Brodie had grown up in a blue-collar Delaware town he visited often, always without her. He came from a close-knit family of six boys. His mother taught middle school math and his father worked for the postal service. They were old-fashioned; if his mother called him on a morning when Celeste had stayed overnight, Brodie never let on that she was in his bed.

“I don’t want her to get the wrong impression of you,” he said.

And she didn’t want Brodie to get the wrong impression of her, either. Celeste never said much about her own family, except that her father was in the jewelry business and she had two sisters.

Eight months into their relationship, she still hadn’t met the Muirs. She wasn’t offended when Brodie said he was waiting until things were “serious.” She wasn’t in a rush to introduce him to her family and the circus that would inevitably follow, so living in their own little bubble suited her just fine. Besides, he worked long hours at the firm and she was committed to her studies. Neither of them wanted to put pressure on the relationship.

So when her father insisted she bring a date, she was at a loss. She tried to explain that they weren’t even serious, but her father wouldn’t take no for an answer. “If you want to continue making the most of my tuition dollars, I suggest you make an appearance with your beau. Really, Celeste—do we ask so much of you?”

The truth was, she did think she might be falling in love with Brodie. The day would come, sooner or later, when she had to admit that she wasn’t just a simple grad student. That there was a limestone building engraved with her family’s name on one of the most illustrious corners of Manhattan. That she’d been photographed in her mother’s arms by Scavullo for Vogue when she was born. That, unlike the Muirs, she would never have to work a day in her life.

Maybe it was better to get it over with. If he loved her, it wouldn’t matter. And it might be nice to bring someone home who she could roll her eyes with. She might actually have fun for a change.

Maybe the summons was a blessing in disguise.

23

The way Gemma saw it, things were pretty simple: Either Elodie told her where her mother’s ring was or admitted she was hiding it from her. A famous thirty-carat diamond ring didn’t just disappear.

But Elodie insisted she wouldn’t talk without Celeste and followed her into the antiques store.

“Celeste has nothing to do with this,” Gemma said. “You’re playing games with me.”

“I’m playing games? What do you call pretending to be a journalist to crash my party?”