Avery gives Rebecca a sympathetic look. Rebecca does an excellent job of hiding it, but the delicate skin under her eyes is puffy as if she's been crying a lot. I wonder if she's having problems with her boyfriend, Avery thinks. I'd be devastated if I moved across the world to be with my boyfriend only to find out he's too busy to see me.

"Come on, let's go," Avery says. "I just have to stop on the way out and say goodbye to a friend."

"Of course, take your time," Rebecca says, picking up her purse and smoothing her skirt. "I'll wait for you in the garage."

Avery pops her head into Emily's office and explains the situation with Rebecca. Emily promises to schedule a meeting with her father as soon as he's back from his business trip. Avery gives her a quick hug goodbye and heads down to the garage, dismissing Andrew's driver on the way.

Rebecca is waiting for her in the driver's seat of a cherry-red Porsche. She gives Avery a happy wave and opens the passenger door. Avery climbs in, and Rebecca drives out of the garage, working the manual transmission with ease.

"Are you sure your husband doesn't mind that I'm stealing his wife for dinner?" Rebecca asks.

"I don't think so," Avery says.

It seems too difficult to explain her situation with Andrew to Rebecca. Besides, Avery knows she needs to be careful—Rebecca may look trustworthy, but she's a virtual stranger.

"That's sweet," Rebecca says with a sad smile. "You guys seem very comfortable together—I envy that. I hope I can have your happiness someday."

Rebecca steers the car onto the highway and away from the city center. Highway signs flash overhead as they get further and further from the city. Soon they're in a residential area, far from all the restaurants. Rebecca exits the highway and turns into a gated community of French-style villas called Garden City. She pulls into a gravel driveway and parks the car.

"I hope you don't mind," she says. "I seldom eat at restaurants in my own country because I love cooking. I thought I'd make you a home-cooked meal if that's okay."

"You can cook?" Avery asks.

"A little," Rebecca says, but her cheeks glow with pride.

Rebecca hands the car keys to a waiting servant and leads Avery into the house. I'm impressed, Avery thinks. She has the grace and manners of a noblewoman, but she's so modest. She drives her own car and cooks her own food. I don't know any upper-class women here who do that.

The entryway is large but almost empty. A small antique cabinet sits next to the door, and Rebecca kneels down and pulls out two pairs of slippers. There's a small pink pair and a much larger navy blue pair.

"I'm sorry, but my boyfriend just had the floors redone, would you mind wearing these instead of your shoes?" Rebecca asks. "I just have these two pairs. Would you mind wearing my boyfriend's? He hasn't worn them yet—they're still brand new."

"Are you sure he'll be okay with that?" Avery asks.

"Sure," Rebecca says sadly. "I'll probably have time to buy him a new pair before he comes to visit me again."

Avery slides the slippers on. There's a huge gap at the back, and she feels like she's wearing clown shoes. She follows Rebecca down the long hall, walking slowly, so she doesn't trip on the huge shoes.

"Did you have a chef back home?" Avery asks.

"I've always cooked for myself," Rebecca answers. "I like it better that way. Actually, I'm a fairly private person. The maid here helps with cleaning, but she goes home every night. I basically live by myself."

Avery looks around as they walk. Though Rebecca just moved in, the house is fully furnished. Everything in it seems to come in a matching set. There are two loveseats in the living room with two end tables and reading lamps. In the kitchen, his and hers mugs sit next to the coffee pot, waiting for Rebecca and her boyfriend to use them. It's clear that Rebecca has tried to make the house a romantic retreat for her boyfriend.

The kitchen has a modern, open floor-plan with a marble-topped island in the middle. Rebecca walks around the room, opening cabinets, and selecting ingredients. She puts them all on the island and washes her hands at the sink.

"How many people are you cooking for?" Avery asks.

There's an entire head of crisp green lettuce, a pound of ripe tomatoes, and piles of finely chopped herbs and spices. There seems to be enough food to feed a small dinner party.

"Just for us," Rebecca says, drying her hands. "It seems like a lot, but most of this will cook down."

