writing. He will tell you tonight. : C.

I looked up. Atlas was watching my face.

"Three pieces of news."

"Yes."

"Tell me."

"After dinner. Not in the kitchen. In the library."

He stood. He took his folder. He walked down the hall toward the library and didn't look back to see if I was following.

I followed.

The library was lit by a single lamp on the table between the two leather chairs. Atlas closed the door behind me. He didn't sit. He set the folder on the table. He poured two glasses of water from the carafe Marisol had left.

"Sit."

I sat.

"Three pieces of news. The first is the easiest. Olivia Sterling has asked to be seated next to you at the gala. Her mother agreed before consulting me. Cosima approved. You'll sit beside Olivia for ninety minutes. She'll be civil. She may try to be more than civil. Hold the line."

"All right."

"The second. Sebastian Devereux will be there with a date who isn't his wife. He has been having an affair for six months. Cordelia knows. She is allowing him to bring the woman to the gala because she wants him to embarrass himself in front of the right people. You may notice. Don't comment."

"Atlas."

"I know how that sounds. It's how the family works."

"And the third."

He didn't sit. He stood at the lamp. He looked at me for a long time, and the look was the look I'd seen at the altar when he'd asked me if I was sure.

"Caine Voss is going to approach you at the gala."

"Approach me."

"He'll come over once. Maybe twice. He'll be polite. He's a charming man when he wants to be. He'll say something to you. He'll say it within hearing of three or four people who matter. I want you to know he is doing it because his father has told him to."

"Why."

"Because Cyrus Voss has decided your marriage to me is the move that locks his family out of New York for another generation. He is going to test whether you can be cracked. Caine will be the instrument."

I held my water glass with both hands.

"What do I do?"

"Nothing. You let him say what he says. You answer him as you'd answer any guest at a hospital gala. You don't learn. You don't smile too long. I'll be at your elbow within ninety seconds."

"Atlas."

"Yes."

"You haven't told me the worst piece."

He looked at me.

"No," he said. "I haven't. Saturday isn't the night for it. Sunday morning, after the gala, after we have slept, I'm going to tell you something I've been waiting to tell you since the night you signed."