I sit down on the high-backed chair, my shoulders straight, but my chest feels empty. The restaurant's dim lighting washes over white linen and shiny glass. In the corner, a piano plays softly, and the notes float away like ideas. I pick up the menu, but the words swim. I'm not here to eat.
Charlotte Whitaker is sitting across from me. Her hair is slicked back behind one ear, and she has a string of pearls around her neck. She grins, but I can hear the question: "Are you there?" I make myself pay attention to the table again.
"Coq au vin is amazing," she says in a voice that sounds like velvet. "I had it last time."
I nod. "Sounds good." I shut the menu.
She looks at me. "You're not talking much tonight."
I clear my throat. "Meeting of the board in the early morning."
She shakes her head in disbelief. "I know you, Rowan." That's what you usually do. But this—she points to the flickering candle and the sommelier in crisp black—this is different, right?
I gulp. How to say that dinner seems like a prison. Duty dressing itself in filet mignon and Merlot. "Thanks for coming," I say softly.
Charlotte's eyes becoming softer. "I know why I'm here." Mr. Hart, this merger is significant to both families. I want you to know that my support isn't merely polite.
I fold my napkin. "Thanks."
She looks at my hands, where my knuckles are turning white around the menu. She leans in. "Are you okay?"
Okay. The term tastes wrong to me. I want to inform her that I haven't slept. That the rain last night brought back memories I thought I had forgotten. That a woman named Isla just dropped down a note for me. But I can't. I'm here to be the heir to the company, not the sad boy from college.
I make myself smile. "Just... thinking."
She is patient and waits. Finally, "Do you feel bad about this?"
My fork stops in the air. Sadness. A word I know quite well. I run my finger around the edge of my wine glass. Do I wish the merger hadn't happened? The wedding? Do I wish I hadn't signed that contract with my dad in the courthouse hallway, guaranteeing Clarissa a name that neither of us really wanted? I wish I could get rid of the question. But it stays.
"I..." I start and then swallow. "That question needs an honest answer." I look her in the eye. "Sometimes I do." I wish I hadn't done it all.
Be quiet. The pianist's melody changes, with minor chords falling into silence.
She reaches across the table, and our fingertips touch. A sign of support. "I'm sorry."
Her kindness cuts me to the quick. I pull my hand back. "Don't say you're sorry for my mistakes."
She leans back and furrows her brow. "Rowan, you need to be kind to yourself."
I put my chin in my hand. Grace. A luxury I can't afford. Not right now. Never. I look at Charlotte. "Why are you being nice to me?"
She moves her head to the side. "Because you deserve it."
I chuckle, but not in a funny way. "I don't think so."
She puts her fork down and puts both of her hands on the table. "Tell me what happened."
My chest is tight. Her invitation is making me want to break the rules. "Do you really want to know?"
She agrees. "I'm paying attention."
I take a deep breath and start. I inform her about the storm. About Isla, the person I've loved since I was a kid. About that night of guilt and rashness. I admit that I found her on my porch with a note in her hand, saying she couldn't live with lies. How I put the letter in my jacket and stamped it "too late." Her face still haunts me.
I see her taking it all in. No gasps. No surprise. Just keep your eyes steady. When I'm done, I feel naked, like all my flaws are on display in the light of the chandelier.
She grabs her glass of wine. "Clara," she says as she sips, "Isla?" She has to be something else.
I move. "Isla Bennett." I look down. "She... was important."
She puts the glass down. "Does Clarissa know?"
I get angry. "My fiancée, Clarissa, doesn't know anything."
Charlotte's lips curl up. "And yet you eat with me tonight and tell a stranger everything."
I get stiff. "You're not a stranger."
She shrugs. "I've known you long enough."
I look at her face. She is correct. We've met at a lot of board meetings, cocktail parties, and society weddings. I remember how she laughed at my jokes and how easy it was for her to be warm when everyone else was following the rules. I never stopped to think about her outside of her husband's invitations until tonight.
The waitress comes over. He puts sparkling water next to us, ready to refill. "More red, sir?"
I nod, and he floats away. I take a sip of my drink. The Merlot is dark and full-bodied, like remorse.
Charlotte's phone rings. She looks at it for a second, then back at me. "I am married too," she says. "To Nathan. We got married for business, just like you and Clarissa. But then... I met the proper person.
I turn my head. "What did you do?"
She grins, but it's a sad, gentle smile. "I broke up with him."
The silence between us gets deeper. Her confession hits like a rock. I look at her. "You were brave."
