The table was set with crystal candlesticks and vases bursting with pink peonies. Paulina asked their mother if the birthday cake had pink icing, as she’d requested.

Constance turned to Gemma. “Your mother always insisted on pink frosting on her birthday cakes.”

“It’s the best!” Paulina said, giving Gemma a wink.

Her father praised Liam’s latest boost to their marketing efforts. While Liam no longer worked for the ad agency, he never stopped sending ideas to Alan even as he and Paulina traveled the world. That night, he told Alan that the new popularity of “blogs” was something they should capitalize on. Specifically, he showed them that Paulina’s blog got a tremendous amount of “traffic” and they should look at ways to monetize that.

“If she wears a piece in a photo on her blog, women will want to buy it. We need to figure out a way to integrate commerce so that her followers can buy with the click of a button.”

“No one really buys jewelry online,” Constance said. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I hate to say it, Constance, but they do,” Liam said.

“Online shopping is the way of the future, Mom,” said Paulina. Celeste agreed, but she kept her mouth shut. Getting involved in any conversation with the group was a lose-lose.

“The only future I want to discuss is when you’re going to come home. Enough of this gallivanting around! My granddaughter needs a proper education. I’ve made some inquires and she can start at Spence in the fall.” Constance turned to Liam. “And then you can come work for the company full-time. Save your ideas for the team in a conference room, not my dinner table.”

“The team has it covered, thanks, Mom,” Elodie said acidly.

After dinner, while her parents’ kitchen staff set out the dessert, Alan asked Celeste to come along with him for his walk. He always took a walk between dinner and dessert no matter how hot or cold the weather. Even at a restaurant he would take a stroll around the block.

It wasn’t unusual for him to tap one of them to accompany him. When she was growing up, the walks had afforded her some of her best conversations with her father. After a good meal and a glass of wine—he never allowed himself more than one glass—he was at his most relaxed and amiable. But that night, she sensed an agenda.

Sure enough, as soon as they rounded the corner into Central Park, he said: “Celeste, no matter how far away you live, you’re still the eldest sister. Everyone respects you. And I need your help.”

Respect? Did he call cutting her off financially for moving away respect? Maybe it was a form of respect. Maybe it was a way of letting her make her own way in the world. She was happy to do so.

“Dad, whatever it is, I don’t want to be involved.”