Elodie, July 1994
Elodie planned the romantic weekend down to every last detail: the menu (steaks on the grill), the flowers in their room (bluebells for Liam’s favorite color), the CDs in the stereo (Oasis for him, Dave Matthews for her), and the activities: tennis doubles with their friends, pool time, and most important, a midnight stroll on the beach.
They’d been spending nearly every weekend at the Hamptons house, sometimes with her parents, sometimes alone. Either way, it felt like she and Liam were the only two people in the world.
And yet, something between them had changed. There’d been a subtle shift in his attitude toward her, a certain tenderness when he looked at her that made her heart skip a beat. But it didn’t quite feel romantic, and they hadn’t had sex in months.
Elodie was nothing if not analytical, and it didn’t take her long to do the math: The shift between them started after her father’s announcement about the Electric Rose. She was certain of it. And it made sense: They were together, they were in love, and the logical next step was engagement. But how could he propose to her if the traditional symbol of commitment—the diamond engagement ring—had been taken out of his hands? Liam had a lot of pride.
She needed to do something. Sitting around and waiting for things to come to her had never been a luxury she could afford—unlike Paulina. She learned this long ago, striving to get her father’s attention as the heir apparent instead of Celeste. Being smart instead of pretty. And it had always paid off. If she had to nudge Liam down the aisle, so be it. And she knew just how to do it.
The only point of contention in their relationship was that she was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise person, and Liam was a night owl. And so, as a gesture to show that their life together would keep up with his preferred rhythm, she planned a midnight stroll on the beach for that night. She arranged to have a bonfire waiting, and the words “Will you marry me” spelled out with stones and shells in the sand.
How was she going to wait thirteen hours? She slipped out of bed, Liam still sleeping though it was close to nine. She’d been awake next to him since the early morning, content just to feel him breathing and to gaze at him—a sight that would never, ever get old. Not even after a whole lifetime together. She was certain of it.
By now, the staff had left coffee and newspapers on the tray outside the bedroom door. She retrieved it and settled back into bed. She liked to pretend she read the New York Times business section first, but she was only human and started with the gossipy New York Post. She flipped through it, sipping the coffee, which was slightly bitter. She wondered if she should call for a fresh pot when an article caught her eye. The black-and-white photo jumped out at her like it was in Technicolor: Liam, on an unfamiliar beach. Liam, holding her sister Paulina’s hand, gazing at her with an expression of adoration she’d never seen on his face before. She could almost think she imagined it, a projection of her deepest fear, her most childish impulses of competition and insecurity. But there, on the other side of Paulina, was Celeste. The three of them, together.
The caption read, “Cape Cad: Boyfriend of Pavlin & Co heiress Elodie Pavlin caught on romantic stroll with her sister model Paulina Pavlin.”
Elodie dropped the coffee mug, sending it crashing to the hardwood floor beside the bed. Liam woke up with a start.
“What’s going on?” he said.
She threw the newspaper at him.
“You tell me.”