Page 83 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
I shrug out of my black wool jacket, and he takes it, along with my large tote bag, which contains my laptop and various papers and folders since I came directly from work. He sets it all on a nearby bench.
“Is this where you grew up?” I ask, taking in the grand curving staircase that rises gracefully above us. A round marble table is tucked into an alcove with a giant spray of fresh greenery.
“Mostly.”
Everywhere I look is beautiful and richly decorated. From the elegant textured wallpaper, detailed wainscoting, and gold sconces to the exquisite artwork adorning the walls.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
It’s not the kind of home I could picture a young boy growing up in. Certainly there were never Legos scattered on the fine Persian rugsor finger paints at the gleaming walnut table. Somehow it makes me feel a little sad. My heels click across polished Carrara marble floors as he leads me deeper into the estate. Even with its sophistication, Hart seems decidedly at home, moving through the space with comfort and ease.
There’s an entire wall devoted to family portraits. Formal ones, where everyone is in a suit or gown, along with casual shots—a teenage Hart smiling broadly aboard a gleaming white sailboat, the family posing at the base of a mountain in the Swiss Alps. A photo of his father with Barack Obama. Hart and his mother at a country club, sweaty and holding tennis rackets. Hart, at what I presume is age sixteen, standing beside a black BMW with a giant bow. I linger, studying the photos. An entire lifetime of pictures and memories. There’s one of him and Hayes holding surfboards on a white sugar sand beach.
“Was that taken in the Maldives?” I ask.
He nods. “Two years ago, I think.”
“And where’s this?” I point to a shot of Hart and Vaughn standing near the peak of a mountain.
“Machu Picchu.”
Just then footsteps in the hall signal we’re not alone.
“You couldn’t have worn a tie?” his father asks, stepping into view with a frown.
“You remember Alessia,” Hart says rather than reply to his father’s question.
“Hello.” I extend my hand, which Richard Winthrop takes, giving it an efficient shake. He’s an attractive older man. His hair is threaded with silver, and he has an essence about him that screams of superiority and importance.
“Of course. Hello again.”
“I was just admiring the gallery wall.” I nod toward the photos. “These are great.”
“Oh. Yes.” He looks up, almost like he’s forgotten the wall exists, the dozens of pictures displayed here. “Drinks are in the den. Come join us.”
I walk beside Mr. Winthrop while Hart trails behind us. They’re exceptionally quiet, and I don’t know how to break the silence.
Recalling Hart’snever complain, never explainphilosophy, I’m doubtful his father thinks I’m here for anything more than Hart’s hospitality. We pass a room containing a grand piano and windows that overlook the sprawling yard. There’s a tennis court off in the distance and rows and rows of trimmed hedges.
The den is a cozy room with wood-paneled walls, two cream-colored sofas with a large coffee table between them. There are vases of fresh-cut flowers and a glass bar cart with four crystal rocks glasses that are filled with fizzy liquid and slices of fresh cucumber.
Gerri, Hart’s mom, sits perched on the edge of one of the sofas, her slender legs artfully crossed at the ankles.
Do I curtsy? Bow? I’ve never been in the home of a billionaire before. Instead I give her a weird little wave. “Hello.”
“Hello there,” she says, smiling tepidly. She seems well versed in fake smiles, but I can tell she’s as sharp as a blade. “It’s nice to see you again. The gala was beautiful, by the way.”
“Thank you. It was a great turnout.”
“So, Alessia, when are you heading back to Nairobi?” Richard asks, handing me one of the cocktails.
“Tomorrow, actually.”
Richard nods. Gerri stirs her drink, seeming uninterested.
I sit next to Hart on the sofa, maintaining a little distance between us, and help myself to a large gulp of the fizzy drink. I’m pretty sure it’s a gin and tonic, but I’ve never tasted gin so smooth, so I’m not entirely sure.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciated the invite to dinner tonight, and I’m also happy to tell you that the plans for the school are moving along nicely.”
