Now
Six months after I graduated Harvard Business School, on a balmy Saturday night in South Florida, I downed my second glass of red wine as Palm Beach winter society danced and mingled around me. I listened to the cacophony of their voices and tried to stifle the anticipation that had built inside me ever since I walked the commencement line in Cambridge. My future was happening, and it was happening right then.
Get it together, man, get it together. Now.
I drank another gulp of wine and surveyed the crowd. Typical. Well dressed. All wanting to gain my favor.
Christ, I can’t even go to a wedding without the sycophants clamoring to brown-nose me.
Not that it was a surprise. I was Davis Armstrong III—heir apparent to my grandfather’s steel, sugar, manufacturing, and banking mega fortune. I had an MBA to my pedigree, and a future that was already paved before me. After a few months spent wandering around Europe, I’d come to Palm Beach to take my rightful place in the array of Armstrong properties.
I was a bright, shiny new addition to the empire.
“Don’t look so glum,” Aaron Shields, my closest friend on the island, said as he walked up to me, holding a fresh glass of beer. He raised it in a mock toast. “Lighten up for one night, all right? This is a wedding, and not just any wedding. The wedding of the season.”
“That’s saying a lot, but you’re right.” I clinked his glass with what remained of my wine. “Count on Trevor McNamara to have a fantastic ceremony, and an even bigger party.”
Aaron shook his head. “Dude, don’t count on him, count on Ainsley Ross. Or, should I say, Ainsley McNamara? She’d never settle for anything less than the absolute best.”
“They seem in love,” I said, remembering the ceremony, which had taken place that afternoon at Bethesda-By-the-Sea, a historic church in the center of town that played host to the weddings of many in East Coast society, including a few presidents, and one or two minor European royals. One day, my own wedding would probably take place there too. Like so much of my life, it had already been determined. “Trevor was almost crying during the vows.”
“Lucky bastard.” Aaron jerked his chin in the direction of the bride, who wore a long white gown with lacy sleeves and a crown of flowers on her head. “Too bad she’s another one off the market down here. You’ve got such slim pickings in Palm Beach, and she was one of the hotter ones.” He grinned.
“Good thing I don’t have you as competition.”
“Oh no, honey. I’m the one scouting the best women for you.” His upper lip curled. “And based on your usual taste, you need me.”
“Hey, I do all right.”
He scoffed. “I wouldn’t call it that. But at least your dates aren’t half dead.”
I laughed at his joke. No matter how much it might be changing, Palm Beach was still in many ways an enclave of old money and old people. Many of them mingled around us, dripping in diamonds, pastel gowns, and tuxedos. Palm Beach wasn’t exactly the place to meet eligible younger women.
West Palm Beach, though…
“How’s your grandfather holding up?” Aaron asked. “I haven’t seen him.”
“Oh, I think he’s fine, but I still can’t believe he insisted on coming.”
“What about his heart?”
“He says it’s fine.” I shrugged. “But who really knows? Two heart attacks already would have killed most people.”
“The old man’s a tough one.”
“He is.” I took a final large swig of wine and placed it on the tray of a passing waiter. “And there is no way to talk him out of something once he sets his mind to it.” I gave my friend a knowing look. “On that note, I’ll see you later. I should go find him. And my date.”
“Good idea, Prince of Palm Beach.”
I scoffed.
“What? You are, and you know it.” Aaron turned the corners of his mouth down and nodded. “By the way, later, the partner and I are going out on Clematis Street over in West Palm if you want to join us.”
“I’ll text you.”
I moved away from him and weaved my way through the well-heeled glamorous crowd, which had spilled out from the wide doors of the ballroom at the Philips Estate and onto the pavilion and pool deck. I gave a few head nods and greetings to people as I wove through clumps of partiers, looking for my grandfather and Irene, my companion for the evening.
Technically, this was my third date with Irene, and she’d made it obvious how much she wanted things to progress between us. I felt a dull sense of dread about this, as if Irene was one of the many planned and programmed things about my looming future. She and I had known each other for about five years, but I suspected she mostly wanted a stab at the fortune that came along with snagging me.
