Chapter 7

Irina woke up to an empty mansion and a text from Neo.

 Left early. Board prep. Car is available if you need it. — N

She read it twice. Not because it was complicated but because she was still half asleep and her brain needed to run everything through twice before committing to being awake. She set the phone down. Picked it back up.

He'd signed it N.

Not Neo. Just N. Like they were people who texted each other casually. Like this was a thing they did now.

She put the phone face-down and got up before her brain could make anything of it.

Breakfast was quieter without Margaret's surgical pleasantries and Sasha's performative disinterest. Irina ate at the kitchen island rather than the dining room because sitting alone at a table designed for twenty felt like a specific kind of sad she wasn't prepared to experience before nine in the morning.

Mrs. Paulson didn't comment on the location change. She simply set the plate down and poured the coffee with the composure of a woman who had worked for the McKinneys long enough to have seen considerably stranger things than a new wife eating at the kitchen island in her socks.

"The eggs yesterday were really good, by the way," Irina said.

Mrs. Paulson paused almost imperceptibly, like the compliment had caught her slightly off guard. "Thank you, Mrs. McKinney."

Irina opened her mouth to say please just call me Irina and then stopped herself. Because Mrs. McKinney was, legally speaking, what she was. And pretending otherwise in this house felt like a specific kind of foolishness she couldn't afford.

She went back to her eggs.

She called Allison at half past nine.

Allison picked up on the second ring, which was suspicious because Allison had historically treated mornings the way cats treated water.

"You're up early," Irina said.

"Client showing at nine-thirty. New commercial property on Peachtree." A pause. "How's the palace?"

"Quiet today. It's like living in a hotel where the other guests actively dislike you."

Allison cackled. "The mother?"

"The mother. She says things that sound completely fine and somehow they're not fine at all. It's very surgical."

"And the sister?"

"Sasha is more upfront about it. Honestly almost easier."

"And Neo?"

Irina was quiet for a second. "Neo is.. I don't know yet."

"That's not a nothing answer, Irina."

"Allison—"

"I'm just saying—"

"Don't just say anything. I'll call you later."

She hung up before Allison could just say anything further.

She'd been building toward this decision since she opened her eyes. She was going to see Anna.

 Curtis drove her to Golden Gate without being asked for conversation, which she appreciated more with every passing minute. She arrived at Anna's room and settled into the chair beside the bed and looked at her sister for a long moment.

"Morning," she said. "I'm back."

She'd decided she was going to actually talk when she came. Not sit in loaded silence saying obligatory things. Actually talk, the way they used to before Anna got engaged and life got polished and their conversations started happening across the distance of who they were becoming.

"Neo wants me at a board meeting tomorrow," she started. "He says I just have to sit there and look stable, which — given the last seventy-two hours — is genuinely asking a lot." She paused. "He had an outfit sent to the room. I haven't looked at it yet because I was scared of what a billionaire's idea of appropriate boardroom wear looks like. But I'll deal."

The monitor beeped its steady, indifferent rhythm.

"His mother is a piece of work, Anna. I know you had a whole strategy worked out for managing her but from the outside, that woman is a project. She says things that sound fine and aren't fine. It's impressive, actually. In a terrifying sort of way." She tilted her head. "You'd have handled her beautifully. You were always better at that kind of thing than me."

She reached out and touched the back of Anna's hand. Lightly.

"I need you to wake up, okay? I need you to take your life back and take your ring back and take your man back. Because I'm sitting here in your dress and your ring and your place and I—" she stopped. Swallowed. "I just need you to wake up."

The monitor beeped.

Irina sat back and looked at the ceiling for a moment.

"Also, for the record? He kissed me at the ceremony and it was deeply unfair of him to be that good at it. I'm going to need you to address that when you wake up."

She stayed another thirty minutes, talking sometimes, sitting in silence others. When she finally stood to leave she kissed Anna's forehead and told her she'd be back soon.

In the elevator on the way down she let the guilt hit fully — the hot specific weight of it pressing behind her sternum. She didn't push it away. She felt it, contained it, and by the time Curtis pulled up with the car she had packed it somewhere she could carry without dropping.

She had a role to play.

She was going to play it.

The outfit was waiting on the bed when she got back.

Deep burgundy blazer, tailored and structured. Wide-leg trousers in the same shade. Cream silk blouse. Heels that communicated authority without announcing it.

She picked up the blazer and checked the inner label.

Then she called Allison.

"The blazer he sent," she said when Allison picked up.

"Yeah?"

"It costs more than my car."

Allison screamed so loudly Irina had to hold the phone away from her ear.

"It's just a blazer—"

"It is NOT just a blazer! Irina, a man who sends a blazer that costs more than your car is paying attention! Try it on right now and call me back!"

 The line went dead.

Irina looked at the blazer. Sighed. Tried it on.

It fit perfectly.

Of course it did.

She stood in front of the mirror and barely recognized herself. She looked like someone who had always belonged in boardrooms and had simply been waiting for the right moment to show up.

She looked, if she was being completely honest, like Mrs. McKinney.

She stared at her reflection one second longer than necessary.

Then she took it off, hung it carefully, and went to call Zachary back before she could talk herself out of it.

He picked up on the first ring. "Irina. God, I've been trying to reach you."

"I know. Sorry. It's been a lot."

"Are you okay? How's your leg? How's everything?"

How's everything. Not how's Anna. Not how's the situation. How's everything — the question of a man who wasn't entirely sure which specific thing he was most supposed to be asking about. "I'm okay," she said. "Anna's the same."

"When can I see you?"

"Soon. Let me get settled first."

"Okay." He sounded reassured. "I love you, you know that."

"I know," she said.

She hung up and sat on the edge of the bed and realized, two full seconds later, that she hadn't said it back.

Hadn't even noticed until just now.

She looked at the carefully hung blazer across the room.

Told herself it meant nothing.

Was only about sixty percent convinced.