Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
I’ve known the Campbells for years. My entire life in fact. They’re one of the handful of New York families that move in the same circles. I was at the same prep school with Gabriella’s brother, Francis, although he was a year below me. One of my friends from school dated Gabriella after she graduated college. She went to Princeton for her undergraduate degree.
Gabriella Campbell would be a perfect match for me as far as my mother’s concerned. She’s impeccably well-mannered, has an acceptable surname and would ensure the Alden family name is continued in just the way my mother expects.
Except I don’t see Gabriella in that way. At all. I never have. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with her. She’s pretty. Clever. I just… I don’t find her attractive.
“Your mother was just telling us about the ballet,” Frieda says, and my heart jolts in my chest.
“It was beautiful,” I say. “A great production.”
“Not that you saw the second half,” my mother replies testily.
“What I saw of it was wonderful,” I say with a smile.
“I love the ballet,” Gabriella says neutrally like she doesn’t love it at all, but thinks she has to say she does. I’m not sure it’s fair to compare, but Gabriella doesn’t love the ballet like Iris likes the ballet. I bet she doesn’t feel it the way Iris does.
It’s been weeks now, but Iris’s still on my mind all day, every day. I keep catching glimpses of her in restaurants and walking in the park. But of course, it never turns out to be her. She’s long gone. But for the second or two that I think I’ve found her again, I feel happy.
It’s the in-between times that are a problem.
It’s like I have a black cloud hovering over my head, constantly threatening rain. Even my insides feel dark and cloudy. I used to take life in my stride. But now? Now there’s a veneer of gloom spread across each day and I can’t seem to shake it off.
I tried to find out Iris’s surname and contact details from the New York City Ballet. I figured, they must have records from when she paid. I pulled every string the Aldens have with the organization, but came up with nothing. They told me repeatedly that unless it was members who booked, they didn’t keep details of attendees.
“Jack will take you, won’t you, Jack. We have our box, of course. I’m sure you can find a suitable date.” My mother stares at me pointedly.
“I’ll check my calendar,” I say.
Gabriella smiles widely at me. Is she really interested in me? And if she is, why wouldn’t she just message me and suggest a drink? Why would she go along with this weird lunch where it’s clear we’re being set up but nobody can mention it? It’s not like we don’t know each other. She’s probably just trying to please her mother, just like I try to please mine.
Cooper comes in and announces lunch is ready. We all head into the dining room. Even if my mind wasn’t full of Iris, I wouldn’t be interested in Gabriella. This is just a huge waste of time.
The first dish is served, and Frieda and Gabriella comment on the beautiful presentation and the delicate china. I can tell my mother is imagining our intermingled lives. In New York’s strict social hierarchy, the Alden family is probably a tier above the Campbells. Not from a financial perspective. Generations ago, the Campbells made a lot of money through imports and exports from Europe and Asia. But just from the historic relationships that the Aldens have throughout the world. My great-uncle married a Norwegian princess. It always helps to have a little royal blood in your family tree. And the Aldens support the arts in New York in a way that no other family does. Our patronage of the New York City Ballet goes back since its inception.
But my mother will think this a good match. Gabriella is young enough to have as many children as it takes to get a boy—vital for the Alden name to continue. And my mother gets on well with Frieda. She understands and respects the hierarchy.
“How was Harvard?” I ask Gabriella, who’s seated next to me. My mother is deliberately engaging Frieda in conversation to allow Gabriella and me to talk. It’s painful.
“I enjoyed it,” she says. “The campus is beautiful and Boston isn’t far from New York.”
I let out a genuine laugh to this. I’m usually the one who measures any place that isn’t New York by the distance it is to Manhattan.
“I actually really did love the weekends spent on the Cape. I would even consider having a regular home there. It really is lovely.”
“We have a place on the Vineyard,” I say. I’m sure she knows about our family vacation home there and that’s why she mentioned it.