Which was also the case with about ninety-five percent of the women I met, and another unwelcome side effect of being an Armstrong.
“Here you are,” I said once I found them near the fountain on the north side of the lawn. “Still having a good time?”
“Of course,” my grandfather replied, leaning on the cane that had long ago become a permanent accessory. “We were just speaking with Mrs. Ross, Ainsley’s mother. She’s very pleased to have Trevor in the family.” He surveyed the party guests as if looking for something this conversation wouldn’t provide. “And it seems the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. McNamara are on their way.”
“An interesting turn of events, given their family rivalry,” Irene mumbled before she drank a long sip of champagne from a tall crystal flute. “Just goes to show, you never can tell what will happen.”
“No, you can’t.” I felt myself involuntarily stiffen at Irene’s last comment. I didn’t like it, and I didn’t like her much either, not in the way she wanted. She might have been the usual type I went for—a rail-thin blonde with an unnatural tan—but she was also boring in a you-know-you’re-supposed-to-end-up-with-a-woman-like-me way.
And I was growing tired of boring.
“So, are you making some good connections tonight?” my grandfather asked just as a server approached with a round of pâté. The three of us took selections before I gave him my answer.
“I’ve met a few new people and had a conversation with Hugh Kensington, the app developer,” I said. “But I can always do more.”
My grandfather never viewed any of the parties he attended as fun. They were always work, and he always had an ulterior motive—to shore up any connections that might advance our family in the future. To that end, he had several rules he expected me, as his sole heir, to follow. While in Palm Beach, I could never drink more than two alcoholic drinks at an event, I had to accept at least three invites a week, and at least seventy percent of the evening event had to be spent in conversation with someone who could expand our network. Armstrongs also never showed up underdressed. That night, I’d obliged the last rule by wearing a black tuxedo, white shirt, and black bow tie with a small gray pattern woven through the fabric.
“Good, son,” Grandfather said. He’d referred to me that way ever since my father’s suicide, and while it bothered me at first, in the last year or so, I’d grown to appreciate it. Calling me “son” meant he trusted me, and he didn’t trust many people.
His eyes brightened at something over my shoulder, and I turned to find Ainsley approaching us. “Ah, here is the happy bride now.”
“So good to see you,” Ainsley said, as she embraced him. “Glad you could attend tonight.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it,” my grandfather replied after they finished their hug. “George would have thought you looked beautiful tonight.”
She smiled at the mention of her father. “He’d probably marvel at all of this, right?”
“Times change. People change. I think your families were due for a reconciliation,” I said. “And it was a beautiful wedding.”
It was the kind of thing everyone said to each other on a night like this, although it was also true.
“How’s life after Harvard?” Ainsley asked.
“Spend the last few months traveling.”
“Well, he worked so hard over the last few years. First undergrad, and now his MBA, summa cum laude each time,” my grandfather added.
Ainsley turned to me. “He told me last week when I saw him at dinner he’s very proud. And I can see why.”
“Still am. Davis has turned into an impressive young man.” Grandad clapped me on the back with a rough hand and let out a gruff laugh. “But now the wanderlust has to come to an end. Time to get serious.”
“Absolutely true. You can only stay in school for so long,” Irene chided, and I resisted shooting her a glare. “Time to join the dynasty.”
Dynasty. I bristled at the word. It would have been easy for people to call it that after several generations of family success, but the word came loaded with layers. Expectation about maintaining things “the way they had always been done.” Personally, I thought our holdings could use a shakeup. Some new ideas. Some innovative thinking. What we did in the last century wouldn’t necessarily work in the next one.
“I gave Davis until the first of the year to decide how he wants to enter the company, and where he feels his talents will be most effective,” my grandad said. “So, three weeks.”
We all answered in a collective laugh, but mine was forced. I’d dogged the fate that awaited me for the last few years—four at MIT and two at Harvard, but that time was dwindling, and fast. The new year would bring a whole new phase in my life.
