“Houses, husbands, and midnight gin parties,” Nick said. “Nothing’s going to change. Not in any way that really matters. It will be like always.”
Nick had put on Count Basie and the ebb and flow of the jazz filled the sitting room, along with the cheerful sound of ice cubes hitting glass.
Her hand shook as she poured the martinis and she had to swab up the tears of vodka that had dribbled down the glasses. She placed them on a silver tray with olives. Nick stood back and looked at them, marveling at how something could look so clean and be so poisonous at the same time.
Her voice was light, but beneath her pretty green dress and her cocktails, Hughes saw a new fragility, like something splintering.