More Than Words

“Clothes are on the bed!” Priscilla called from the guest room. “And since we’re getting you a new, more exciting wardrobe, I left you a fun outfit. Just giving you fair warning.”

Nina got out of the shower and found a comb and an assortment of hair products in the vanity. She chose a volumizer and then blew her hair dry upside down. She looked different already.

As she was putting on a pair of artfully ripped gray jeans, a white tank top, and an off-the-shoulder yellow sweater, Pris came into the room. “Here,” she said, “try some navy mascara.”

Nina wanded her eyelashes and then blinked into the mirror. “I like this,” she said.

“Keep it,” Pris told her. “It looks better on you.”

* * *

• • •

The two women headed down Madison Avenue and then stopped in front of Reiss.

“First stop?” Priscilla asked.

“First stop,” Nina answered. Then she walked inside and pulled out a simple gray dress.

“Not that!” Pris said. “Okay, you go to the dressing room. I’m picking. And you have to try it all on!”

Nina found herself wearing intricate patterns and bold color blocks. The minute the clothes were on her body, Pris rendered a verdict: definitely yes, definitely no, or needs further consideration. Looking at the woman in the mirror, with her wild hair and ear piercing and blue eyelashes, Nina felt like she did when she was out with Rafael: free.

They went from store to store, and except for a red slim-fitting pantsuit that Nina refused to try—and Priscilla knew better than to push—the afternoon was what Pris declared “a smashing success.”

Nina had bought so much that she’d called a car to bring it all home. Patterned wrap dresses and form-fitting cigarette pants. Flouncy skirts and tiny belts. She loved all of them.

Pris had even insisted that she buy a royal blue purse that Nina switched her wallet and phone into immediately and carried for the rest of the day, jamming her old black Birkin in a shopping bag. Her father had gotten it for her, and she’d never felt completely comfortable carrying it anyway. She had no problem spending money when she loved something, but that bag seemed like the sort of thing her father bought so that when his daughter walked around with it, it would telegraph his success to the world.

“This is the new me,” Nina had said, when she slung the blue bag over her shoulder, tossing a fringed scarf she’d also just bought around her neck.

“Love the new you,” Priscilla said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Nina loved the new her, too. In these clothes, she felt confident and powerful. Like someone worth noticing. Like someone who would make bold choices, whatever they were.

She knew, though, from the moment she saw herself in the mirror, that Tim wouldn’t agree. And then she felt bad for thinking that. Maybe she wasn’t being fair. They needed to talk. She needed to tell him how she’d been feeling, what she wanted, give him the chance to know her in the way she hadn’t been, tell him how important it was to her that things change. If she could surprise Tim, maybe he could surprise her, too. Maybe he’d understand.

58

That night, she met Tim for a drink in one of her new dresses. Magenta satin, cinched at the waist, 1950s style. It made her look like she had more of a shape than she actually did, giving her curves where her body dealt in straight lines.

Her hair was still wild, and she’d reapplied the blue mascara. It was going to be fun. A date. Just the two of them, outside either of their apartments, getting a drink and spending time together. Tim said he was okay with Nina going back to campaign headquarters that night at eight, as long as other people were going to be there, too. She understood, and appreciated that he was comfortable with her going at all.

Before then, she wanted to focus completely on her time with Tim. Do her best to remember all of the reasons she’d liked dating him, why she’d agreed to marry him. To make sure that it was Tim she wanted, not just the life she’d lead with Tim. And most important, give him a chance to understand her. No matter how Rafael made her feel, Tim had been Nina’s forever. Her past, her present, her future—and she couldn’t throw that away. Help me figure this out, Mom, she thought. She’d been wondering all day what her mother would do in her situation. Or, even more to the point, what her mother would want her to do.

Nina was sitting at the bar when Tim walked in.

“Well, that’s bright,” he said, before kissing her hello.

She slid off the bar stool. “It’s new,” she said, doing a little twirl. She wasn’t usually a twirling sort of person, but this dress begged for it. And she was determined not to let his criticism deflate her mood.