“Please excuse me,” I told the group. “I’d like to get some water. Does anyone else need anything?”
They shook their heads, and I walked away, threading myself though the well-dressed crowd once again. I decided I’d head to the bar farthest from my grandfather. Besides, I was hungry, so along the way, I plucked a few pieces of shrimp and a bite-sized lobster roll off passing trays. Soon, we’d adjourn from the pool deck and have dinner in the large ballroom, but that didn’t stop me from taking my fill of canapes.
When I reached the bar, I took my place at the end of the short line and decided I’d ask the bartender to spike my glass of water with some vodka. What my grandfather didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, I was only on drink three. I was a six-foot-two, two-hundred-pound, twenty-six-year-old male, for Christ’s sake. I could more than hold my liquor.
“I’ll have a club soda with a shot of vodka and a lime, please,” I told the bartender once it was my turn to order.
“Coming straight up,” he replied and gestured to an array of bottles behind the bar. Trevor and Ainsley hadn’t scrimped on their bar offerings for this wedding, so he had a large selection. “Any particular type of vodka, sir?”
“No, I—”
Is that who I think it is? No, no it couldn’t be. Impossible.
I shook my head and stared at the woman about twenty-five yards away, who stood at the edge of a large circle of wedding guests. She balanced a silver tray of shrimp skewers on one hand and a stack of napkins in the other. Like the other staffers, she wore a dark apron, a crisp white button-down shirt, and a small bow tie. A halo of blonde hair cascaded down her back.
And I knew her. It was undeniable.
I hadn’t seen her in ten years, but I knew her. Would have recognized her anywhere. And the reality that she was there as part of the catering staff of the Philipps Estate, at the wedding reception of Trevor McNamara and Ainsley Ross, took my breath away.
I didn’t normally have this kind of luck.
“Never—never mind about the drink,” I told the bartender, barely giving him a glance. I wasn’t thirsty anymore or hungry, either. I wasn’t much of anything.
Just focused. On her.
I shoved my hands in my trouser pockets and made my way closer. My heart quickened as I approached, and beads of sweat formed on my brow. I didn’t know the people who stood around this woman, taking appetizers off her tray and laughing as they chatted, but that didn’t matter to me.
All that mattered was her.
When I got within a foot, I spoke. “Samantha?”
She jumped.
I added, “Is that you?”
She whirled in my direction as I finished the last question. “Yes.” The color drained from her cheeks. “Trey? I mean…Davis? No, um…Mr. Armstrong?” She swallowed. “Nice to see you again.”
By the time she said the last sentence, she’d suppressed her surprise, and her voice sounded flat, emotionless. I, on the other hand, could have told you the location of every cell in my body. People hadn’t called me Trey in years, and the sound of my old nickname on her lips was intoxicating.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Fine. Just fine.”
Her cold, clinical response wasn’t how I expected her to react to me, but I decided it must have been the venue that caused her to do that, and that she was an employee, not a guest.
“It’s been a long time,” I managed. Then I lowered my voice. “Not that I’ve forgotten the last moment I saw you.”
“What? The…I mean, excuse me.” She cleared her throat, arched her eyebrow, and turned her silver tray toward me. “Would you like another piece of shrimp, Mr. Armstrong?”
“Already had too many. And it’s Davis, Sam. You know that. Or you can call me Trey if you want, even though no one does any more. But you’ve never called me Mr. Armstrong. Ever.”
“Regardless”—she moved the appetizers toward me—“I think you should reconsider having another.”
“No. Trying to limit myself to just one.”
“Well, I can admit, they are addictive,” she said, adding a large, plastic smile that showed off straight teeth and highlighted her rosebud lips. She acted as if this was all a script she needed to follow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to refill this.”
She moved past me, and panic flooded my body. I didn’t want Sam to leave, not yet, and more than that, I didn’t want her to walk away from me after all this time. She was treating me as someone she hardly knew, and I didn’t know why, but I had to find out.
