If You Only Knew(31)

“Hey,” I breathe, and my voice is already shaking.

“It’s okay,” she says. “We’ll talk later. But I’m fine. I don’t want Mom to hear anything.”

No, of course not. And Rachel does look fine. She’s nicely dressed, as always, and as always, she has one eye on the girls. She gives me a little smile. But she looks so old! Rachel, who still gets carded when we go out, suddenly has lines around her eyes and a general droop to her face. Tears flood my eyes.

“No, no,” she says. “This is your day. Jenny, I’m so proud of you. Daddy would be so proud of you. This is simply beautiful.”

Dad would be proud of her, I’m thinking, keeping her shit together, being so generous and strong to come to a public event just for my sake. Then again, his feelings would be mixed, wouldn’t they?

“Speaking of beautiful, hi, Rachel,” Andreas says. He hands her a glass of sparkling wine. “What do you think?”

“I think my sister and you are both geniuses,” she says. She glances at me, then drops her eyes.

Shy. She’s being shy because of me, the only person she’s never shy around—except for her daughters. Shy of me because I know.

That f*cking Adam.

“Well, I can’t speak for Andreas, but yes, I’m a genius,” I say, my voice firm and fake.

“I’m just the power behind the throne,” Andreas says.

“Hi,” says Charlotte, attaching herself to his leg.

“Oh, God, get it off me,” he says, making Charlotte dissolve into giggles. “Go away, little octopus.” He shakes his leg, which makes Grace zoom over and latch on to the other one. Rose is too busy sitting under a table, powering through her basket of cookies.

Poor Rachel. I knew it, but I didn’t want to be right. I never wanted to be wrong more.

“Andreas, would you watch the girls for a second?” I ask.

“No. Don’t leave me.”

I ignore him. “Come on, Rach, let’s talk in the back,” I say, taking her hand and towing her through the crowd. “Hello. Thank you for coming.”

“No, Jenny, I—”

“Rach, we’re going to talk. Jesus.”

We get to my office, and I close the door. I wait a second, then open the door a crack to see if Mom tailed us. She didn’t. I close the door once more. “What happened?”

“I went to his office, and...I saw this woman. She came in, and I just knew.” A fine tremor runs across her face. “And he didn’t deny it this time.”

“Oh, Rachel. Oh, honey.” I move to hug her, but she steps back.

“I can’t,” she whispers. “Don’t be nice to me right now, or I’ll lose it.”

“Did he... Is it still... What did he say? Who is it? Do you know her?”

“Emmanuelle St. Pierre. A litigator.”

“What a whorish name.”

“Please don’t make jokes.”

I cringe. “I’m sorry.”

“He said the sex is amazing. He might be in love with her. But he doesn’t want a divorce, because he loves me, too.”

A blue-black cloud of curses churns in my mouth. That bastard. So, he’ll keep Rachel as his perfect wife, and then go have dirty sex with Emmanuelle? Sure. Why not?

“Would it be wrong for me to want to strangle him?” I ask, my fists clenched.

“Don’t. Look. I... We’re working on things. Um...we have a family. We have to do things the right way. It’s complicated.”

“It’s not complicated!” I hiss. “He’s a complete shithead, Rachel!”

“Stop. You’re not helping.”

“What are you going to do?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she whispers, and that tremor quakes through her face once more. “It means we have to go slowly. We have to think of the girls. And I don’t want to talk about it here.”

“Right, of course,” I whisper back. “But let’s talk, Rachel. Come over tonight. Or I can come over there.”

“No. I need to be with Adam. We have a lot to work through.” She sighs. “Look. I didn’t want to tell you today. This is your grand opening. Let’s get back out there.”

“Rachel, you’re much more important—”

“I’m really fine,” she says, and there’s that brittleness again. “Weren’t you going to say something about the store? Let’s go.”

My God. If I feel like the world has tilted off center, how must she feel?

Back in the showroom, Rachel goes to Grace, who’s trying on tiaras. She forces a smile toward me, then turns her attention to her daughter.

My hands are shaking. Nevertheless, I give Andreas a nod, and he taps a champagne glass. The murmur dies down.

“Thank you all so much for coming to Bliss,” I say with a big smile. I wonder how my face looks. “I’m Jenny Tate, and our token male today is Andreas Calderi, my assistant.” There’s a laugh, and Andreas raises a perfectly waxed eyebrow. “At Bliss, you’re going to get a one-of-a-kind dress made just for you. I’ll never make another dress exactly like it, so you can rest assured that your dress will be unique.”

There’s an appreciative murmur from a few young women. Yes, God forbid they have a dress that looks like someone else’s. I recognize the irony of my cynicism.