Real Regrets (Kensingtons Book 2)

There’s a knock on my door, right as I’m getting ready to leave. I sigh and call out “Come in,” expecting to see Scott with an update or Alicia with a question.

Instead, Scarlett walks in.

I straighten automatically, forgetting about the papers I was slipping in my briefcase to bring home for the weekend. My goal is to not come into the office until Monday, which will be three weekends in a row. A record for me.

“Hey,” she greets, strolling into my office with all the confidence in the world.

“Hi.” I watch as she walks over to the bookcase, running a finger over the titles the same way she did the last time she visited.

“Do you read?” I ask.

“I used to,” Scarlett answers, still stroking the spines. “Reading by the pool at my parents’ place in the Hamptons used to be my favorite way to spend the summer. Now, if I get a minute to myself, I just want to nap.” Her hand falls to her stomach. Maybe it’s because I know about the pregnancy, but from the side it looks like a slight curve is beginning to appear.

“Parenting sounds like a blast.”

Scarlett smiles, turning toward my desk. “Quinn loves kids.”

“Subtle, Scarlett.”

“I didn’t know if I wanted kids, either. Then Lili was born, and I couldn’t imagine my life without her in it.”

“Just because you and Crew turned an arrangement into a fairytale, doesn’t mean that’s how Quinn and I will turn out. If we turn into anything. There’s still a lot I have to figure out.”

“Speaking of…how goes the divorce?”

I tense. Barely, but Scarlett’s sharp eyes don’t miss much. “Fine.”

Or it would be going fine if I’d done anything about it. Instead, I’ve dragged my feet on having Jeremy file the petition for divorce.

I don’t want to be married to Hannah. But I don’t not want to be married to her, either.

I’ve become accustomed to the idea, I guess. Not marriage in general. But being attached to her, specifically? I don’t hate it.

This week I’ve been back in New York, I’ve battled the urge to call her dozens of times. I’ve started eating scrambled eggs in the morning, instead of oatmeal. The second I get home I change out of my suit. And every morning I’ve woken up with a painful erection that’s required me to use my hand and my imagination.

“She’s not causing problems?”

I shake my head. “No. Ha—” Her name gets caught in my throat. “Hannah’s cooperating.”

Scarlett nods once, quick and direct. “Good.”

There’s another knock on my door. Instead of telling them to enter, I walk over and open it. People love to gossip. And while plenty probably saw Scarlett walk here, I’m not interested in fanning the flames.

“Hey.” Crew’s hand is still raised when I open the door, his expression surprised by my sudden appearance.

He holds up a packet of papers. “Final contract on NetLife came in. It got sent to me…by accident?”

“Or Dad told them to send it to you.”

Crew’s brow crinkles. “Have you talked to him this week?”

“No. Not since he got back from Miami.”

Our usual Monday meeting was canceled, which was probably for the best. I was exhausted and confused, tangled up over the trip to Los Angeles.

I open the door wider. “Want to come in?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Crew walks past me into my office. “Red?”

Scarlett turns from the window, where she was standing and staring at the skyline.

She smiles, and it’s one meant only for Crew as he walks over and kisses her soundly on the mouth. Tangible emotions swarm the air around them: love and happiness and a lightness that’s hard to explain. It’s nauseating to be around. And also kind of nice.

“What are you doing here?” Crew asks.

“I finished early, so I came to surprise you. I stopped to say hi to Oliver.”

Crew glances between me and Scarlett. He seems surprised—happy—to find me and his wife together, and it feeds the feeling of guilt in my stomach. Not only am I lying to Crew about Hannah, I also dragged Scarlett, Asher, and Jeremy into it. Not to mention, I’m blackmailing Asher with a secret Crew should know. Brother of the Year, I am not.

His gaze lands on my half-packed briefcase. “You were leaving?”

“It’s after five. Technically, that’s when the workday ends.”

“I know that. I just didn’t think you did.”

I roll my eyes as I approach my desk, finish shoving papers in my briefcase and then snapping it shut. “I have a date tonight. Trying to get home early so I have time to shower and change.”

“With Quinn?” Scarlett asks. Her voice is high and excited. I thought her interest in my marriage was connected to her dislike of Hannah, but her reaction suggests a deeper interest in my love life.

I nod. “We’re going out with Garrett and Sienna.”

