The Plaza tea room is exactly what I expected.
Crystal chandeliers. White tablecloths. Women in pearls discussing charity galas.
I do not belong here.
Vanessa, however, looks like she was born in this room.
She sits at a corner table in cream silk and tailored slacks, hair swept into an elegant twist. When she sees me, she smiles and waves like we’re old friends.
I hate how natural she makes it look.
“Zara.” She air-kisses both my cheeks. “You came. I wasn’t sure you would.”
“You made it sound important.”
“It is. Sit. Tea?”
“Sure.”
She signals the waiter with a subtle gesture. “The Darjeeling, please. Two cups.”
We sit in silence, studying each other.
“You’re wondering why I asked you here,” Vanessa says finally.
“Among other things.”
“Such as?”
“Such as how you know about m
