“A different idea, maybe. But Pavlin & Co is a century-old company. It’s an institution. You have no interest in designing for them?”

With that one question, Gemma felt utterly exposed, as if the woman had seen inside of her soul.

“Yes, Pavlin & Co is an institution,” she said carefully.

As a teenager, she dreamed of designing for Pavlin & Co. The thought of working at the company gave her a sense that she could somehow continue her mother’s legacy. Both of her parents’ legacies, really. Her father had been instrumental in their advertising campaigns, and her mother had been his muse. It was only fitting that her mother’s engagement ring was the most important piece in the entire Pavlin & Co collection—one of the most important diamonds in the world. Surely, Gemma was destined to be a part of that ongoing story. Jewelry design was in her blood, and where else would she direct her talent but the company her family had built?

“Don’t be foolish,” her nana told her. “They don’t want anything to do with you. Isn’t that obvious? And for the record, you’re better off without them. Don’t look for trouble.”

Gemma didn’t believe her. She waited and waited to hear from her mother’s family, but the day never came. Not until she was in college, and the first of the photo albums arrived in the mail. By the time her grandmother finally reached out to her, it was too late. Gemma’s heart had hardened toward the Pavlin family. The years of silence spoke loud and clear. She was unwanted. She was cast aside. Her only inheritance was grief.

So her dream changed. She wouldn’t be a part of Pavlin & Co., but she would be a part of making them obsolete.

“But it’s an institution of the past,” Gemma said, looking the reporter in the eye. “I’m all about the future. I’m looking forward. And it’s a great view.”

Alvie insisted on celebrating Gemma’s interview and her own last day at Queen Anne’s Revenge. They were going to Tea Dance at the Boatslip, a sort of dance-party happy hour. It seemed like a great idea last night when Alvie suggested it, but after talking with the reporter for hours, Gemma wasn’t in the mood.

Still, she dutifully met Alvie at Maud’s old Victorian with the pink shutters. On the way, she stopped at the post office to mail that day’s jewelry orders. Sealing up the Priority Mail boxes, she didn’t feel the usual sense of satisfaction.

She thought she handled the reporter’s questions just fine. At least, on the outside. But the conversation was eating at her, hours after they shook hands and said goodbye.

Pavlin & Co is a century-old company. It’s an institution. You have no interest in designing for them?