Chapter 1 - The Face I Almost Hid
Rachel Bennett gripped the little pink makeup bag and whispered:
“I shouldn’t have come.”
Across the table, billionaire Ethan Cole noticed the cracked silver compact inside it.
Three tiny letters had been scratched into the back:
“R.B.B.”
Ethan stopped smiling.
He knew those initials.
Fifteen minutes earlier, Rachel had been standing under the fluorescent light in her apartment bathroom, staring at herself as if the mirror had betrayed her.
“No. No, no, no.”
She pulled open the top drawer.
Nothing.
Second drawer.
Nothing.
She dumped her canvas tote onto the bathroom floor.
Wallet.
Keys.
Phone charger.
Receipts.
A packet of tissues.
Two pens.
One lonely tube of lip balm.
But no concealer.
No foundation.
No mascara.
No blush.
The small collection of products Rachel had spent years learning to use as armor was sitting in a makeup case on the dresser at her sister’s apartment across town.
She remembered exactly why.
Her younger sister, Claire, had borrowed it for a wedding the night before.
Rachel closed her eyes.
Her blind date started in fifteen minutes.
The restaurant was twenty minutes away.
She was already late.
Her phone buzzed.
CLAIRE: Please tell me you’re going.
Rachel stared at the message.
RACHEL: You still have my makeup.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Then:
CLAIRE: Oh no.
Another message.
CLAIRE: Rachel, GO ANYWAY.
Rachel looked back at the mirror.
Without concealer, the faint freckles across her nose were obvious. So were the shadows beneath her eyes from three nights of poor sleep.
There was a tiny pale scar near her left eyebrow.
She hated that scar.
Not because it was ugly.
Because it reminded her of the worst year of her life.
Her phone buzzed again.
CLAIRE: If a man can’t handle your actual face, he doesn’t deserve dessert.
Rachel almost laughed.
Almost.
Then she looked at the clock.
She had two choices.
Cancel again.
Or go.
Rachel had spent most of the previous two years canceling.
She canceled parties when she felt underdressed.
She canceled photographs when she thought she looked tired.
She canceled dates whenever the possibility of rejection became more frightening than loneliness.
Tonight was supposed to be different.
Claire had arranged the date through a friend and refused to reveal much.
“He’s successful,” Claire had said.
“How successful?”
“Very.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“He’s nice.”
“That sounds more ominous.”
Claire had laughed.
Rachel had agreed only because Claire made her promise not to search his name beforehand.
So Rachel knew almost nothing about the man waiting for her.
She slipped into her cream dress, pinned her brown hair into a loose bun, grabbed the small pink pouch containing whatever cosmetic scraps remained, and left.
Twenty-three minutes later, she entered Bellamy House.
Her confidence disappeared immediately.
Crystal glasses.
White linen.
Tall windows.
Men in tailored jackets.
Women who looked as though they had stepped directly out of magazine advertisements.
Rachel stopped near the host stand.
This had been a mistake.
“Ms. Bennett?”
She turned.
The hostess smiled.
“Your party is already seated.”
Of course he was.
Rachel followed her through the dining room.
Then she saw him.
He was seated beside a sunlit window.
Dark brown hair.
Black suit.
Open white shirt.
No tie.
Calm posture.
The sort of face that made Rachel briefly wonder whether Claire had accidentally arranged a date with someone from an advertisement.
He stood when she approached.
“Rachel?”
“Yes.”
His smile was surprisingly warm.
“Ethan.”
“Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re four minutes late.”
Rachel blinked.
He glanced at his watch.
“I was hoping saying that would make you less nervous.”
It worked.
Barely.
She smiled.
“Did I look that nervous?”
“You stopped twice between the entrance and this table.”
Rachel stared at him.
“You counted?”
“I notice things.”
Something about those three words stayed with her.
They sat.
A server poured water.
For the first few minutes, conversation remained safe.
Work.
Books.
New York.
Bad blind dates.
Rachel learned that Ethan worked in investment and technology.
What he did not mention was that he was Ethan Cole, founder of Cole Meridian Holdings, whose personal fortune had been estimated at several billion dollars.
Rachel had kept her promise.
She had not searched him.
That fact fascinated him.
Most people knew who he was before they shook his hand.
Rachel simply knew him as Ethan.
It was the first normal conversation he had experienced on a date in years.
Then Rachel reached into her purse.
Her hand found the pink makeup bag.
She hesitated.
Ethan noticed.
“You okay?”
Rachel exhaled.
“This is going to sound ridiculous.”
“Those are usually the interesting sentences.”
“I forgot my makeup.”
He waited.
Rachel expected something.
A joke.
A polite dismissal.
A glance toward the perfectly groomed woman sitting two tables away.
Nothing came.
She opened the bag anyway.