“Are you bringing her to their wedding next weekend?”

“I’m not sure. We’ll see how tonight goes.”

Truthfully, I don’t want to, no matter how tonight goes. And it has nothing to do with Quinn. She was charming and sweet when I finally called her about getting dinner. Graceful, when I mentioned Garrett and Sienna would be joining us.

But Garrett and Sienna’s wedding will be packed with New York’s elite. If I show up with Quinn, there will be engagement rumors swirling by midnight. That’s a pressure I don’t need or want.

I have to decide how badly I want it. What I’m willing to sacrifice. I don’t want to be forced into a marriage I’m not sure I want, just to gain something I’m entitled to. I was born expected to be the next CEO of Kensington Consolidated, the way crowns pass through monarchies.

It would be one thing if I wasn’t capable of handling the pressure. If I was lazy or incompetent. Instead, I got knocked down the hierarchy by Scarlett’s preference for my brother and Candace’s unhappiness in her marriage. And while I certainly have culpability in one instance, it shouldn’t have anything to do with my job.

I grab the briefcase off my desk and the umbrella from the corner of my office. It was spitting rain this morning, but the skies have since cleared.

“Don’t forget the rest of your homework,” Crew teases, holding the NetLife papers out to me. “If your date gets boring.”

I take them. “My dates don’t get bored.”

Scarlett laughs, then grabs Crew’s hand and pulls him toward the door. “Have fun tonight, Oliver!”

“Yeah, thanks,” I reply.

I make sure I have everything, wish Alicia a happy weekend, and then head toward the elevators.

Traffic is worse than usual, probably because I’m leaving at a reasonable hour. It takes over thirty minutes before I’m back at my building.

After showering and shaving, I get dressed in slacks and an olive-green sweater instead of a suit. Casual for me.

I’ve never paid much attention to fashion, beyond making sure my suits are clean and tailored. Maybe it’s the lack of a mother or a serious girlfriend in my life.

Impulsively, I snap a photo of myself in the mirror and send it to Scarlett. Not only is she my sister, technically, but she’s also a world-famous designer.

When she likes the photo a few minutes later, I feel a little better about my choice.

Pierre is in his usual position beside the door when I step out of the elevator. “Have a good night, Mr. Kensington.”

“You too,” I reply, before stepping aside.

The nearest Metro stop is only a block away. I walk along the sidewalk at a more leisurely pace than usual, enjoying the hint of warmth in the air that signals spring’s approach.

Really, I should be beaming ear to ear. I didn’t have to deal with my father at all this week. Quinn eagerly accepted the invitation for tonight, suggesting she’s interested in the union our fathers are already viewing as a sure thing. My relationship with Crew is in a better place than it’s been in a while.

But there’s still a restlessness and an uncertainty that I can’t seem to shake.

I reach the stop and descend underground. Despite cleaning attempts, the unpleasant odors of urine and garbage swirl in the cooler air as I swipe my card and push through the turnstile.

After only a couple of minutes of waiting on the platform, a southbound train arrives. I step on board, choosing to stand and grab a pole instead of taking one of the open seats. Other passengers step on and off, all of them rushing and most in work attire.

I smile, remembering Hannah’s shock when I told her I take public transit.

I’m tempted to snap a photo and send it to her as proof. But I don’t, because the last message I sent her was when I landed at JFK early Monday morning. My flight was delayed, so I didn’t get in until after three. She replied right away, even though it was past midnight for her too. Like she’d been waiting for the message.

If she was, I don’t want to know that. I want to pretend last weekend meant nothing to her, the same way I’ve spent all week trying to convince myself it meant nothing to me.

The walk from the Midtown stop to the restaurant is another short one. Garrett booked one of the city’s most exclusive restaurants, a seafood spot that usually has a waiting list months long.

Quinn is waiting outside. She spots me and spins, her navy dress picking up in the breeze.

“Oliver! Hi!” Her excitement sounds genuine, reflected in her animated expression as she smiles at me.

And I will myself to feel something. Feel anything, aside from a detached friendliness. My life would be a lot easier if I developed feelings for Quinn.

But my thoughts are stubbornly centered on blonde hair and blue eyes.

“You look beautiful,” I tell Quinn. Honestly, because she does. But my appreciation is disconnected, the way you look at a rare artifact or a famous painting. You know there’s relevance attached to it, but none of it is yours. It was already there, just lingering as something you know but didn’t discover.

