You spin around the breakfast, shaking hands, stroking egos, letting people admire you. They comment on how put together you look, how thrilled they are to be back at Silver Swans, how their children missed you so. They ask about North, which is sweet of them. You tell them he’s doing well. You name a video game you bought for him and add that if you could do it all over again, you’d keep video games out of the house because they’re all kids want to do. They ask if he’s still in private school, and you say he is, and things are going well.

But the meeting isn’t about North. It’s about their children. Actually, more specifically, it’s about them. You’re watching each and every one of them, looking for inconsistencies, looking for cracks in your perfect façade. And then, you notice something. A few somethings. And a shiver runs through you.

You nudge Carson, and he slides over, standing just behind you so you can speak quietly without raising any alarm. “Look,” you say quietly. One is your kindergarten teacher’s way-too-sexy girlfriend. The other is the tall blonde with the enviable cheekbones.

Carson is dubious, even after you explain your case. “You think they know?” he asks.

“Did you vet them?”

“I didn’t think I had to.”

But maybe their newness is preferable, you think. At least they aren’t as ingrained in the community, with tons of friends and connections.

Carson is shifting behind you. “You want them out?”

You nod. You’ll let Carson handle this. He’s always gotten his hands dirty for you.

But you continue to watch them as the tall one passes the coffee mug back to Lane’s girlfriend. They’re standing with that third woman, too, the blowsy one who made you uneasy in a way you didn’t quite understand. Something irked you about her as soon as you met. The way she thought North was Carson. There is something else about her you can’t put your finger on.

You tip back to Carson, who no doubt is already laying out the chess moves to execute a plan. “Actually, her, too,” you murmur, gesturing to Lauren as she knocks back her coffee.

“Because she’s talking to them?” Carson is dubious.

It’s warm in the loft. The air smells pleasantly of coffee and powdered sugar. You can smell Carson’s soap, too, a sporty blend you gifted him from Kiehl’s. “We can’t be too careful,” you tell him.

Carson nods. “Whatever you say, boss.”

You shoot him a smile, and he slips from the loft, and then you feel better. Plans are in place. Weeds are going to be pulled. You’re this close to coming out of the woods, to reclaiming your kingdom. And you’re not about to let it slip between your fingers.

Nineteen