Fake Empire(39)

At least Olivia is being somewhat subtle in her appraisal, unlike Hannah Garner. But I can still see the interest in the way her eyes widen and her lips turn up coyly. Before we got married, I made a deliberate effort not to pay attention to gossip about Crew when other women were involved. I’m starting to recognize that might have been a mistake. These women think they know everything about me, while I have no idea what history they share with Crew.

“You’ve been complaining Crew hasn’t been coming out,” Olivia adds, when none of us say anything. I don’t miss the look she gives me as she does. It’s obvious she blames me for the fact Crew hasn’t been frequenting New York nightclubs, and I’m tempted to tell her I’ve actually done everything I could to ensure he spends as little time around me as possible.

The petty part of me clinging on to the notion Crew Kensington is a means to an end, not someone who will mean something, is tempted to walk away. Instead, I decide to drop the act. Especially since Crew will think it’s an act.

I step closer to Crew. He’s wearing a white button down with the sleeves rolled up. His bare arm is pressed against mine now, sending small shockwaves across the surface of my skin. The electrifying sensation is almost enough to make me forget the purpose of this.

I take the glass from Crew’s hand and take a sip, almost draining the remnants of the smoky alcohol. Bourbon. My painted lips leave some red residue behind, and I place it back in his hand. Not the most subtle of gestures, and neither is the choice to use my left hand. Diamonds glint in the sunshine.

“I’m surprised you’re still hitting the nightclubs, Olivia. Don’t you think we should leave that to the teenagers?”

I feel Crew’s eyes on me.

“Oh, I do. Aside from the occasional girls’ night out. I’m sure you can appreciate that, Scarlett. You’re so…independent.” Olivia’s voice holds just as much sugar as mine as she edges back a half-step from Crew.

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, it’s lovely to see you. This has become the only event I know I’ll see you at.”

“Work has been busy.”

Olivia’s lips purse at the mention of Haute. “You’ve worked miracles with that little magazine. I’d hardly even heard of it, and suddenly I see people mentioning it everywhere.”

“I prefer to think of it as wise investing and effective marketing than miraculous,” I reply. “And didn’t your father place a bid on my ‘little’ magazine?”

I know he did. I outbid Joseph Adams by ten million and have already made it back tenfold.

“I believe he considered it,” Olivia replies. “He decided print is a dying market.”

“Pity. Our earning statements tell a different story,” I respond, savoring the way her lips tighten.

“Just what you need. More money,” Olivia retorts, a bit of her sweetness dissolving.

“My thoughts exactly,” I reply.

Awkward silence falls. “I’ll let you two catch up,” I add. But before I walk away, I turn my head and whisper into Crew’s ear. “I’m not getting wasted tonight. We’re sharing a bed, after all.”

I don’t wait for his reaction to the implication. I smile at the Spencers and then head toward the pool.





When we reach the sand, I kick my heels off. The feel of the rough grains between my toes lightens the anxieties I’ve carried around all night. Rachel and Penelope, two women I went to boarding school with, are laughing and stumbling as we approach the roaring bonfire built on the beach. A bottle of Dom Perignon dangles between Rachel’s fingers as she talks a million miles an hour, occasionally almost falling flat on her face.

The bonfire is an annual Fourth of July tradition I’ve never participated in, which is something Penelope has pointed out three times in the ten minutes it’s taken to walk the boardwalk from my parents’ place to here in the dark. It’s exactly what I pictured it to be. Forced small talk with my social peers is one thing. Drunken debauchery is another. I’ve seen too many fake smiles followed by back-handed compliments.

As an Ellsworth, I’ve always been held to a higher standard. I know it. So does everyone else. People on pedestals appear perfect. Until they fall.

I’m no longer an Ellsworth, though. I’m a Kensington. Untouchable. Not only is Crew rich and connected, people like him.

We reach the group loosely gathered around the flickering flames. I glance over familiar faces, taking a quick inventory of everyone here—basically everyone who was at my parents’ party under the age of thirty. I catch Crew’s gaze across the fire. He’s standing with a group of guys, looking more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. There’s no tie or suit in sight. Just a pair of navy swim trunks and a white button down that’s mostly unbuttoned. His hair is mussed. By the wind…or by something else. Would he do that? At my parents’ party with me present? I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since our interaction with the Spencers. If he wanted to, he easily could have slipped away for a while.

Rachel pops the champagne with a squeal, drawing my attention back to her and Penelope. Sprays of white foam hit the sand as she directs the stream of golden liquid into the crystal glasses Penelope carried down. I take the offered one with a thanks. Bubbles tickle my throat as I down half of it in one sip.