Real Regrets (Kensingtons Book 2)

The conference room is full when I wedge my way inside. Garner Sports Agency employs about two thousand people. A hundred of them work out of this office, and they’re all present for our monthly update meeting.

An open seat is waiting for me at the center table. The first few meetings I ignored it, knowing the reserved chair was because of my last name, not my place in the company. But the times I haven’t taken the seat, it’s just sat empty. So I’ve accepted it, just like every other part of my role here.

Seconds after I’ve sat down, the chair beside me moves. I glance up into Tyler Sullivan’s blinding smile. He’s a few years older than me, a former athlete and forever sports buff who considers being an agent his calling. He’s excellent at his job too, representing several of the agency’s best-known athletes. Including Declan, which has always contributed an awkward element between us. Well that, and the fact he’s asked me out a few times. Each time, I’ve told him I don’t date coworkers.

“Hey, Hannah.”

“Hi, Tyler.”

“Happy Friday.”

“Yeah, you too.”

He leans back in his chair, spinning a pen around one finger. “Any exciting plans?”

“Not really.” I have a meeting with my divorce attorney to discuss the upcoming process. And Rachel has been bugging me to join her book club, which meets tonight, but I doubt I will. I’ve been in a funk ever since Oliver left. In about thirty-six hours, he managed to leave a permanent mark on my life. My car, my house, my family, they’re all associated with memories of him now.

“Well…” Tyler glances toward the front of the room, where my dad is talking to Albert Langley, one of the more experienced agents who’s been with Garner Sports Agency since its inception. No one will dare interrupt them with a reminder that the meeting should have started two minutes ago. “I don’t have much of a weekend planned, either. But I’m heading to New York on Monday for some meetings, and I’d love to have a second opinion at the discussions.”

I nod, only half-listening.

“Dean suggested I ask you to go.”

That gets my attention. “Da—Dean told you to ask me to go with you…to New York?”

Tyler nods. “You don’t have to, obviously. It’s short notice. I’m sure he’d agree it’s your call.” He chuckles.

And…there’s the main reason I’ll never date anyone I work with. Because there’s always that undertone of nepotism, of the jokes how I’ll never have to do this or will get a free pass out of that.

I wonder how Oliver handles it at Kensington Consolidated.

Maybe he doesn’t have to, since he’s a man.

“I’ll go.”

A wide smile splits Tyler’s face. “Awesome. I’ll have Marjorie send you all the flight details. I know she already booked the Carlyle.”

“Great.”

My father finally starts the meeting, and I open my notebook to take notes. But I’m not registering a word of what’s being said, even as my hand moves across the paper.

When Oliver left, I was certain we’d never be in the same city again. And this trip might be for work, but the main reason I just agreed to go is…him.

I’m close to leaving for the day when my phone buzzes with a new email. It’s to my personal account, not my work one.

And…it’s from the Los Angeles School of Architecture.

I almost upend the watery remnants of my iced coffee as I grab my phone and open the email. I don’t have to scan past the first line. The Congratulations is bold and big, the response to my application summarized in one word.

I stare at the email in shock.

I got in.

I’m stunned, both by the news and by my reaction. When I applied, I had no one to tell. No one I wanted or was ready to tell, rather. But the first thought that flickers through my head now is that I want to call Oliver.

The realization stills a little of the happiness bubbling inside of me. Instead of gaining a dream, it feels like I’m letting something slip away. And I’m not sure what to make of that. How to fix it. Especially since I’ll be in New York starting Monday and am conflicted about whether to tell Oliver.

Practically speaking, there’s no reason at all why I should contact him. Our attorneys are working out what mine has assured me will be the simplest divorce she’s ever worked on.

We don’t have children or joint property. We’re not dividing assets or deciding alimony. We don’t share anything.

Our divorce is a clean break.

But it feels a little jagged.

I turn off my phone and focus back on my computer screen, rushing through the remainder of the work I need to get finished.

Marjorie, one of the assistants, forwarded me the New York itinerary. I scan through it quickly—Monday morning flight, Wednesday afternoon return—and then shut off my computer.

