Chapter 2

TWO

I t wasn’t a different life per se, but this one small corner felt like a different universe from my own.

Four hours later, Matthew and I stood on one of the swankiest blocks in New York City. Only a few houses down from Central Park West, the lush brownstone belonging to Jane and Eric de Vries towered several stories above the street, with a set of enormous double doors that were probably solid mahogany. Through the open bay windows, the sounds of music, clinking champagne glasses, and posh people’s laughter bounced into the night air.

And I felt like I was going to vomit.

Kate had arrived in time for ziti, bearing an armful of suits for Matthew and a single dress for me sent with Nonna’s blessing from her actual closet. I’d waffled several times after being zipped up in the slinky black dress. It wasn’t until Kate had finally grabbed my shoulders and forced me to stare at myself in my full-length mirror that I’d actually seen what she had.

“Damn,” I had said. “I mean, I still kind of want to sleep. But I clean up pretty nice.”

I did, too. Nonna’s dress fit like a second skin, accentuating the hourglass figure that had gotten a little bit more so after Sofia. The added height of heels made my ankles look dainty and small, and my eyes glowed against the cat-eye makeup Kate had applied. My hair wasn’t even frizzing, spilling over my shoulders in sleek spirals.

From her place behind me, Kate smiled. “I told you so.”

I continued to stare at my reflection. But the longer I did, the stranger I felt. The tiny hairs on my arms stood up, along with goose bumps. Nerves. The person in the mirror…she was pretty, yes. But she wasn’t me. Not anymore.

She was a fraud.

“I know what you’re thinking, Frankie. Stop it.”

I bit my lip. “You don’t know.”

“Yes, I do. I know that look. It’s the same one you gave Nonna when you said you were going to go to community college instead of interviewing for that scholarship at Columbia.”

I scowled. “It is not.”

“It is. You were scared then. And you’re scared now.” She tipped her head. “It’s just a party.”

“With all these fancy people. You’re used to them. Matthew is too. But that’s not me, Katie. These people are Cartier and personal trainers. I’m dollar store bracelets and the YMCA. It’s a totally different world.”

“It is,” Kate agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not good enough for them. If anything, they aren’t good enough for you.”

I snuffed and tried to turn away. “Please.”

But my sister’s hands kept me firmly in place.

“You’re different than the rest of us,” Kate informed me. “Smarter.”

“Come on, Kate?—”

“Just listen,” she said, her fingers tightening above my collarbone. “The rest of us were so eager to grow up. To jump out there, get into trouble. But you were always reading your books. Because you knew what you wanted from day one. You were going to go to school. Become a professor, travel the world, live in London. Dedicate your life to that quiet passion.”

I gulped and found myself blinking back a few stray tears. I tried not to think about the past. Those things that had almost been within reach. What’s done was done, right? There wasn’t any point of mourning what might have been.

“And then Sofia came,” my sister continued. “I know you love her, Frankie. But it’s not right that you have to give up all your dreams forever just because of one little girl.”

“Kate, I didn’t give up all my dreams,” I said, blinking furiously to stave off the tears. I swung around to face her. “Matthew and this house. We have a nice life. I can’t really complain.”

Kate didn’t argue, but she didn’t agree either. Instead, my sister just squeezed my shoulders again, this time with more kindness.

“Go to this party. Meet some new, interesting people. Think about what’s outside of P.S. 058 and Arthur Avenue and New York City, for crying out loud. There’s still a whole world out there, waiting for you to grab it, Frankie. And after all these years, you deserve your chance.”

Grab the world? Kate wanted me to grab this world? How in the hell was I going to grab anything if I puked all over Nonna’s lovely dress?

I no longer felt like that beautiful woman in the mirror. I felt like my daughter playing dress-up.

I chewed on my lip, then stopped. God, the last thing I wanted was to have lipstick on my teeth in front of these people. This was the nicest house I had ever seen. The people in it were no doubt all rich, accomplished, beautiful, perfect.

I was nothing. A third-grade teacher whose entire life revolved around My Little Pony and nap time. A sad aerobics instructor whose biggest following was her Sunday morning Silver Sneakers class for seniors.

“Frances. Francesca .”

I blinked, startled out of my daze, when I realized Matthew had probably been calling my name for the last few minutes.

So I did whatever any of the Zola kids did when we were caught: deflect, deflect, deflect.

“I know you’re nervous when you use my full name,” I said. “What is it?”

Unfortunately, my brother saw straight through me. “Nothing. You just look pretty tonight.”

Suddenly I found myself blushing under Matthew’s earnest gaze, and he swallowed thickly. We were both nervous, I realized, though I wasn’t sure why he was. These were his friends, weren’t they? And Matthew, with his fancy suits and slick lawyer’s talk, always seemed more at ease with the finer things in life.

“Nonna let me borrow it,” I mumbled. “She said it reminded her of Audrey Hepburn when she bought it.” At least, that’s what Kate had said.

Matthew nodded. “Yeah, you could be on the set of Breakfast at Tiffany’s .”

It was the best thing he could have said.

I smiled. “Thanks, big brother.”

Both our spirits buoyed, Matthew knocked on the doors, which were immediately opened by one of the biggest men I’d ever seen. A security guard or bouncer, given the clipboard in his hand.

Security. These people were so rich they had security. We had a rusty deadbolt and a broken chain.

