Page 3 of Share with Me

“I’m not letting him back, Zoe.” There was no way Brinley could have gone on with Phinn. They had parted ways numerous times in their rocky relationship, each time reconciling after he’d crawled back with an offering she couldn’t refuse. Things like he’d stop his hard partying after they married, they didn’t have to live in Zurich if she didn’t want to, or they could move to Sea Island to raise their future kids.

Each time she had bought the sales pitch, there remained a warning light as bright as the one that saidExitin his Boeing Business Jet. She knew that Phinneas Farragut IV had not been groomed for a laid-back lifestyle.

“You sure, Brin?”

“Oh yes. It’s unsustainable.”

“Unsustainable? Listen to you, Brin. Love is not a business transaction.” Zoe tsk-tsked again. “Someday you’ll meet the love of your life, and you’ll know what I mean. Maybe you’ll have something special like Quincy and I do.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Perhaps I’m meant to be single the rest of my life.”

“I’m sure you’re independent enough for that. But I know you, dear Brin. You’re meant to love and be loved. Wait and see.”

Brinley didn’t say anything. Up ahead theBrandenbergconcerto started. The program was beginning to sound like something Zoe usually arranged. A mish-mash of random classical pieces. Much like the way her sister had practiced her clarinet back in the days when Brinley accompanied her on the piano.

Someday Brinley hoped to play more piano, but for now it was all work and no play.

“So. What was the final straw?” Zoe asked.

“Inquisitive, aren’t we?” Brinley thought about whether it was too personal to share. She kept her voice down. “If you must know—don’t tell Mom and Dad—Phinn wanted us to have an open relationship.”

“An open marriage too?”

Brinley nodded.

Zoe laughed so loudly several dinner guests turned their heads in her direction. “That fool. You kept the ring, of course.”

“Why should I? If I did, he’d think we’re still engaged.” Besides, its history was morbid. An ancient Indian maharaja had killed countless tribal leaders to get the pink diamond for his bride, who then promptly died at childbirth.

“Twenty-five million dollars say you shouldn’t have. Tell me you didn’t throw it across the room at him.”

“Nope. FedEx goes to France.”

“I’m glad it’s over, Brin, for your sake. I don’t know what you saw in him in the first place.” Zoe leaned her pretty copper curls against Brinley’s straight brown hair. “You deserve better than him.”

“And you know what’s best for me?”

“Maybe not what’sbest, but I do know what’sbad.”

“You’re right. You know how to spot a loser.”

“Thank you. Let’s not think about exes anymore.”

The orchestra stopped playing. All Brinley heard now were the clinks of glasses amidst a sea of voices. The plush carpet beneath her was comfortable to her tired feet. She tried not to trip on her long gown.

Zoe chattered on. “I want you to meet Quincy’s entire family. Grandma Yun is such a dear. She likes old things too. You’ll get along with her. And she makes the best gingerbread cookies—oh, look, Brin. There’s Ivan.”

Brinley stopped walking the moment she heard the familiar first four bass clef staccato notes on the piano. She had played that many times on the piano herself. She turned toward the orchestral platform up ahead—

And saw him.

He was all she saw.

Ivan McMillan.

He looks different from last summer.

Perhaps it was the way his left hand brushed against the neck and fingerboard of the violin. Or the way his right hand moved the bow over the strings. Perhaps it was that fresh haircut, perfectly trimmed sideburns, clean-shaven face, Mona Lisa smile. Or the way he stared right at her as Johann Sebastian Bach’sAir on the G Stringrose from his violin and filled the entire ballroom.

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