The weather has been drab and dreary the past few days, a stark contrast to the past weekend, which felt like an early summer. Maybe that’s what I should blame for my melancholy mood. I grab my umbrella and walk out into the hall, almost colliding with my father.

“Hannah! Perfect timing. Your mother just called, and she wanted me to see if you’re free for dinner. Susan dropped off fresh tomatoes and cucumbers from her garden, so she’s planning to make your favorite.”

I’m not sure I’m in the mood for company but heading home to sulk doesn’t sound all that appealing either. “Yeah, sure.”

“Wonderful. Tell your mom I’ll be home soon. I just need to check in with Albert on one quick thing.”

“Okay,” I agree, knowing one quick thing will probably turn into a half an hour.

Rosie calls, right as I’m pulling out of the building’s private garage.

“Hey,” I greet, turning left instead of my usual right as I head in the direction of my parents’ house.

“Hey? The last we talked, you told me you married Oliver Kensington, and when you finally answer, all I get is Hey?”

I laugh. We’ve been playing phone tag this week, and part of me was relieved, since I haven’t felt like talking to anyone. But Rosie’s familiar voice pulls me out of my own head a little, which is welcome. “I’m sorry. Work has been crazy.”

Work has been busy, but not in comparison to my personal life. To Oliver coming here and staying with me and ensuring that anytime I think about sex, he’s the one thrusting into me. None of that is information I want to share with my best friend, and that’s highly concerning.

Rosie knows all the details of my past relationships. But Oliver is different. It feels too personal to share, which I’ve never thought before. Especially the details I’ve been obsessing over: how he pulled a blanket over me and his promise before he came inside of me. “The only way I’ll ever see you getting fucked is if I’m the one fucking you, Hannah.”

I really wish I could forget those words. Wish I’d never made the stupid joke about him watching to begin with.

“So you haven’t talked to your husband?”

I shake my head, then remember she can’t see me. “No. We both have attorneys. They’re handling the divorce.”

“Have you changed your mind about asking him for money?”

I roll my eyes as I take a turn. “No.”

“I’m not saying demand half. You could just request like…ten million?”

“Seriously, Rosie?”

“What? He can afford it! And then you can buy a penthouse in Lakeview and visit me all the time. Not to mention, quit working for your dad.”

“I got into architecture school,” I blurt.

Rosie shrieks. “Shut up! Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

“I can’t believe you applied. You talked yourself in and out of it for weeks senior year.”

“It was an…impulsive decision.” I made a few of those that night, as it turns out.

“Where did you apply?”

“Just Los Angeles School of Design.”

“Nowhere in Chicago?”

“You could always move back here,” I suggest.

Rosie makes a pffttt sound. “I like having seasons. And I’m not surprised you didn’t apply to anywhere here, but why didn’t you apply to any schools in New York? You wanted to live there for a while.”

I did. I saw New York as a needed change, a way to experience something new and different. And it was new and different. But I also got swept up in the status and the toxicity of that city. It’s been nearly two years since I visited. I retreated into the known, among family and familiarity.

“No. New York isn’t for me.”

I pull into my parents’ driveway for the first time since I came here with Oliver. I’m prepared for the stab of sentimentality that’s been a constant companion this past week.

“I’m at my parents’ for dinner. I’ll call you this weekend so we can catch up more, okay?”

“Okay. Say hi to Dean and Cynthia for me.”

“I will. Bye, Rosie.”

“Bye!”

We hang up and I climb out of the car. Despite the cooler temperatures, the greenery around my childhood home is flourishing thanks to the rain. The lemon tree to the left of the front path is starting to flower, the very beginnings of citrus appearing on the branches.

The front door is unlocked, so I walk right inside, heading toward the kitchen.

My mom is standing at the counter, chopping tomatoes. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hey, Mom.” I walk over and kiss her cheek, stealing a slice of red fruit off the cutting board. “Dad said he’ll be home soon.”

“I’m sure he believed that when he said it. Wine?”

