Wednesday morning, I wake up from a restless sleep at the crack of dawn. I spent most of last night after Marisa left thinking about what she said. About supporting me with my designing, about my brother feeling bad about what he did, but mostly about Oliver’s reluctance to have a relationship with me because he didn’t want to lose my family if we broke up.

Even though it’s frustrating that he hasn’t wanted to share this with me, Marisa was right: knowing why Oliver did what he did does ease some of the pain. Hearing what people who know and love us have to say about the depth of his feelings for me have helped me not dwell on the I think we made a mistake that kept repeating in my mind after Oliver said it.

Knowing that a lot of the fear Oliver has about being with me stems from losing the family that he built for himself after the breakup of his biological one makes me understand why he so desperately wants that house on Shelter Island, why he needs to hold on so desperately to the good times in his past. Because I love him, I want to help him do that. And I want to help him get that house in the way that he wanted to get it.

I roll out of bed, turn on the coffee pot, and do a little Googling. I call Alexandra Van Owen’s office shortly after nine, and after a little bit of haggling with her secretary and a long hold time during which—I’m assuming—said secretary actually got Alexandra on the phone, I’m set up with a one o’clock appointment this afternoon.

When I hang up the phone, I hop in the shower and think long and hard about what I’m going to say.

I spend a little more time than I probably should painstakingly picking out the dress to wear to my meeting with Alexandra. I finally settle on a slim-fit v-neck dress with a belted waist, and a grey background splashed with large, white-bloomed flowers. I put my hair up in a no-nonsense bun to combat the humidity, and hop into a cab.

My stomach is full to bursting with nerves as I step into the 50th floor office of Phelps, Carrier, and Van Owen.

The whole place is imposing, the far side of the office featuring floor-to-ceiling windows showing off the skyscrapers of the financial district. A receptionist greets me, and asks me if I’d like something to drink. I have the dry mouth that usually accompanies my nerves, but my hands are too shaky for me to even dare attempting to drink something. Surely I’d spill it all over myself.

I politely decline.

The receptionist leads me to a small conference room at the back of the office, and I’m left sitting at the table writing my hands in my lap until Alexandra walks through the door.

“Felicity?” she says, drawing my attention to her. “Hi.”

“Hello, Alexandra.” I stand and offer her my hand. She takes it and gives it a firm squeeze before she rounds the table and sits across from me.

“I’m not sure what you’re here for, but I can almost guarantee that I’m not the kind of lawyer that you need.”

“Actually,” I reply, folding my hands on the table to steady myself, “you’re exactly the kind of lawyer that I need, because I’m here to talk to you specifically. I don’t need your services.”

“Well then,” she says, shifting forward in her seat and resting her elbows on the table. “Consider me intrigued.”

“You own a house on Shelter Island,” I say, my heart beating in my throat.

Her eyes narrow as she gives me a shrewd look. Like she had an inkling of an idea that this is what I’m here for, and her whole demeanor changes now that her suspicions are confirmed.

“Yes,” she says icily. “I’m selling a home on Shelter Island. But I’ve told Oliver several times that I’m not interested in selling it to him, so I don’t appreciate him sending you here—”

“Oh,” I interrupt. “He didn’t send me. He doesn’t know I’m here. Honestly, I haven’t even spoken to him in almost a week.” I do my best to school my features so that she can’t see the hurt that threatens to flash in my eyes.

“Then what exactly did you want to talk to me about?”

“I am here to talk to you about selling the house to Oliver, but I wanted to come and appeal to you myself. Oliver doesn’t know what I’m doing, nor would he approve of it. When he first showed me the house—which is gorgeous, by the way—he was adamant that he wanted to buy the house on the up and up, provided there came a time when you were willing to sell it to him.”

She leans back in her chair and folds her arms across her chest. “I’ve told him several times that I’m not interested in that.”

Not that I thought this was going to be easy, but my nerves wash away as determination to make this thing go my way rushes through me. I hadn’t really given much thought to the fact that Oliver screwed her over on a business deal, and she somehow owns the very house that his most cherished childhood memories with his family took place in.

“He bought your family’s hotel, and you just so happen to own the home he spent his summers in with his family?” I say, sounding vaguely accusatory.

“It’s a coincidence, I assure you. One that I relish, to be completely honest, but a coincidence indeed. I got the house in a divorce settlement.”

That surprises me. For some reason I was expecting a story much more…nefarious than that.

“Miss Williams, what exactly is it that you think you can tell me that’s going to change my mind?” She sounds amused by my presence here, which kind of pisses me off.

