Serena walked along the Boulevard de la Croisette, inhaling the scent of rich cigars and exotic perfume. It was early evening and couples sat at outdoor cafés, sipping aperitifs. Serena watched waiters set round tables with starched white tablecloths and sterling silverware and flickering candles.
All afternoon she had wanted to call Nick but she was afraid to pick up the phone. She was afraid he would sense the uncertainty in her voice and knew she had to tell him in person. She slipped on her new Chloé dress, strapped on the gold sandals, and twisted her hair into a bun. She spritzed her wrists with Dior and pushed through the Carlton-InterContinental’s revolving glass doors.
The closer she got to Nick’s apartment, the more nervous she became. She pictured telling him about her father, and her stomach rose to her throat. She climbed the cobblestone street to his building and stopped at the entrance.
“What are you doing here?” a male voice demanded.
Serena turned around and saw Nick striding up the alley. He wore a navy cotton shirt and khaki slacks. He clutched a brown shopping bag and a bunch of purple irises.
“I wanted to surprise you.” Serena smiled. “How was Saint-Tropez?”
“I sold the catamaran and couldn’t wait to come home and celebrate,” Nick replied. “I stopped at the Marché Forville and bought fresh trout and white truffles and heirloom tomatoes. I got blackberries and whipped cream for dessert and a bottle of pinot blanc. I ran into Yvette Renault; I hadn’t seen her in years but she recognized me right away.” Nick stopped and his eyes were like sharp stones. “She said she was sorry she wrote the letter, she was only trying to help Chantal. She had no idea we knew each other, and it was such a tragic coincidence.” Nick gripped the shopping bag tightly. “I didn’t know what she was talking about and she grew flustered and said she thought you told me everything.”
“I was going to tell you tonight,” Serena said quietly.
“You think I wouldn’t want to know that the man I called my father wasn’t at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean but lives in a mansion in San Francisco?” Nick raged. “That he wasn’t a commodities broker specializing in Africa and South America but a United States senator?”
“How do you think I felt when Veronique showed me a photo of my father with his arm draped around Chantal?” Serena felt the bile rise to her throat.
Nick was about to say something and he turned and gazed at the glittering ocean. He sucked in his breath and took Serena’s hand.
“Let’s not give the whole neighborhood a performance, let’s go sit on the dock.”
Serena walked down the alley, listening to her heels click on the cobblestones. She felt Nick’s hand in hers and felt a small stirring of hope. But when they reached the dock, he put the shopping bag on a bench and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“How could you not tell me?” Nick demanded. “Do you know what it was like hearing it from Yvette?”
“It’s a minefield; I didn’t want to explode any mines,” Serena said as she sat on the bench and gazed at the harbor. The sun had set and the water was an inky black. Lights flickered on yachts like fireflies dancing in the dark.
“My mother kept a calendar in the kitchen with the dates when he’d be home,” Nick said. He paced up and down the dock, kicking the wood with his shoes. “He sent me postcards with little reminders: Practice your tennis; you’re a gifted player. Study your math; it will serve you later in life.
“When he was home we did everything together: watched polo matches in Monte Carlo, flew in a single-engine plane down the Côte d’Azur.”
“My father always wanted a boy,” Serena murmured, flashing on Charles and Chase planning Chase’s campaign. She pictured them sitting at the large oak desk in his study, surrounded by charts and spreadsheets.
“Once I asked my mother why he traveled so much,” Nick mused. “She described the diamond mines and rain forests he visited; I pictured him wearing a fedora like Harrison Ford in Raiders of the Lost Ark.” Nick’s eyebrows knotted together. “When his plane crashed I was devastated. The funeral was in the abbey in Antibes; my mother said my father wouldn’t have liked a big fuss. I wore a new suit and my mother wore a black silk dress. I’d never seen anyone so beautiful or so sad. Now I know why she was sobbing; it was because he never wanted to see us again.”
“Do you think this is easy for me? Imagining Sunday dinners at the Carlton Restaurant?” Serena couldn’t stop shaking. “Picturing my father consulting the wine menu while the maître d’ compliments him on his beautiful children.”
Nick stopped pacing and turned to Serena. His eyes were dark and his voice was low.
“You must hate us.”
“I don’t know what I feel,” Serena admitted. “But it hurt so much I didn’t want to cause you the same pain. We were having so much fun.” Serena stopped. She wanted to tell Nick she was falling in love with him, but the words stuck in her throat.
“There’s nothing worse than being lied to. If you don’t have complete honesty in a relationship you have nothing.” He gazed at Serena and his voice was like ice. “I guess you’re good at that in your family, your father is a pro.”
Serena sucked in her breath as if she’d been punched. She hated Nick saying terrible things about Charles, but she didn’t know how to defend him. She sat on the bench, fiercely blinking back tears.
“I need to be alone,” Nick said, grabbing the brown shopping bag. “Keep the flowers, I bought them for you.”
Serena listened to Nick’s footsteps echo on the dock. She watched couples stroll along the shore, laughing and holding hands. She remembered the first night when they made love and Nick told her it wasn’t hard to be happy. She clutched the bunch of irises, tears spilling down her cheeks, and thought he was wrong.