Avery watches Rebecca work with fascination. The woman is just as graceful with a knife as she is with everything else. She slices and chops each ingredient with delicate flicks of her wrist. Then she pours oil into a pan and fries a thick cut of salmon. Hot steam swirls up from the pan, but Rebecca doesn't seem to mind.

"Is your boyfriend joining us?" Avery asks.

"I'm not expecting him," Rebecca says. "He's very busy."

Rebecca's phone starts to ring, and she drops the spatula and rushes to answer it. She runs to the living room and sits down on the sofa. Avery grabs the spatula and lifts the salmon out of the pan and onto a plate. The bottom of the fish is perfectly seared, and the top is dotted with dark green herbs and spices.

The pan is still sizzling hot, and the oil pops and crackles. Avery looks over at Rebecca, but she seems focused on the conversation. She sits straight and proper on the sofa with her legs crossed at the ankle. Though she knows she shouldn't eavesdrop, Avery can't help but listen. She wonders if Rebecca is talking to her mysterious boyfriend.

"I promise, I'm doing well," Rebecca says. "I'm adjusting and taking care of the house."

The pan makes a loud cracking sound, and hot oil shoots into the air and splatters onto the counter. Avery rushes over and turns the heat off.

"Listen, I'm cooking right now, and it's almost finished," Rebecca says into the phone. "Please take care of yourself and eat well, Pop. If I find out you're eating anything that could trigger your gout, I won't come to visit you. The housekeepers will tell me the truth."

Rebecca ends the call and walks back into the kitchen. Avery smiles guiltily at her new friend and looks at the fresh vegetables on the counter. Rebecca grabs a knife and starts shredding the lettuce and arranging it on the plate. She takes a small, wickedly sharp blade and carves the tomatoes into roses.

"Can I help with anything?" Avery asks.

"Leave it to me, Avery," Rebecca says. "What kind of host would I be if I made my guests prepare their own dinners? Besides, you've been on your feet all day. Please go sit down and relax a moment. There are some magazines on the table if you want something to do."

Avery sits on the sofa and flips through a fashion magazine. Velvet throw pillows decorate the pale blue sofa, and a plush rug covers the floor. In the corner, a fireplace crackles warmly. As cozy as the room is, it still feels cold and lonely. I'd hate to live here all alone, she thinks. Rebecca must be lonelier than she lets on.

The doorbell rings, and Rebecca rushes through the living room and down the hallway. She smooths her hair and straightens her skirt as she goes. Her smile is bright and charming, but her forehead is creased with worry. Avery knows she needs to stop eavesdropping, but she holds her breath and listens to the conversation echoing down the hall.

"Oh, I didn't think you would come," Rebecca says. "I'm sorry I let the guest wear your slippers. No matter, just come in with your shoes on."

Avery's curiosity gets the better of her, and she stands and walks closer to the hallway. It sounds like Rebecca is talking to her boyfriend, and Avery wants to get a look at him. There's a pause while he answers, but Avery can't make out his voice.

"Aren't you going to come in?" Rebecca asks, sounding worried. "Dinner is almost finished, and there's more than enough for you to join us. If you don't have time, maybe you could stay for a drink. I want you to meet my new friend."

There's another pause while the man replies. He must be whispering, Avery thinks. I can't hear a word he's saying.

"She's a jewelry designer at D. O.—I just met her today," Rebecca says.

Avery hears footsteps, and she leaps away from the door, and rushes back to the sofa, tripping over the giant slippers. A tall man follows Rebecca into the room, and Avery's breath catches in her throat—it's Evan.

He looks down at her with an unreadable expression, and she feels her face flush. Her heart twists painfully in her chest, and her thoughts chase themselves around her head. A part of her wants to run out of the room, but she stays frozen on the sofa, like a bird transfixed by a snake.

"Avery, allow me to introduce my boyfriend: Evan Howel," Rebecca says. "Evan, this is my new friend, Avery Peters. I just met her today."

Evan glares down at her with daggers in his eyes and sneers, "She doesn't deserve your friendship."