Fake Empire(83)

“You spoke to Justin Marks?” Arthur shifts his attention to Crew, who’s pulling my chair out.

I shoot him a small smile as I sink down, immediately kicking my heels off under the cover of the tablecloth.

“Yes.” Crew beckons a waiter over and orders a scotch. He looks to me. “You want champagne?”

For some reason, the possibility of this happening didn’t occur to me. “No thanks. I have a headache.”

His forehead wrinkles. “You do? You didn’t say anything.”

“I’m fine. I just had a long day. Alcohol will probably put me to sleep.”

The line between his eyes doesn’t smooth. He knows me well enough to hear the false note in my voice. But before he can ask any more questions, Arthur interrupts, obviously not sharing the same concern for my welfare his son does. I imagine he’d feel differently if he knew my “headache” was the future of his carefully constructed empire.

I tune out as Crew and Arthur discuss business. Oliver appears as dinner is being served, taking one of the two empty seats. He ignores Candace and joins the discussion on some investor. I people watch and pick at my food. I’m hungry, but not for anything on my plate. The steak is so rare it looks raw, and the potatoes taste too rich.

“You’re not hungry?” Crew asks me when his father is distracted by a member of the museum staff who’s asking him about some logistics.

“Not really.”

“Do you want to leave? I can see if—”

For some reason, the offer makes tears pool in my eyes. Some reason probably involving hormones. I know Crew sees when his eyes widen. “No. We should stay. I’m just…going to use the restroom. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Okay.” Crew’s voice is hesitant, but his father is asking him something again. He’s distracted.

I slip my heels back on and head toward the exit, following the signs that point to the womens’ room. The sinks are all empty. I walk straight into one of the stalls and lean back against the tile wall, relishing the feel of the cold stone against my skin. Deep breaths help with the nausea some.

All night, I’ve played the role of Crew’s arm candy. No one here is interested in my opinions on Kensington Consolidated. I don’t owe any of them anything. But I want to support Crew, the way he did when he backed me up with my dad or when he asks about my meetings and listens to my answers. For him, I can suffer through a night of stuffy conversation and overpriced food.

I pee, and then leave the sanctuary of the stall to wash my hands. I’m soaping them when the restroom door opens, and Hannah Garner strolls inside. She’s wearing a midnight blue gown that offsets her tan and blonde cascade of curls. I never pressed Crew for details about their past. Honestly, I don’t want them. But it puts me at a disadvantage—one Hannah intends to use, if the leer on her face is any indication.

“Scarlett. What a surprise.”

“What’s surprising?” I rinse and shut off the tap. “The fact that I wash my hands, or that I’m here supporting my husband?”

She giggles, and it’s malicious. Grating. “Your husband? He doesn’t belong to you. He was forced to marry you. It’s obvious he doesn’t even like you.”

“You don’t know anything about my marriage.”

“I know more than you think. I know Crew hasn’t been heading straight home from work.” She takes a step closer. Her heel taps the floor like a warning shot. “Want to know how I know that?”

“He’s done with you.” I repeat what he told me.

Hannah tsks and shakes her head. “Is that what you tell yourself? He’s Crew Kensington. You’re a bore so obsessed with working your daddy had to sell you off to the highest bidder. All you’re good for is your money. He pretends you’re me to get off during sex.”

My palm twitches, tempted to slap her. But I won’t give her the satisfaction. A reaction is exactly what she wants.

“Always so stoic, Scarlett. Acting like you don’t care about anything or anyone. But I saw you with Crew earlier. You care about him. You think he’s being faithful? I never thought the Princess of Park Avenue would be so naïve.”

“You sound awfully jealous, Hannah. Did I marry the guy you want?”

Her eyes narrow. “Two weeks ago, he fucked me in the bathroom of Proof. Said he’d never come harder. I don’t want him. I have him.”

For the first time, I feel a small flicker of uncertainty, and I hate myself for it. Crew was at Proof two weeks ago, when I told him to hang out with Asher. Would he have screwed Hannah instead? It was before he knew I’d been fully faithful. There’s nothing but triumph on Hannah’s face, confidence with no trace of deceit. But I don’t trust her. She has every reason to lie. To sow doubt into my head.

There’s nothing I hate more than being played a fool. My whole life, people have seen me as a spoiled princess. They’ve never considered how much harder excessive wealth can make your life. Everything becomes fake. The pleasantries, the platitudes. Pointed reminders and presumptions. How lonely it can be to always second-guess others’ intentions.

I’m lucky in lots of ways, but my life is a long way from perfect.

I trust Crew. I believe he’s being faithful.

And if he’s not—if I’m wrong—it will shatter me.