Merry Ever After

“Nice.” I take another sip. “Never heard of it.”

“Now you know,” she says with a grin. “Come on and meet some of the other authors, and then we’ll eat.”

There’s ten of us. Merrin says most of her authors live elsewhere, but she has the ones based in New York over for a casual holiday gathering each year. I try my best not to be intimidated by the assembly of brilliance in the room, but imposter syndrome is a motherfucker.

“You’re Harper, right?” a tall man with sharp eyes asks when I find myself nursing a glass of champagne in the crook of the sectional.

“Uh, yes.” I lift a querying brow. “I’m not famous or anything. How’d you know?”

“Merrin tells me it’s only a matter of time. She thinks your book will be an instant success.” He extends his hand to shake mine. “Phil, by the way. The husband.”

“Oh, nice to meet you. She told me you’re a professor at NYU, right?”

“Yes, economics when she hates to even balance a check book. We’re exact opposites in just about every way imaginable, but we make it work.”

“That’s amazing. She said you’ve been married . . .a long time.” I laugh. “I can’t remember how long.”

“Thirty-three years. We married when we were ten years old.”

“As young as you both look, I halfway believe that.”

“We keep each other young. No one else I would have chosen to do this life with. Did she tell you about our girls?”

“She did mention you have four daughters.”

“Yes, all of them will be home for Christmas next week. Our youngest is actually coming a little early. Should be here tonight. You may get to meet her. She just divorced.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that.”

“We aren’t.” He grimaces. “We never liked him. Asshole.”

“Wow. Sounds like it’s a celebration.”

“It is. We’re glad she didn’t waste any more time on that . . .” He shakes his head, a frown pleating his brow. “You have to let your kids make their own choices, their own mistakes, but we knew from the beginning he wasn’t good enough for her.”

Before I can respond, Merrin summons us to the dining room for dinner. I’m glad to be seated beside Phil at one end of the table, while Merrin holds court at the other. Two authors across from me also have books releasing soon, so we commiserate about all the shit that comes with navigating the publishing industry.

“It’s been a fantastic year,” Merrin says, standing to address us about an hour into dinner. “Tonight is just my way of saying thank you for trusting me with your book babies. You’re all so talented and I promise to always do my best to let the world know that.”

She raises her glass, lips parted to go on, when there’s a sound at the front door. The sound of keys and shuffling steps.

“Oh!” Merrin beams. “That’s probably my daughter.”

I lift a glass of mulled wine to take another sip, but my hand freezes halfway to my mouth when the woman who is presumably this daughter walks into the dining room and straight into Merrin’s arms.

It can’t be.

I’m dreaming again, only this time it has to be a nightmare because surely my agent’s daughter can’t be—

“Sinclaire,” Merrin murmurs, squeezing her daughter close. “You made it.”

“Yep. Caught an Uber and came straight from the airport,” Sinclaire says, turning to face the table fully for the first time, her expression chagrined. “Sorry to interrupt, everyone. I . . .”

Her eyes lock with mine and her mouth falls open like a startled fish.

“Shit,” she says, the curse very loud in a room gone silent.

My sentiments exactly.