“I had this whole plan. I was going to fix myself in the cab.”
“Fix yourself?”
Rachel looked up.
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure I do.”
She felt heat rise into her cheeks.
“I probably look terrible.”
Ethan's expression changed.
Not dramatically.
His eyes simply softened.
“Actually,” he said, “I noticed something else.”
Rachel's fingers stopped on the zipper.
“What?”
He leaned forward slightly.
“You stopped pretending.”
Rachel stared at him.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
“That’s a strange thing to say to someone you’ve known for twelve minutes.”
“Probably.”
“Is that your billionaire-level dating technique?”
His eyebrows lifted.
Rachel froze.
“Wait.”
Ethan smiled.
“You figured it out?”
“No. I was joking.”
That made him laugh.
A real laugh.
Rachel narrowed her eyes.
“What exactly do you do?”
“I run Cole Meridian.”
Her face went blank.
“The Cole Meridian?”
“I assume there’s only one.”
Rachel slowly placed both hands over her face.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“I told a billionaire I almost canceled because I forgot concealer.”
“You also insulted my dating technique.”
“I need to leave.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I absolutely do.”
“Rachel.”
Something in his voice stopped her.
“You didn't know who I was when you walked in.”
“No.”
“And for the last twelve minutes, you've spoken to me like a person.”
“That’s generally how conversation works.”
“Not in my life.”
The humor left his face.
Rachel studied him.
For the first time, she saw something beneath the confidence.
Exhaustion.
Maybe loneliness.
She knew that look.
She had worn it herself.
Her fingers loosened around the makeup bag.
Ethan's eyes dropped toward it.
That was when he noticed the compact.
Silver.
Old.
Scratched.
Rachel saw his attention shift.
“What?”
“That compact.”
She pulled it halfway out.
“This?”
“Can I see it?”
Her hesitation was immediate.
“My mother gave it to me.”
“I won't damage it.”
Rachel placed it in his hand.
Ethan turned it over.
The initials were still there.
R.B.B.
His expression became unreadable.
“Those initials aren't yours.”
Rachel stiffened.
“How do you know?”
“Your middle name?”
“Anne.”
Ethan looked at the letters again.
“Who was your mother?”
Rachel took the compact back.
“Why?”
“Rachel.”
The warmth had vanished from his voice.
Not replaced by anger.
By recognition.
“My mother was Rebecca Bennett.”
Ethan's eyes snapped to hers.
Rachel immediately regretted answering.
“What?”
He didn't respond.
“Did you know her?”
Before Ethan could answer, a wineglass shattered somewhere behind Rachel.
A woman at a nearby table had dropped it.
She wasn't looking at the broken glass.
She was staring directly at Rachel.
The woman rose.
She was perhaps sixty.
Elegant.
Silver-blonde hair.
Her face had gone pale.
“Rebecca?”
Rachel's breath caught.
“My name is Rachel.”
The woman took one step closer.
“No.”
Ethan stood.
“Victoria.”
Rachel looked between them.
“You know her?”
Victoria ignored Ethan.
Her eyes remained fixed on Rachel.
“Where did you get that compact?”
Rachel closed her fingers around it.
“It belonged to my mother.”
Victoria's hand flew to her mouth.
Ethan moved between them.
“Victoria, not here.”
Rachel stood.
“Someone needs to tell me what’s happening.”
Victoria looked at Ethan.
Then at the compact.
Then back at Rachel.
“You never told her?”
Rachel turned sharply.
“Told me what?”
Ethan's jaw tightened.
“I met you twenty minutes ago.”
Victoria seemed to realize something.
Her expression shifted.
Fear replaced shock.
“Then she really doesn't know.”
“Know what?”
No answer.
Rachel's phone buzzed on the table.
Claire.
Rachel ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Then again.
Finally Rachel grabbed it.
Three messages filled the screen.
CLAIRE: Rachel, call me NOW.
CLAIRE: I searched Ethan after you left.
Then the third message appeared.
Rachel read it twice.
Her blood went cold.
CLAIRE: Mom's name is on his company's original incorporation documents.
Rachel slowly lifted her eyes toward Ethan.
He was already watching her.
Before she could speak, Victoria reached into her purse and placed an old photograph on the table.
Rachel looked down.
Her mother was standing in the center.
Young.
Smiling.
Beside her stood a much younger Ethan.
And on Rebecca Bennett's other side was a man Rachel had spent her entire life believing was dead.
Her father.
Rachel touched the photograph.
“My father died before I was born.”
Victoria's face tightened.
“No, Rachel.”
A shadow appeared behind them.
Someone had approached the table.
Then a man's voice said her name.
“Rachel Bennett?”
She turned.
The compact slipped from her fingers.
May you like
Because she knew that voice.
And the man standing behind her was supposed to have been dead for twenty-eight years.