The man’s face brightened when he saw Matthew. “Zola. Good to see you.”

They shook hands and made some small talk while I peeked nervously through the doors. Big band music squealed off the hardwood floors along with leather-soled shoes and countless stilettos. Jewelry, sequins, and bright white smiles flashed through the din.

Oh, God. Oh God. What was I doing here?

“My sister, Francesca Zola.”

I snapped back to attention. The security guy and Matthew were both looking at me with knowing smiles.

“Got it.” The guard winked as he checked both our names off a clipboard. “Have fun,” he said and stepped aside to let us in.

I had grown up in the city, so obviously I understood the concept of the haves and have-nots. I’d seen treasures housed in every museum we had in New York while at the same time growing up in a neighborhood where my family home, with two grandparents and six kids crammed into three bedrooms and an attic, was considered a luxury by plenty. I saw that same disparity every day in my classroom, where half the kids lived in brownstones not unlike this one, and the others depended on the measly school lunches for part of their daily calorie count.

But it was one thing to know the numbers. It was another to see this kind of wealth up close.

I couldn’t help but stare. The marble-lined foyer opened into an enormous living room centered around a house-sized fireplace. The room itself was actually three, flowing seamlessly into a dining room for twelve and the biggest kitchen I’d ever seen. The furniture was a mix of classic mid-century pieces combined with punches of color and textures, including several mural-sized pieces of modern art on the walls.

All around were tasteful holiday decorations—lighted garland hung from the ceiling, across the fireplace, and over the balustrade. In the living room window was the largest Christmas tree I’d ever seen outside of a mall or Rockefeller Center, lit with a vintage glass bulb and a gorgeous gold star practically jumping off its top to streak across the entire room.

And that was just the decor of the house. The people inside it looked like they had walked off the pages of Vogue .

“May I take your coats?”

Matthew helpfully handed both our coats to the attendant just inside the entry. Security and an attendant. And, if I was correct, those were uniformed catering waiters carrying crystal flutes of champagne and pastel-colored canapes all over the enormous living room. The only house parties I’d ever attended involved a keg or two and red plastic cups. Maybe a big bowl of Cheetos if the host really splurged.

“I feel like I just entered the Weasleys’ tent at the Quidditch Cup,” I muttered to myself.

Beside me, Matthew snorted. “Frankie, maybe cool it on the Harry Potter references tonight.” When I looked hurt, he pointed across the room at a particularly beautiful painting. “Look. That’s an original Gustav Klimt.”

I swiveled, eyes bulging. “You’re kidding.”

“It’s the most comfortable museum you’ll ever visit,” he confirmed. “But I promise, the de Vrieses are good people.”

People? People didn’t have priceless works of art just hanging on the wall like something they picked up at Target. People didn’t throw parties where everyone seemed to gleam brighter than a lucky penny. The de Vrieses weren’t people. They were Society. There was just no other word for it.

Which meant we were the penniless if well-intentioned relations, right? I was part of a quintet of sisters, just like the Bennets in Pride and Prejudice , my all-time favorite novel. So did that mean there was a Mr. Darcy floating around this room?

And back to Austenland I went.

“Drink, sir?”

We turned to find one of the waiters offering a tray of champagne.

“Please.” Matthew took one for each of us. “Hold on a second, kid.”

Both of us downed the glasses like they were shots, not delicate champagne. Immediately, Matthew handed me another. I didn’t argue.

“I can’t believe you hang out with these people all the time,” I said as the champagne tickled my nose. My eyes were watering, but I wasn’t feeling quite so terrified.

Matthew shrugged after tossing back a third glass. “I wouldn’t say it’s all the time. I see them occasionally. Not for months now.”

I continued looking over the crowd. “You know, you fit in here.”

“Pull the other one, why don’t you.”

“No, you do,” I insisted. “We always make fun of you for your hats and your suits, but I’m looking at you. And in here, with all these fancy people. You blend right in, Mattie. You really do.”

“Give or take a billion dollars.”

“It’s smaller than you think,” I said.

For some reason, the idea that my big brother looked just as bright and shiny as any of these rich people gave me hope, even if I was a little jealous. We did share the same genetic code. Maybe I wasn’t as much of a fraud as I thought.

“Is she here?” I wondered.

“Who?” Matthew asked.

I just gave him a look. “You know who. Her .”

Nina was Eric’s cousin, or so I understood. There was obviously a chance she would be here tonight, and Matthew came here fully knowing that.

“I don’t think so,” he mumbled.

“Good,” I said, wanting to kick him. “You deserve a night off from the misery that woman brings you.”

We both do , I wanted to add. Over the last year, my stylish, savvy brother had morphed into Eeyore.

Matthew frowned. See, a sad donkey. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

But before I could tell him exactly what I thought about his personal version of Kryptonite, we were interrupted by someone who might have once been called mine.

“Francesca?”

I froze.

No. It couldn’t be. Not after five years. Not after he had all but disappeared off the face of the earth.

Do you believe in ghosts? Because at that point, I did.

I knew that voice. Its owner had the same raven black hair and dark blue eyes I saw every day on my daughter, plus a pair of mile-wide shoulders and soul-searing lips I couldn’t stop dreaming of no matter how hard I tried.

It was him. Xavier Sato.

Hotter than fire. Colder than ice. Father of my child.

And he had no idea.