Page 21 of Love and Lies

“I heard you signed up at Columbia today, Helena. What are you majoring in?” Paige was studying me from across the dining table.

“Psychology,” I replied shortly, skewering a piece of potato.

“What an interesting subject.” She was overdoing it a bit on the enthusiasm. “I took some courses in it last year.”

“Yeah, super interesting.” I popped the piece of potato in my mouth and tore my eyes from the double row of pearls she wore around her neck. Which wasn’t easy, since they were practically screaming: Look at me; I’m an heirloom! My sole purpose is to hang around my owner’s neck to prove she’s worthy of sitting at this table.

Paige Irvine was the daughter of my parents’ business partners and just as blond, pretty, and perfect as you might imagine. Lincoln had started dating her only last summer, which was why I didn’t know her better, nor did I have any great desire to. My brother’s dating life followed a strict pattern: he always gave his girlfriend the boot after six months and moved on to the next one, who in turn would get to spend a magical half year hoping he was serious about her. There was no point getting friendly with Paige—her time at the table was nearly up.

“How’s it going with setting up your apartment, you two?” My mother interjected, noticing that I wasn’t about to continue the conversation.

Wait a second. Their apartment?

“Oh, fantastic,” Paige replied. “I ordered the curtains just last week, a beautiful green brocade material, not too heavy, it goes perfectly with the—”

“You’re living together?” I interrupted her, looking at my brother. Lincoln had been mostly silent throughout the meal, as usual. He’d always let Valerie and me do the talking before, and now he was doing the same with his girlfriend.

“Yes,” was all he said.

“As we should,” Paige continued proudly. “After all, we are getting married soon.”

“What?” I exclaimed, almost dropping my fork. At that moment I noticed the ring on her finger—my grandmother’s engagement ring, which had been set aside for Lincoln’s future wife since the day he was born. I stared at my brother, aghast. “You’re engaged? Are you crazy?”

“Helena, please,” my mother said firmly. “We don’t talk to one another that way in this house—and what a thing to say! ‘Congratulations’ would be more appropriate.”

But I hadn’t recovered from the shock. “Sorry, Mom, but I’m within my rights to be a little surprised, no? Since no one bothered to tell me Lincoln got engaged.”

Paige came to my brother’s defense. “He only asked me at New Year’s. And you were in England, so—”

I silenced her with a single look, secretly thanking my sister for teaching me how when I was about thirteen. Then I smiled sweetly. “You’re not going to believe this, but there’s been this groundbreaking invention called the telephone. You can use it to talk to people who are very far away. Even in England.”

Paige took a deep breath, but my father jumped in.

“Helena? Could you check to see if the dessert is ready, please?” He made it sound like a question, but it was clearly an order to leave the room and compose myself. In my family, there was no fighting at the dinner table, especially in front of guests.

I wanted to argue, but I was already on thin ice for asking my brother if he was crazy. Pushing it was a bad idea, since my being in New York hinged on my parents thinking that was a good idea.

So I got up and walked down the long hall to the kitchen, where our cook, Mary, was in the process of spooning something peach-colored into little crystal dishes.

She looked up and broke into a smile. “Everything okay with the entrées, Helena?”

“Yes, Mary, the food was wonderful, thank you. I was just banned from the table.” I rolled my eyes.

She seemed surprised. “Banned? That doesn’t sound like you. It was always Valerie who—” she broke off. “Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I don’t mind your talking about her. I like it, in fact.” I smiled.

“Well… your parents don’t want—”

The door opened and my brother walked in, wearing an expression on his face that made him look like dad. “Have you got ahold of yourself?” he said, but he didn’t sound angry. Just tired.

“Please, tell me you’re not serious,” I answered him. “You’re twenty-five years old; what’s the rush to get married? And to someone like her, of all people?” Valerie and I had always made fun of girls like Paige, whose singular goal was to find a rich guy and climb the society ladder—as if, in this day and age, being married to a man was still an indication of a woman’s worth. Did decades of emancipation mean nothing?

Lincoln sighed. That sounded like Dad too. “You don’t even know Paige, Len. She’s really nice, you’ll see.”

Mary was still preparing the dessert, unfazed. She was used to these kinds of conversations in her kitchen.

“Nice?” I raised an eyebrow. “Nice is hardly what you say about the person you’re going to spend the rest of your life with, no?”