“Thanks. You look nice too.” Quinn’s answering smile is shy and sweet as we step inside the restaurant.

Wave murals cover the walls, setting the oceanic theme. I give Garrett’s name to the maître de, and we’re led to a table toward the center of the room where Garrett and Sienna are already seated.

Garrett stands and grins widely when he sees me, giving me a hug and slapping me on the back. I hug Sienna as well, but it’s a much briefer one. After I’ve introduced Quinn, we all settle at the table. A waiter immediately appears, taking drink orders. Garrett orders a bottle of wine for the table, along with caviar, oysters, and tuna tartare. My stomach growls, but not because any of it sounds good. I’d kill for a burger and fries right now.

Sienna and Quinn exchange small talk while Garrett and I mainly discuss business. He just secured a massive government contract, which he’s understandably thrilled about. He congratulates me on Thompson & Thompson, now that it’s become public.

And then, unfortunately, Vegas comes up. Quinn is the one who mentions it, surprisingly. One of her former clients in London had a wild night there recently, and it was leaked to the press. And Sienna is the one who reminds her that Garrett and I were just there for his bachelor party.

“You guys had an amazing time, didn’t you?” she asks. She’s focused on me, not Garrett.

And I’m thrust into a dynamic I don’t want to navigate, knowing way too many personal details about their relationship.

“We sure did.” I have to force the affable tone in my voice.

I’m judging Sienna, and maybe that makes me a hypocrite. But my father and Candace were a train wreck disguised as a marriage long before anything happened between me and her. I know for a fact my dad had affairs. But as far as I know, Garrett was faithful to Sienna until she cheated first. So yeah, I resent her for not valuing that. And I can’t understand Garrett’s perspective either. Why he would forgive her. Stay with her.

This dinner was probably a mistake.

I’m relieved when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I shift in my seat, so I can pull it out. Garrett will understand work interrupting. Quinn will have to understand, if there’s going to be any future between us. And I simply don’t care what Sienna thinks.

But it’s not work. Hannah is flashing across the screen.

I stand suddenly, almost toppling the table. I mumble a hasty “I’ll be right back,” before rushing out of the restaurant.

Worry ripples through me in debilitating waves as I step out onto the sidewalk. “Hello?” I answer.

“Hey.” Surprisingly, there’s no distraught note in her voice. I was expecting the worst about her calling me unexpectedly. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?” More than normal, her voice sounds light. Happy. Teasing.

I turn and look at the glass window. I can see through the entire restaurant, straight back to the table where Garrett, Quinn, and Sienna are sitting. Sienna is saying something, gesticulating with her arms, and Quinn is nodding along. Garrett is talking to a waiter. “You didn’t wake me up.”

There’s a pause. “Well…I got in.”

“Got in?” I echo, turning back toward the street.

“To architecture school. I got in. They accepted me!”

I was so sure the only reason Hannah would be calling was with bad news. It didn’t even occur to me she might be reaching out to me about good news. To celebrate. It takes me a second to recalibrate and respond. “Wow. I—wow. That’s amazing, Hannah.” I inject as much enthusiasm into my voice as I can muster, but she sees right through it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Han.” I freeze as soon as the endearment slips out, then hurry to fill the silence that follows. “I’m sorry. I just…long day at work.”

I glance inside again.

I’m happy for Hannah. But I also resent her for the way she’s invaded my thoughts and made me rethink my future while she’s forging ahead with hers like we never got married. Which isn’t fair.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

Fuck. Now I feel even worse. I rub my forehead. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad you called. I—”

“Oliver?”

I spin around to see Quinn standing on the sidewalk, rubbing her hands on her bare arms to ward off the evening chill.

“Arlo Hathaway is at our table. Garrett thought you might want to talk to him before he leaves?”

I nod. “Thanks. I’ll be right there.”

“Okay,” Quinn says, then heads back inside.

Complete and total silence is all I can hear.

I clear my throat. “Hannah…” I’m not sure what else to say.

I wasn’t expecting her to call. I thought that everything going forward would run through our attorneys, the way she suggested. And I never would have guessed she’d call while I was out on a date with another woman, which is a rare occurrence.

“You shouldn’t have answered, Oliver.”

Before I have a chance to respond, she hangs up.