Being a bitch to her isn’t going to help my case, so I tamp that instinct down. Seeing the emotional connection she had to that hotel firsthand makes me realize that my best chance of reasoning with her is to explain Oliver’s emotional connection to her property. Of course, that could backfire and make her want to make Oliver suffer even more, but there’s no point in playing it safe here. At the very least I’ll wind up back in the same place I started.

“Oliver told me about what happened between the two of you.”

Alexandra looks surprised at that. “Has he?”

“In very vague terms, but yes. And I don’t want to put words into Oliver’s mouth or assign feelings to him that I’m not positive he has, but…he loves that hotel, and I don’t believe he has any regrets buying it, even if doing that costs him this house. But it was sold to a person who wants it to be successful, and is willing to put in the work to keep it beautiful and make that happen. I know it must hurt that you aren’t the one making the decisions, but you can still visit. Your memories are there, and you can go back and relive them whenever you like, resting comfortably in the knowledge that someone is doing well by your family’s legacy. You can’t argue that Oliver hasn’t done an amazing job with the property.”

Alexandra’s eyebrows knit together as she takes a deep breath. “No, I wouldn’t argue that.”

“I know it’s not the same thing as having that property still in your family. My family doesn’t own hotels, but as you probably know, we’re all very active in the business world. I don’t know how I would handle seeing the businesses that contributed so many wonderful things to my life in the hands of someone else. So…I understand your struggle here.”

I hesitate for a few seconds, considering exactly how much I want to reveal about Oliver. I decide it’s now or never, and I can tell I’m getting through to her.

“Oliver wants that house for sentimental reasons. Owning it would mean a lot to him, and I totally get the feelings of power and vindictiveness here that are probably difficult to ignore. Oliver has happy memories with his parents there from before their divorce, and he wants to hold onto those memories. I think you can probably understand that feeling. But…unlike you, he can’t visit that home any time he wants to, unless you sell it to him.

“So, I came here hoping to appeal to your sentimental side. You could probably ask double and he would pay it,” I tease, hoping to loosen her up. The right side of her mouth tilts up, and that’s about the best I could hope for. “That’s how badly he wants it. And coming here and pleading with you on his behalf is how badly I want him to have it.”

Alexandra sighs. “You must really love him.”

The comment is so unexpected that I let out this surprised half laugh, half cry. “Yeah. I do.”

“You seemed like a cute couple when I saw you together at the benefit,” she offers.

Well, that’s a punch to the gut. “We weren’t together then, and we aren’t together now. But…” I shrug helplessly. “I want him to be happy, and this would make him happy.”

She nods, but stays completely quiet.

“I’m sorry if you feel put on the spot. I knew this was a long shot, and I don’t expect to leave here with an answer. I just wanted you to reconsider, to make you see past the person who screwed you over in a business deal, to the person he is outside of all that.”

“And what makes you think I could be persuaded to do that?” Alexandra sounds genuinely curious, there’s no heat or hardness in the words at all.

“When I met you at the benefit, I really needed a boost of confidence and a friendly face. And you, a complete stranger, gave me both of those things without even knowing that I needed them. So I thought you might be the kind of person who would be open to what I had to say.”

“Throw in a dress like the one you wore at the benefit that night, and I might have to reconsider.” She’s joking, trying to ease the tension and take the spotlight off of what I just said to her, I can hear it in her voice.

Still, I reach into my bag, pull out a business card, and slide it across the table.

“If you want a dress, I’ll make you a dress.”

She takes the card, tapping the edge of it with her finger. “Only if I sell Oliver the house, right?”

I shake my head and give her a soft smile. “This is a no-strings-attached offer. That dress made me feel beautiful, and every woman deserves that. Consider it reciprocation for the confidence boost.”

She laughs. “Will do.”

“And if you’re still not willing to change your mind, no hard feelings.” I say it because it feels like the right thing to say, not because I particularly mean it (although I really want to mean it). “I understand why you’re angry.”

With a weak smile, Alexandra nods. “Thank you.”

Silence hangs in the air for a few seconds.

“So,” I say, grabbing my bag and standing up. “I won’t take up any more of your time. Make sure you call me for a fitting, okay? And if you do decide to sell your house to Oliver, overcharge him and I’ll make you something else to wear on the vacation you can take with the extra money.”

That gets a loud, genuine laugh out of her. “Will do.”

I walk over to her side of the table and shake her hand. “Thanks for taking time out of your day and seeing me. It was good to see you.”

“You too,” she says, looking down at my card.

“I look forward to hearing from you.”

I walk out the door and smile at the receptionist on my way out. I’m not sure if I’ve convinced her to change her mind, but I gave it my best shot.