60
It felt strange to be back in New York. The minute Gemma walked into the Casterbridge, she regretted her decision to stay there. The art deco lobby, now renovated from the original Victorian, transported her back to the fall of her senior year, when she and Sanjay had been together. There he was, behind the front desk like no time had passed. But it had. And everything was different.
Still, when he noticed her walk in his dark eyes lit up.
“You made it,” he said. “How was the trip?”
“Long,” she said, smiling. “It’s good to be here, though.” The ferry had been crowded, and she spent most of the trip mentally kicking herself over her bad judgment with Connor. And as tough as that was to think about, it was still preferable to her anxiety over the meeting with Sloan Pierce tomorrow.
She didn’t know what to expect, what to hope for. What was the best-case scenario? That she’d located the ring, obviously. But where? If it had been sold, it was as good as gone. Even if it returned to the market, she couldn’t afford to buy it back. Maybe it was on loan somewhere? She didn’t know what she should be hoping for—what was realistic to hope for.
Sanjay slid her room card across the desk.
“Thanks for the help with the discount,” she said.
“Anytime. So your meeting’s tomorrow?”
“Yeah. But first I have to go back to my storage space. The auction person wants photos of my mom and in exchange she’s going to tell me where I can find the ring.”
“I’m off tomorrow if you need help.”
She looked up in surprise. “That would be great. I’d love the company.”
They looked at each other, eyes locking. Their connection was still there. It was nothing Connor Harrison or even Monica Del Mar could diminish. Or maybe Monica was out of the picture, too.
“How’s Monica?” she said, aware of the couple standing behind her, waiting to check in.
“Great, great. She just got a job with Alice + Olivia.” The way he smiled with pride made it clear they were still very much together.
“That’s . . . great,” Gemma said. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work.”
Elodie, never a fan of Manhattan in the peak of summer, found it even more oppressive after two months on the gentle shores of Provincetown. Fifth Avenue smelled like melting asphalt and the aromatic steam coming from the street food vendors turned her stomach. Her limbs felt languid and heavy, but she had to walk briskly to avoid getting jostled by the pedestrian traffic.
She threaded her way through a crush of tourists on the corner of Fifty-Third Street. The Pavlin & Co building was hidden behind scaffolding.
“Ms. Pavlin! Great to see you,” said one of the security guards out front.
Elodie gave a queenly wave, then pushed through the revolving door into the frigid climate-controlled showroom. It was so cold compared to the blistering heat of outside that she wouldn’t have been surprised to see frost on the glass display cases. Stores often set the thermostat low to compensate for all the body heat. But there were hardly any customers. Elodie remembered the days when there was a line down the block to get in, when people would press their faces up against the glass just to catch a glimpse of the famed Pavlin jewels or, if they were lucky, Constance Pavlin herself.
She headed to the elevator bank, texting her assistant that she was on the premises; they had a meeting set for noon so Elodie could confront the negative balance sheets in person. She was dreading it.
Elodie flashed her security credentials and electronic key card to an unfamiliar guard at the elevator banks.
The lower level was even more frigid than the sales floor. She stepped out of the elevator into the fluorescent lighting, the guard on her heels. She swiped her card to get past sliding bullet-resistant Plexiglas security barriers, remembering the days when her father would bring her down as a girl, a dozen keys jangling on a chain in his pocket.
Now, nothing but silence.
The Pavlin vault was similar to a bank’s security box system, but the storage units were larger than the brick-sized cubbies in a financial institution. The jewelry was kept in numbered compartments, the contents all archived digitally. It would be easy to find what she was looking for.
The pink diamond eternity band, 6.5 carats, was the last remaining piece of the Electric Rose. It was the only thing she didn’t sell after she had the large diamond cut into pieces. She kept the ring for herself, a token of the fact that the Electric Rose should have been hers all along. She wore it on special occasions, always on her right hand, lest it be mistaken for a wedding band. But now she would give it to Celeste as a wedding gift, to be worn as it was intended by design. There was no need for her sister to know the provenance of the stones.
The platinum band felt cool in her palm. She examined the ring, trying it on one last time. Even under the cold, artificial light the stones worked their magic, so radiant they seemed to glow. Yes, this will do, Elodie thought. This will do just fine.
She slipped the ring back inside the green velvet Pavlin & Co pouch, placed the pouch inside her Hermès clutch, and headed back upstairs for her meeting. Things had been running smoothly with her working remotely, but she couldn’t sustain that forever.
I’ve never been to New York City and I don’t intend to start now.
Tito’s declaration was a deal-breaker. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life in Provincetown when she had a Manhattan-based business to run. If she and Tito were both willing to travel, to bounce back and forth, their relationship could work. But if it was going to be a one-way situation? No.
So there she was, back in the store that meant everything to her. Back in her hometown.
The problem was, it didn’t feel like home without Tito.