“Sure, thanks.”

My mom pulls a bottle of white out of the fridge and pours me a glass.

“Eddie or Rachel coming over?”

“No, Eddie and April are at her parents’ for dinner and Rachel has her book club tonight.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

“She was at a planning session for this summer’s trip when I called her earlier.”

“Is it still between China or Argentina?”

“I think Greece is in the mix now.”

“Wow.” I swirl the wine in my glass, then take a sip. It’s dry, tasting subtly of floral and citrus. “Wine is good.”

“Isn’t it? Susan brought it over with the vegetables. It’s from a vineyard in Napa.”

I nod, then take another sip. “I’m going to New York on Monday. With an agent from the office.”

“Really? That’s nice.” My mom continues chopping, periodically tossing tomatoes into a mixing bowl. I wait. “Do you think you’ll see Oliver?”

I steal another bite from the bowl. “Doubt it. He’s very busy.”

“He wasn’t too busy to fly across the country.”

“You made me ask him, Mom. He felt obligated.”

She shakes her head, a small smile appearing. “In my experience, men do nothing they don’t want to do. He came here for you, Hannah.”

“Can I help chop?”

She judges the topic change with another head shake but goes and grabs a second cutting board and knife. She slides both toward me, along with two cucumbers.

This dish has been a favorite of mine since I was a kid. It’s relatively simple, just tomatoes, cucumbers, and roasted chicken seasoned with olive oil, thyme, salt, pepper, and vinegar, then topped with olives and feta. But no matter how many times I try to make it myself, it never tastes the same as when I eat it here beneath the trellis.

By the time my father gets home, we’ve chopped everything, and the chicken is in the oven. He kisses my mom and then grabs a beer out of the fridge, a domestic display I used to always cringe at.

Partly because they’re my parents, but also because the placid predictability struck me as boring. It’s the complete opposite of the uncertainty of a first kiss. That moment of anticipation when you’re not sure what it will be like. Years of kissing the same person sounded dull and rote. But there’s a comfort in it too, I’m noticing, as my mom hip checks my dad out of the way so she can finish seasoning the vegetables.

“Up for a game?” he asks, turning toward me.

“Always,” I reply, following him out of the French doors and into the backyard.

Croquet is set up and ready, just like usual.

“Tyler said you decided to go with him,” my dad says as he lines up his first hit.

“He asked me to go, and there was no reason I couldn’t,” I reply, watching his ball sail through the first two wickets. Surprisingly, he misses the third.

“Tyler has got quite the line-up of prospective clients. Should be a good experience.”

“Yeah. He mentioned you recommended me.”

My ball goes through the first wicket but then bounces off one side of the second, stalling in place.

My dad doesn’t take his turn. He studies me. “This trip is optional, Hannah. If Tyler indicated otherwise—”

“He didn’t. It’s fine. I’ll go.”

I’m looking forward to it. And dreading it. Just one of many things I have complicated feelings toward at the moment.

“Have you talked to Oliver recently?”

“Dad,” I warn.

“What, I can’t ask about my son-in-law?”

My grip tightens around the handle of the mallet. “Ex-son-in-law.”

“I’ve seen enough couples get divorced to know it doesn’t happen quite that fast, sweetheart.”

“Just because it isn’t official doesn’t mean it’s not happening.”

“The answer to an impulsive decision isn’t another one, Hannah. We have a New York office.”

I look away from the course, at the plantings filling the flowerbeds instead. “I thought you’d hate him. Mom insisted I ask him. I never thought he’d come, and I was certain you’d agree divorce was best.”

“Whether you stay married is entirely your decision, Hannah. Oliver wasn’t who I was expecting. And once I found out he was a Kensington…well, Arthur Kensington has a reputation in the business world. He’s ruthless. I wasn’t sure how that would transfer to his son.”

“You like him,” I surmise. It comes out sounding like an accusation.

My father nods. “Yeah. I do. But it doesn’t matter how I feel about him, Hannah. It matters how you do.”

And then he turns back to the game, leaving me to contemplate that.