“I’m not paying for her voluntourism!” he bellowed from the hallway. “If she wants to save the world, she can pay her own fucking way.”

Celeste didn’t follow him. His wife didn’t like to fight.

In the first-floor powder room, he peed, trying to quell the pressure in his chest. It was rage. And panic. Gabe liked situations he could control, people he could manage. His daughter was doing this to get under his skin; he knew it. But why? How had her admiration of him turned to disgust? And was she really willing to sabotage her own future just to piss him off? Violet was a bright kid. There was no way she thought that deferring college to teach Tennessee Williams to Hondurans was a good idea.

He flushed, washed his hands, then splashed some cold water on his face. He needed to calm down, needed a way to deal with his frustration and anxiety. Perhaps a run. Or a swim in the heated pool. He was too irritated to focus on his waiting brief. What he needed was a distraction. On cue, the girl flitted into his mind: beautiful, sexy, compliant. He pulled out his phone and texted.

Do you have classes next week?

She responded quickly.

No. It’s spring break.

He smiled, could feel himself relaxing just by connecting with her.

Want to get away for a couple of days?

The answer came instantly.

Yes!!!!!!

He tucked his phone into his pocket and went back into the kitchen. Celeste was elbows-deep in a raw chicken. “I’ll go pick up the wine,” he said, grabbing his car keys.

All traces of his previous frustration had evaporated.

23

Vermont

Nat came from a picturesque part of the world, but nothing could have prepared her for the bucolic splendor of Vermont. It was cold, temperatures hovering near freezing, as Gabe drove them to their B and B outside the small town of South Woodstock. Nat gazed out the passenger window of the Mercedes, taking in the snow-dusted trees, the quaint farmhouses, the spired churches, and covered bridges. She felt like she was in an alternate reality, where life was simple and wholesome. Where she and Gabe were not in a sugar relationship but were a real couple . . . at least for two nights.

That evening at the theater had upset her. It was clear Gabe did not want to be seen with her in front of his society friends, and it hurt. She’d convinced herself that what she and Gabe had was more than financial; it was genuine and beautiful. But that night forced her to face the truth. Gabe was paying her to be there when he wanted her, to go away when he didn’t.

The driver, Oleg, had taken her home after the show. “Successful men like Mr. Turnmill can be cold and hard,” he said, in his deep, masculine voice. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care for you, in his way.”

“I’m just . . . I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.”