“There’s a lot that’s new these days, isn’t there,” Tim said. He wasn’t being snide or critical, just observing. And it gave Nina the kind of opening she’d hoped for.

“Listen,” Nina said, getting back on the stool, “I know you like it when things are the same—it’s actually something I love about you, how stable you are, how dependable—but now, for me . . . it’s . . . Just because I did something one way once doesn’t mean I want to do it that way forever. There are things that I’m just discovering and . . . I’m not feeling very predictable right now. I need you to be okay with that.”

She’d been trying to figure out the right words to say, and those were definitely not them. But maybe he’d get her meaning anyway. She hoped he would.

Tim cleared his throat and ordered a vodka tonic before he responded. “I can try to be more open,” he said. “If you need me to be.”

Nina let out a breath. “Thank you,” she said.

She wasn’t sure where to go after that. Neither, it seemed, was Tim.

“So, how was your day?” he asked.

“I went shopping with Pris,” she said. “And found out that the Gregory Corporation is wasting a ton of bread.”

“All restaurants waste bread,” he answered. “I’m sure our dads have looked into that and minimized it as much as they could.”

Nina shrugged. “I’m not really sure if they did,” she said.

“Of course they did,” he said, dismissing her words with the wave of a hand. “If there’s one thing our fathers did well, it was run that business. They made it so much more profitable than it had been when your grandfather died.”

Nina looked at Tim as he took a big swallow of his vodka tonic. She knew what their fathers had done. She’d grown up hearing about it, too. The second hotel. The restaurants, the bars, the clubs on the roof, the redesigned event spaces that brought in millions each year alone. But that didn’t mean it was perfect, that there wasn’t an even better way to do things, or a different direction to go in.

She thought about what he’d said the night before, how he wanted to be the CEO after his father retired. If this was how he was going to respond to her, how he was going to think about her ideas, that couldn’t happen.

“I’ve been thinking,” Nina said. “About what you said last night.”

“Which part?” Tim asked, taking another gulp of his drink. She could tell how hard this conversation was for him. How much he wanted things to work but didn’t know how to make that happen. He wasn’t happy. She wasn’t happy. And she knew that what she was about to say wasn’t going to help the situation. But it had to be said.

Nina swirled the wine in her glass, watching the light reflect off the deep burgundy, turning it gold and navy and amber. “When your dad retires, I really think it would be better to hire someone outside the family.” She wasn’t looking at him. “Things are less complicated that way.”

He didn’t say anything. Nina shifted her eyes up.

There was a look on Tim’s face like she’d just punched him in the stomach. “What’s going on?” he said. “Is this your way of telling me you think I’m not up for the job? I could do it, Nina. I could do it well. I can’t believe I have to even say this. I thought you believed in me.”

Nina felt tears rushing to her eyes. She’d always hated when Tim looked that way, and hated it even more that she was the one who brought that expression to his face. “It’s not that,” she said. “I do believe in you. I think you’d do a great job. I just don’t think it’s a good idea, us working together. Me being your boss.”

“But our fathers—”

“Aren’t us,” Nina said. “They were friends.”

“Best friends,” Tim said.

“Best friends,” Nina amended.

“But aren’t we?” Tim asked.

Nina drained the glass of wine in front of her and placed it carefully on the bar. “I don’t think we are anymore,” she said, biting her lip. “I think we changed that, when we kissed each other, when we slept together. When you date your best friend, he’s not your best friend anymore. He’s your boyfriend. It’s different.”

“Your fiancé,” Tim said, mumbling the words. Then: “I’m your fiancé,” he said, loudly.

Nina pulled the ring out from where it had been hanging on its chain under her new magenta dress. She rolled it around in her fingers. The word fiancé made her uncomfortable. In all honesty, from the day after she’d told Tim she’d marry him, things hadn’t felt right. And they’d felt more and more wrong as time went on.