I stand there, phone against my ear, staring at the lights of the passing traffic.

I’m on autopilot for the rest of the evening, witnessing but not really participating.

I’m not sure anyone notices. Garrett grows more gregarious with each glass of wine he consumes, and Sienna is always outgoing. They carry most of the conversation, peppering Quinn with questions about her life in London and her plans in New York, with several suggestive glances aimed my way.

I pick at the halibut that was served with braised leeks and picked rhubarb, washing each bite down with wine.

Rather than buoy my mood, the alcohol sinks it further.

I think of a thousand things I wish I had said when Hannah called. I’m not even sure if I congratulated her. I definitely didn’t ask if she told her father or the rest of her family. If she didn’t, is she celebrating alone?

A cold coil of dread appears in my stomach and spreads, imagining her and some other guy. I don’t even have to imagine it—I witnessed it. And I lived it. I’ve been the guy in the bar, faced with the blonde mystery that is Hannah Garner. She’s hard to resist, and most guys wouldn’t bother trying.

I shove my plate away with a few bites of fish left, my appetite totally gone.

“Do you know where the restroom is?” I ask Garrett.

“Down in the basement,” he tells me. “Head to the back and then take the stairs.”

“Thanks.” I glance at Quinn. “I’ll be right back.”

She nods and smiles. Her composure hasn’t faltered all night, not even when I spent long enough standing on the sidewalk that I missed Arlo Hathaway at our table. We had a brief conversation as he was leaving, but not the prime networking that might have resulted inside. And I don’t even care.

Garrett’s instructions are accurate. The men’s room is the first door past the kitchens.

But I don’t walk inside. I lean against the wall just past the entrance and close my eyes, trying to calm my thoughts and regain some equilibrium. Tonight was supposed to be about Quinn. About getting to know her and determining how we might work as a couple.

But my head is full of Hannah. And I wish I could blame it all on her call, but she was there long before my phone rang. I thought that the more time that passed since seeing her, talking to her, fucking her, the easier it would be. Instead, it’s an ache that’s grown in intensity, like ignoring it has only made it worse.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and tap her name, staring up at the fluorescent lights as I listen to it ring.

And ring.

And ring.

“Hi, you’ve reached Hannah Garner. I’m not available…”

With a muttered curse, I end the call. Who the hell knows what I would leave in a voicemail. And there’s no one I can ask for advice on how to navigate this situation. Garrett thinks I’m dating Quinn. Crew has no idea I’ve ever met Hannah. Scarlett is focused on helping me get a divorce. Beyond that, the list of people I communicate with on a regular basis are mostly business associates. They could either not care less about my personal life or would sell me out to the tabloids.

After a few frustrated exhales, I head back upstairs. Thankfully, dinner is wrapping up. Garrett insists on splitting the bill, and then Sienna and Quinn grab their jackets from the coat check.

I breathe deeply once we’re outside.

It’s one flash, at first. Then two, four, ten.

Garrett claps a hand on my back, then leans closer. “Sorry about this, man. Sienna wants to drum up some interest before the wedding. Come on, we’ll drop you guys off.”

I immediately understand, and it plummets my already low opinion of Sienna. She’s the daughter of a newscaster and a socialite, who’s worked as a wedding planner since graduating college. Not irrelevant, but nothing paparazzi would show up for. Me, on the other hand? I rarely go out, and I never advertise when I do.

Questions are thrown our way, asking Quinn her name. Wondering whether we’re dating. Shouting if I’m single.

I grit my teeth and place a hand on Quinn’s lower back, guiding her through the chaos and into the car.

I’m expecting some disbelief or uncertainty once we’re inside the vehicle, the tinted windows blocking the flashing bulbs. Quinn looks just as composed as she has the entire evening. And it should be reassuring. A sign of someone well-suited to take on the pressures of being a Kensington. But it bothers me that I can’t see past her mask. That I can’t tell whether anything is genuine or feigned. If she’s an excellent actress or just less cynical than I am.

There are still spots flashing in my eyes as the car pulls away from the curb.

“This is what New York is like?” Quinn asks, glancing between the three of us.

Sienna laughs.

“Sometimes,” I say.

But all I can think is, I hope Hannah doesn’t see those.

And that freaks me out more than anything else that’s taken place tonight. That’s nothing I should be concerned with and all I seem to care about.