Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
I smoothed down my dress for the hundredth time as I stepped off the elevator into the hotel lobby, my heart doing a little flip when I spotted Max waiting. He was engrossed in checking something on his phone, giving me a moment to appreciate how the cut of his jacket emphasized his broad shoulders.
Eventually, he looked up, and for a split second, his expression slipped. His eyes traveled down my body, lingering on the way my dress hugged my curves before snapping back up to my face. I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.
“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice a deep rumble, when I finally reached him.
Before I could return the compliment, a familiar screech pierced the air. “Hannah Elizabeth Carlisle!”
I froze, my eyes going wide as I turned to see my mother practically running—a feat given she claimed she could barely walk on a good day—layers upon layers of Pepto Bismol chiffon floating behind her like wings.
“Mom—” I started, but she was already wrapping me up in a surprisingly strong hug.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded, pulling back to hold me at arm’s length, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “All this time! I just knew there had to be a reason neither of you had settled down yet.”
Oh god.
What have I gotten myself into? What have I gotten Max into? Wait—this was his idea! What has he gotten me into?
“Mrs. Carlisle,” Max started to speak, but my mother rounded on him, jabbing a perfectly manicured talon into his chest.
“Don’t you ‘Mrs. Carlisle’ me, young man! I’ve known you since you were twelve years old. How many times do I have to tell you—it’s Linda.” And then she threw her arms around him, too, actually sniffling now. “I always hoped … I mean, the way you two would look at each other when you thought no one was watching?—”
“Mom!” I hissed, heat crawling up my neck.
Shit . This was precisely what I’d been afraid of.
My mother ignored me completely as she commenced patting Max’s cheeks like a stereotypical Nonna in some movie featuring an Italian-American grandmother. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you two finally figured it out! Though I suppose it makes sense that you’d wait until you were both established in your careers. Very sensible.” She pulled her hands from his face to dab at her eyes with a tissue she’d excavated from her cleavage before turning her attention to me. “Though honestly, Hannah, thirty-five is pushing it a bit if you want to give me grandchildren.”
“Mother,” I cut in, my voice loud enough to draw several pairs of eyes our way. I smiled—grimaced?—and waved at my family across the room as Max’s hand found the small of my back. “The last thing either of us needs right now is pressure about kids. We want to take things slow.” I held her gaze, letting her see that I meant business and absolutely would not, under any circumstances, entertain this topic of conversation.
My mother’s eyes narrowed. “Taking things slow?” she said, her voice rising several octaves. “Maxwell James Bennett!” She pushed up onto her toes and smacked the side of his head. “You’ve been in love with my daughter since well before you had any right to be. Don’t you dare try to tell me after all this time you’re treating her like one of your usual cast-offs.” She huffed out an offended snort, turning her face away from him and lifting her proud chin high in the air as his hand twitched against my back.
So much for not drawing any undo attention, I thought, risking a glance at Max to see how he was handling my mother’s ridiculous behavior. His expression remained carefully neutral, but there was a tightness around his eyes I’d never seen before.
Frankly, I didn’t know whether to be happy or embarrassed about my mom’s sudden protectiveness. Not once in the history of ever had she defended my supposed honor the way she had just now. I’d always been on the receiving end of one of her diatribes, usually focused on all the ways in which I was ruining my life by not making myself more available to men who might be interested.
And yet, while a small part of me thought it was nice that, for once in my life, my mom perceived someone else to be the problem, I couldn’t help but also wish she might have kept her voice down while laying into the man standing next to me.
I wasn’t the only one, either.
“Linda!” My Aunt Marie’s voice cut through the lobby as she bustled over, drawn by her sister’s outburst. “What in heaven’s name are you shouting about?”
My mother spun around, practically vibrating with excitement, her mouth split into a wide smile. “Marie! You’ll never believe it—Hannah and Max are together!”
“Together?” Another voice chimed in—my cousin Rachel this time, materializing with her younger sister Jessica in tow. “As in together together ?” She screwed up her face in apparent disbelief as Jessica’s eyes went wide with shock.
“Finally!” Aunt Marie clasped her hands together. “I always said they’d figure it out eventually.”
I watched in horror as more relatives began drifting over, seemingly drawn by the commotion. My mother, holding court in front of an ever-growing audience, was practically glowing.
“What do you mean finally ?” Rachel asked through gritted teeth.
That was when I remembered I wasn’t the only woman in the DeLuca family who’d been pining after Max. A couple of years ago, he and Rachel had attended a dinner party where they’d been seated next to one another as the only singles the host had invited. Over beers at my brother’s a few nights later, he’d told us how he’d recognized our cousin from all the times David had dragged him to family events and, not wanting to seem rude, had approached her over cocktails to say hello. In his version of the story, Rachel had spent the whole night hitting on him even though he’d tried his best not to encourage her advances.
