Page 1 of It's a Widow Thing

CHAPTERONE

There werepeople all over Manhattan who would’ve killed for an invitation to the Van Cleeves’ party. Sabrina Kelly was about to be sick over it.

Eyes fixed on the numbers above the elevator door, she tapped her foot like she was keeping time for a woodpecker. Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears and as the floors ticked by, her breathing got shallower.Seventeen. Eighteen. Her hands became cold and clammy.Nineteen.A few more seconds and she’d be at the penthouse. There’d be no turning back.

Or would there?

An exit strategy. Yes.Just think of a way out.It would need to be clever—nothing lame likeI have a headache. And it would need to be polite. She adored Nora Van Cleeve. Nora was like a sweet, ridiculously wealthy aunt, not that Sabrina would know anything about that. Sabrina’s family never had money. And if she did have an aunt, she sure as hell didn’t know her.

The elevator came to a silent stop and the doors pulled apart, welcoming in a wall of music, conversation, and the persistent clinking of cocktail glasses. The din was unavoidable, like someone had clamped big fat ‘70s headphones on her ears, forcing her to listen to a sound effects record titledInsufferable Cocktail Party. She looked down at her strappy black sandals as she forced her legs to carry her across the threshold and onto the polished hardwood floors of the Van Cleeves’ apartment. She dared to look up. A sea of people churned in twinkly party lighting—men in dark expensive suits, women in sparkly short dresses and heels. Smiles flashed. Laughter bubbled. These people didn’t have a care in the world. Sabrina didn’t belong here.

She wasn’t going to feel sorry for herself though. There was a takeaway from her attack of social anxiety—she had an answer to the question she’d been asking herself since she’d first received her invitation. She wasn’t ready for this. Not for a party. Not yet.

Good to know. Now to escape.

The elevator door closed behind her.Shit.

Her gracious host, Nora, caught sight of her and rushed over, tucking her silvery chin-length bob behind one ear and unleashing a smile as genuine as her chunky diamond earrings. She pulled Sabrina into an embrace. “You made it. I’m so glad.” Nora’s hugs always made Sabrina want to take her out for milkshakes. It was like wrapping her arms around a bird. Nora stepped back. “It’s so nice to see you out and about, darling. I worry about you down in that big apartment all by yourself.”

Nora’s concern was familiar, like a piece of artwork you walk by every day and eventually stop noticing. Sabrina got it from her employees. She got it from perfect strangers if she was unlucky enough to fall into a situation where she had to tell her story. She’d received similar treatment from the nosiest of the residents when she’d moved into this building a year ago. Courtesy of the rumor mill, Sabrina’s story had spread like wildfire—launched a global cosmetics company at thirty-five, married at thirty-eight, widowed right before her fortieth birthday.

Sabrina mustered a smile. At least it could appear as if she were wholly comfortable with being a part of such a celebratory setting. “That’s very sweet, but you don’t need to worry about me. Really. I’m fine.”

Nora took Sabrina’s arm and walked her through the grand foyer into the massive expanse of the luxe apartment. “There are lots of single men I can introduce you to tonight. I think you’re ready.”

Ready—much of Sabrina’s life revolved around that word. Was she? When would she be? Would she ever be? “You haven’t told anyone about me, have you? I mean, about Andrew?” Sabrina didn’t want to spend an entire night tiptoeing around her past. It’d been two years since she’d lost her husband. She might not be ready for much, but she was certainly prepared to take an evening off from enduring someone else’s concern. She was desperate to see if she remembered how to have fun. If she managed five minutes without getting sad and left without shedding a tear, the Van Cleeves’ cocktail party would be an epic win.

“I haven’t said a word.”

“Great. Thank you.”

A waiter drifted toward them with a silver tray of champagne flutes. Sabrina and Nora each took a glass. Sabrina downed half of it in one gulp, hoping to soften her ragged edges.

Nora pointed to a gaunt, pale man standing near the doors out to the terrace, tapping his glass with his fingers and surveying the room. “I don’t remember his name, but he’s single. He works in Walter’s office. One of the senior account managers.”

Judging a man on his looks alone wasn’t Sabrina’s style, but she couldn’t see herself going for a grown man wearing a suit two sizes too big. Unless he was super into the Talking Heads. “Anyone else?”

Nora scanned the room. “Walter suggested his friend over there, in the black sports jacket and light blue shirt.” She subtly nodded in the man’s direction, but Sabrina could’ve spotted him from the observation deck of the Empire State Building, and that was dozens of blocks away. His spray tan was loud and orange, making his lips appear an unnaturally bright shade of pink. “But I’m not sure he’s right for you.”

“Yeah.”Good call, Nora. Good call.

Nora’s husband, Walter, came up behind her. “Hello, Sabrina.” He nodded politely. “I need to steal my lovely wife here for a few minutes if that’s all right with you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be quick,” Nora said.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” Sabrina answered, realizing she really needed to lay off the “fine”.

Nora disappeared into the crowd with Walter.

Here I go. Mingling. By myself. Tralala. Mingle mingle mingle.Sabrina treated the second half of her champagne like a tequila shooter, then bee-lined to the bar in the corner. “Gin and tonic, please.”

The bartender scooped ice into an old-fashioned glass while Sabrina perused the crowd. Hopefully Nora wouldn’t be gone long. Otherwise there’d be no telling how long Sabrina would last, sorely out of practice in the art of working the room.

A high-pitched titter rang out, piercing the roar of party noise. Sabrina quickly spotted its origin—a petite blonde, as well as the person who had apparently elicited it—Michael Wright. He lived at the opposite end of Sabrina’s hall and was her regular morning elevator companion.

Michael caught Sabrina looking and bugged his big brown eyes at her. She shied away for an instant, trying not to smile, which was pretty pointless. Even if he sometimes came off as a bit of a goof, his ability to make her laugh was his superpower. He managed to do it even when he wasn’t trying to be funny, instead brandishing his super-smooth brand of flirtation and not-so-subtle innuendo.