“Then you don’t know Sonnet. She could make a copper penny complicated.”
“Let me guess,” said Bo. “You nailed her, and now she wants a…what’s that word? Oh, yeah. Relationship. It never fails. Give ’em a few X’s and O’s, and next thing you know, they’re picking out the china pattern.”
“Jesus, you’re a tool,” said Zach. “How come a tool like you gets to marry a supermodel?”
Bo glanced from him to Eddie. “What?”
“Here’s the complication,” Zach said, “and believe me, it pains me to admit this. I want the relationship.”
To his relief, Bo and Eddie did not look too aghast, merely interested.
“Okay,” Zach went on, “maybe not the china pattern, but yeah, all the stuff most guys want to run away from. I can’t stop thinking about her, even when I’m trying to move on to another girl.”
“In my very educated opinion,” Eddie said, “other girls tend to be distractions from what you really want.”
“Yeah,” said Bo. “What is it you really want?”
Zach took a large gulp of beer and let out a lengthy belch. “The whole thing—love and family, stability, even kids one day. Yeah, kids. I want kids, how crazy is that?”
“It’s not crazy at all,” said Eddie. “Maureen and I are having loads of fun working on that. Kids are awesome. It’s the parents who screw them up. All you got to do is promise you won’t be that kind of parent.”
“That’s getting ahead of things. We’re not even back on speaking terms these days.”
“Why the hell not?”
“After we… After I—”
“Nailed her,” Bo supplied.
“Yeah, it was in the boathouse up at Camp Kioga. Shane Gilmore figured it out, I think.”
“Now, there’s a tool for you. Can’t stand that guy,” Eddie said. “What the hell do you care?”
“I don’t, but Sonnet’s father is running for Senate, and Gilmore’s driving around with a Delvecchio bumper sticker on his car, so he’s supporting the opponent.”
“Whoa, I didn’t know she was Jeffries’s daughter,” Bo said.
“Like I told you, she’s complicated. Anyway, I saw a stupid rumor about the candidate’s daughter hooking up at a wedding—did I mention we hooked up at Daisy Bellamy’s wedding?”
Bo refilled Zach’s beer glass yet again. “Drink up. It’s gonna be a long night.”
* * *
Sonnet rushed into the restaurant approximately ten minutes late to find Orlando in the foyer, jabbing his finger at the keypad of his phone.
“Sorry,” she said, slightly breathless. “I got caught in the rush-hour craziness.”
He put away his phone and bent to brush her cheek with a kiss. He was impressive, a tangible presence, exuding the class and polish of his Ivy League graduate degree, his looks an attractive balance between his Cuban mother and African-American father. After fulfilling his service requirement for West Point, Orlando had gotten an advanced degree in political science from Columbia and had become an expert at managing electoral campaigns. He was known as one of the best in the business, stopping at nothing to advance his candidate’s cause.
“Just curious,” he said in his half-teasing way, “does rush hour come unexpectedly every weekday?” He softened the critique with his trademark smile.
Sonnet furrowed a hand through her hair—it was now a fuzzy mess, thanks to the rushing and the rain. Yes, she had emerged from the subway to find the sunshine had turned to rain—and of course she had no umbrella.
“I got caught in the rain,” she confessed.
“You should carry an umbrella.”
She hated seeming scattered and disheveled around Orlando, who was always the soul of organization. And here she was, committing the trifecta of blunders. She had lost the key to his apartment. She had lost her mobile phone. And to top it all off, she was late.
“I don’t blame you for being mad,” she said.
“Hey,” he said, “it’s okay. Nothing to get mad about. I’m on-time enough for both of us.”
She summoned a smile and took his hand. Orlando Rivera was brilliant, professional and knew the importance of being prompt. No wonder he was in charge of getting her father elected to Congress.
It was surreal to Sonnet, the idea of her father becoming a U.S. senator. But it was not surprising; Laurence Jeffries had always been a larger-than-life figure. Although he was her birth father, he’d taken on the proportions of myth. Yes, she admitted that. But it never kept her from hoping they would build something sturdier on that foundation.
As a kid, she’d fantasized about having him in her life more than a couple of times a year. Then she’d been accepted to a major college, and everything had changed. Suddenly she had done something remarkable, winning a scholarship for a world-class education, and her father not only took note, he’d reached out to her. She still remembered the expression on her mom’s face when Nina had handed her the phone. “Laurence wants to speak to you.”
Her father almost never called. There was usually a stilted conversation on Christmas, late in the day after all the presents and feasting, and sometimes on her birthday, when he remembered. So for him to call out of the blue had been extraordinary.
“You’ve made me proud” were his first words to her that day.
Her heart had taken wing. Sure, she knew she’d be justified in asking him why he’d never been more than a modest monthly check to her up to this point, or asking him why he couldn’t have been there for her during her not-so-proud moments, like when she’d been caught skipping gym class, or when she’d stolen a sex manual from the library, or was left on the curb after her first date, because she’d refused to put out.
But instead of hurling recriminations, she’d opened her heart to her father. They’d talked at length about her future and her goals. She’d once thought she wanted to teach or somehow work with children, but her dad had convinced her that she would have more of an impact on the world with an international career. He was passionate about global affairs and about the possibility of bringing about positive change in the world, and that passion was infectious. Broadening her focus, Sonnet had pursued international studies with single-minded determination, intent on proving herself every bit as worthy as the two trophy daughters her father had with the woman he’d married.
She pulled her mind away from her dad’s “other” family—his legitimate family. Angela, his lovely and accomplished wife, and his daughters, Layla and Kara. Sonnet herself had a glorious family on her mother’s side—the big Romano clan of Avalon—and for that, she would always be grateful, just as she was grateful for her vibrant career and this new, huge opportunity offered by the fellowship.
Maybe in the excitement over her news, Orlando would dismiss the fact that she’d lost his key.
“I can’t believe you lost my key,” Orlando said after she’d sheepishly explained what happened. He shrugged out of his cashmere overcoat and handed it to the coat check girl.
“I’m really sorry.” Sonnet handed over her coat as well. “I don’t know what else to say. I’ll have another one made.”
“You can’t. It’s a co-op. The building supervisor has to get a duplicate. I’ll take care of it.”
“Sorry,” she said again, probably for the dozenth time. He was being nice about it, but she almost wished he’d tell