Eileen stood staring out the door after him for several seconds. Her mind, exhausted, wrung-out, and still addled with wine, refused to try to work anything out beyond what she needed for basic life support. Her heart was beating, her lungs still breathing, and she would need to get herself to the kitchen and find a glass of water soon.

She tipped her head back and looked up at the heavy-beamed wood ceiling. This room, with its dark wood and heavy upholstery, was so unlike the whole rest of the house. It was Simon’s space, she realized. This was the one room that looked like a historic library. Everywhere else was entirely her sister’s style: white walls, high ceilings, bright spaces. Clare had built her home as she’d wanted and given this space to her husband. Eileen stared at the large bookcase before her, her eyes focusing on titles that lined shelf after shelf, multiple copies of each book Clare had ever written, she realized.

Clare had allowed him this space to make as his own, and he had filled it with his wife’s work.

A memory came to her, Eileen and Clare standing at a white linen–covered high-top table in a swanky Manhattan bar, glasses of champagne in hand. Simon was surrounded by his friends and coworkers. His face beamed with obvious joy as he accepted slaps on the back and congratulations on his recent engagement.

“You love him?” Eileen had suddenly asked her sister.

Clare took a sip from her long-stemmed flute before placing it on the table in front of them. She tilted her head, her eyes watching her future husband for a moment before turning to meet Eileen’s. “No.”

Eileen had been stunned by Clare’s brutal admission, but not surprised. She had always suspected. “So why?” Eileen asked, glancing down at the new four-carat rock pinning Clare’s left hand to the table.

“Because…if I could love someone again, I think it would be him.”

“Clare,” Eileen had said, attempting to find some way to express that something was wrong without fully understanding it herself. “He adores you.”

Her sister had nodded. “That’s why I’m marrying him,” she’d explained, then raised her slim glass for another sip of champagne.

Eileen left Simon’s office and headed for the kitchen. After rooting through several cupboards with no success, Eileen finally located the glasses near the sink. Too exhausted and already overwhelmed to try to figure out the NASA-looking water system built into the refrigerator, Eileen filled her glass at the sink and went to find her room.