“I know.”

“The coffee downstairs is terrible.”

“I noticed.”

He smiled.

That was how we began.

Before I became involved with Terrence, I knew only one thing about the Washington family.

 

They were extremely wealthy.

Not flashy new money.

Old Virginia wealth.

Timber first.

Then land.

Then finance.

Generations of money so established that nobody inside the family seemed impressed by it anymore.

Their wealth existed in houses that felt more like institutions than homes.

Country clubs.

Charity boards.

Private dinners.

Families who had known each other for decades.

An entire social world built around knowing exactly who belonged inside it.

Terrence never seemed comfortable with any of that.

He dressed simply.

Drove a practical car.

Built his own career in environmental consulting instead of joining the family business.

And gave away enough of his income to environmental organizations that his relatives considered it embarrassing.

When he finally took me home to meet them, I immediately understood what kind of evening I was about to have.

His mother, Eleanor Washington, welcomed me with flawless politeness.

Her smile was perfect.

So was the way her eyes examined me.

My dress.

My car.

The nursing shoes I had forgotten to change before arriving.

She formed an opinion before I had finished introducing myself.

Terrence’s younger sister Chloe was less subtle.

She looked at me like I was a problem that had not yet been categorized.

Howard Washington, Terrence’s uncle and the effective head of the family after his father died, shook my hand warmly.

“Terrence talks about you constantly.”

“I hope he says good things.”

“Of course.”