Had to.
“Wait.” I caught her arm with my hand. “Don’t leave yet.”
She looked down at my hand as if it was an alien life form then stepped away. “I need to get back to the catering kitchen, Mr. Armstrong.”
“Mr. Armstrong? Again?” My hand fell to my side. “Why do you insist on calling me that?”
“That’s your name, isn’t it?” She glanced in the direction of the beaux-arts mansion that made up the bulk of the estate. “I need to get back. This is my job. I have responsibilities.”
“I know but…” I struggled to find something to say as my mind raced. My past had just collided with my present, and I could have sworn it kicked my world off its axis. This was the one woman—one person—from my past who wasn’t part of the script, part of the expectations, part of the game I had to play by virtue of being an Armstrong. She can’t leave now. Not when… “I just can’t believe I’m seeing you again. I didn’t realize you were still in South Florida.” A flush pulsed through me. “You’d…you disappeared. Vanished.”
She laughed without humor. “I wouldn’t call it that.”
“Then what would you call it?”
My memories flipped to the last night I saw her, on the slip of private beachfront my grandfather owned on the north end of the island. I remembered the way her hand felt when I slipped it into mine and the kiss we shared after finding the Aries constellation in the night sky above us. Her lips had been soft and tentative, but there was warmth in the moment, and a feeling of coming home I hadn’t felt with anyone else.
But most of all, I recalled the cold, unfeeling way my grandfather had spoken about Samantha and her mother, Robin, the next day, when he informed me that Robin had been replaced as the estate’s housekeeper. She’d been terminated for “unknown” reasons, and I was told to never ask about her again.
Never.
“I emailed you after your mother left our employment,” I said in a low voice. “Sent you several texts. Reached out on Facebook…every day for like three months.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Never heard back.”
I wanted to add how much this had devasted and upset me, but I decided against it. If she knew me a sliver of the way I thought she did, she’d hear the pain and confusion in my voice.
“I didn’t get the messages,” she said. “I shut down my old email address around that time. Changed my number too.”
“Why?”
“Scammers.” She looked away from me and at the rest of the crowd. “Hackers. My address got stolen in one of those phishing scams, so I got a new one.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
She cocked her head and returned her gaze to me. “You’re not accusing me of lying, are you?”
“What if I am?”
She narrowed her eyes and studied me for a moment. “We haven’t seen each other for what—ten years? That’s almost a lifetime.”
“Hardly.”
“It’s long enough.”
I frowned. “But why didn’t you respond to my messages on Facebook? Why did you shut me out?”
She sighed. “You don’t know me at all, Davis. I don’t lie. Now, please excuse me.”
A small part of the knot inside my stomach untied as I realized she had just called me by my first name, but whatever hope it sprouted died instantly as she jerked herself away from me and stalked toward the catering kitchen at the mansion.
Stunned, I followed her, but when I reached the edged of the garden, a man in a dark suit with gold buttons and a nametag stopped me. “I’m sorry, sir, but this section of the property is off limits to everyone except staff.”
“But I’m—” I stepped forward, straining to get a glimpse of Sam’s disappearing figure. “I just needed to speak with someone.”
He moved to the side and blocked me further. “Anything I can help you with, sir? I’d be more than happy to accommodate any request.”
“No, I”—I shoved my hands in my trousers—“it’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“Mr. Phillips has strict instructions about events on his estate. I’m sure you can understand why we limit guests to certain areas. Security reasons.” The guard’s voice remained firm, his eyes cold and unfeeling. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to ask you to return to the reception.” He motioned toward the large crowd with a sweep of his big hand.
“Of course,” I said, knowing that causing a scene was the last thing I should do. “It was my mistake. Good evening.”
“Good evening.”
I turned and headed back to the party just as the fireworks burst overhead, lighting up the sky and the Intracoastal Waterway with bright white light. The partygoers let out collective gasps and intermittent applause as the display entertained them.
I hardly noticed any of it. All I could think of was why? Why did she leave? Why did she walk away tonight?