She shrugs. "I realized that life is too short to only do what I have to do."
Her words hurt. I think about the walls I put up out of pride, duty, and fear. I have the ring that Clarissa gave me in my pocket. Isla's letter is buried in my desk. Every handshake and every signed agreement has my father's expectations written on it.
Charlotte is standing. "Should we finish dessert by the fountain?"
I nod, even though I'm not sure what to do. We go through velvet drapes with the waiter to a little courtyard. Under the dazzling lights, a stone fountain whispers. She sits down on the edge and pats the seat next to her.
I sit down. The air is pleasant and smells like jasmine that blooms at night. I look at her toes in silver sandals. Weakness makes her edges softer. I sense something strange pulling at me: empathy.
She puts a tiny dessert plate with a lemon tart and two spoons between us. "Share?"
I grab a fork. The crust is buttery, and the taste is as vivid as the hope she gave me. I taste it. She grins.
We talk about mundane topics, like our favorite novels, summers as kids, and the song I wrote for my college radio station. At first, I'm stiff and on guard. Then I calm down. Like wine, conversation flows.
She finds my stories funny. I see her laugh lines get deeper—warm and honest. I know I've never heard her laugh for genuine before. It's real and melodic. I chuckle too, but not too hard.
We are done with dessert. The clouds part, and the moon comes out. I smell jasmine. I can feel my chest getting bigger, which I haven't felt in a long time.
Charlotte gets up. "Thanks."
I stand, my heart racing. "For everything."
She moves closer. "Keep in mind that you deserve love on your own terms."
Her words stick with me and make me feel things. I nod, but I can't say anything. I watch her go away with tassels flying around her shoulders till a curtain comes down between us.
I am alone by the fountain. The darkness is humming around me. My phone is vibrating in my pocket. I take it out.
A text message from a number you don't know: Look out.
My heart stops. Adrenaline levels rise. I drop the phone on the stone edge. My eyes go to the entrance to the courtyard, which is deserted. There are no waiters, so Charlotte isn't there.
I bend down to get my phone. A second message flashes: I'm here.
My blood runs cold. My breath stops. I quickly get up. The only sound in the courtyard is the fountain's whisper.
I look back through the velvet drapes to see a dark hallway with no one in it. There was no evidence of her. There is no evidence of anyone.
My phone buzzes again: "Come find me."
My heart beats like thunder. Words from Isla. The way she writes. No number. But I know.
I run through the curtain. The pleasant light from the restaurant meets me. Servers move smoothly between tables, while patrons sip wine. It's business as usual.
I look around at the people. No Isla. Not Charlotte. Just people who don't know each other stranded in the dark.
I run quickly to the host stand. "Excuse me—" I begin, but the hostess shakes her head.
"Not an open terrace tonight, sir." "Everything's closed."
I make fists. "I have to go outside."
She shakes her head again. "I'm sorry."
I turn around and head for the door. The main door is open, but not too wide. I broke through.
It's raining. The air at night is cool. I pull my collar up. I turn on my phone, but there are no messages. The number that I don't know stays on the screen.
I look around the empty courtyard. The fountain has a soft radiance. There are footsteps behind me. I spin.
A waiter with a covered tray pauses. His face was blank. "Sir, here's your check." He gives you a bill folder.
I take it, and my fingers go numb. "Thanks."
He nods and goes back inside.
I look at the folder. The bill is paid in full inside. There is a single folded note under the receipt.
My hands shake as I unfold it. In Isla's handwriting:
Come to the place where we first kissed. Twelve o'clock.
– I.
My heart is pounding. It's hours until midnight. But I know where it is: the old bridge by the lake, under the maples.
I let go of the note and run down the slick sidewalk. Cars go by and splash. People walk around with umbrellas. My coat flaps about my knees.
I go around the corner. The lights on the street get blurry. The note makes a trail in my mind: "Meet me..."
I stop, my heart racing. I look back at the restaurant's gleaming windows. Charlotte isn't there, and I still don't know who else might know.
I move forward. She said, "Midnight." I look at my watch and see that it's 9:45 p.m.
I have two hours.
I look at myself in a store window. My tie is crooked, my eyes are wild, and my suit is untucked. I put the note in my pocket and straighten my jacket. The choice rings in my head.
Want or duty. Duty or want.
I speed up on my way home. The letter hurts in my pocket. Isla's promise, her challenge, calls me.
Leaves rustling in the distant. The rain starts to fall again.
I look up at the sky. I let the rain fall. I let them wash away the lies.
I pick.