When Rachel called me up that same week to press me for details on “that smoke show doctor your brother is friends with,” her version of events was drastically different. According to Rachel, Max hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of her and, at the end of the night, had practically begged for her number. Not wanting to hurt my cousin’s feelings, I’d tried to gently explain to her that Max wasn’t really a relationship kind of guy and that she might want to slow her roll when it came to planning their wedding. She’d huffed and told me I was just jealous before hanging up on me. We hadn’t really spoken much since then, and the dirty look she currently shot my way told me exactly what she thought of Max and I dating now.
My mother turned to my cousin, her face beaming with happiness. “Everyone knows these two were meant for each other.” She turned to my Aunt Marie. “Remember when Hannah graduated nursing school? Max flew back early from that big conference in London just to be there. And he brought this enormous bouquet of daisies because Hannah had once mentioned they were her favorite flower—back when she was, what, fourteen?”
That memory hit me like a punch to the gut. All day, I’d been so stressed about starting my new job at the hospital, wondering if I could handle the pressure, but then I’d looked up to see Max striding across the lawn carrying what had to have been every daisy in the greater Boston area.
Rachel huffed, crossed her arms over her chest, and then turned on her very high heel to stomp away. When she’d gone ten feet, she turned around and barked at Jessica, “Well? Are you coming or not?”
Jessica gave me a small, sympathetic smile before following her older sister across the lobby.
“Mom,” I tried, mortified over the direction this situation was heading. But she was well and truly on a roll now, and when she got this way, nothing short of a natural disaster could stop Linda DeLuca Carlisle.
“And remember when he drove back from Boston in that terrible snowstorm just because Hannah was home sick with the flu?” She turned to Max, her eyes sparkling. “David told me you didn’t even hesitate. Just got in your car the minute Hannah called asking him to bring her medicine.”
“That’s not—” I started, but Max cut me off.
“She had a fever of 103,” he said quietly. “And David was stuck in Portland.” His thumb traced a small circle against my back, probably meant to be comforting, but it sent shivers down my spine instead. “Of course I came.”
Something in his voice made my chest tight. I remembered that night—how he’d shown up at my door with soup and medicine, how he’d stayed up watching terrible reality TV with me until my fever broke. I’d always assumed David had asked him to, but the way he was looking at me now …
“And now look at you two!” my mother continued, dabbing at her eyes again. “Together at last. Though I have to say, Hannah, I’m a little hurt you didn’t tell me sooner. How long has this been going on?”
“We wanted to keep it quiet,” Max answered smoothly before I could fumble for a response. “Make sure it was real before we told everyone.”
My mother’s eyes narrowed as she directed her next question my way. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding my calls lately?”
“I haven’t been avoiding your calls,” I lied.
“You have, too! I tried calling you three times last week, and it went straight to voicemail.” She turned to Max. “Please tell me she doesn’t pull that on you, too. Because that’s what Hannah does when she’s scared of her feelings. Remember that time in college when?—”
“Mom!” I finally managed to cut her off. Pointing to the stream of people entering the atrium attached to the lobby where the rehearsal dinner was taking place, I said, “Dinner is about to start. We should head in.”
As if on cue, my Aunt Bettina waved her sisters over. Without another word, my mom and Aunt Marie shuffled her way.
I sagged against Max’s side, beyond grateful for the reprieve.
He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. “You okay?”
I suppressed a shiver. “Ask me after I’ve had a drink—or five.”
His low chuckle vibrated through me. “Come on. I think I see the bar.”
We made our way into the glass-domed dining room, Max’s hand never leaving my back. The space was gorgeous—all crystal chandeliers and red and white roses—their heady perfume mixing with the aromas of garlic and herbs drifting from the kitchen. Cutlery clinked against plates as the wait staff arranged place settings, their quiet efficiency a counterpoint to the rising chorus of voices as more people filtered in.
But I barely noticed any of it. I was too focused on the warmth of Max’s touch, on the way he kept me close as we navigated through clusters of my relatives. His fingers splayed protectively against my lower back, the pressure just firm enough to guide me while setting every nerve ending on fire. I found myself grateful for the growing dimness that hopefully hid my flushed cheeks.
“Manhattan?” he asked as we reached the bar, and my heart did a little flip at the way he raised his eyebrow at me.
“Please, and make it a double.”
He smiled—that devastatingly handsome half-smile that always made my knees weak—and turned to the bartender. “Two Manhattans, please.”
“Rough night?” the bartender asked sympathetically.
Max glanced over to where my mother was now regaling my aunts with what appeared to be the story of how he’d taught me to drive stick shift in his old Jeep if her wild gesticulations were anything to go by. “You could say that.”
The bartender slid our drinks across the bar, and I immediately took a generous sip, savoring the bourbon as it coated my tastebuds. Max’s hand found my lower back again as he guided me toward our assigned seats, which—because the universe truly hated me—were right next to Rachel and Jessica.
My cousin didn’t even try to hide her glare as we approached. She leaned over to whisper something to her sister, who at least had the grace to look uncomfortable.
“Twenty bucks says she brings up that dinner party,” I murmured, just loud enough for Max to hear.
His thumb traced a small circle against my back. “And here I thought you were done taking sucker bets after the great mini-golf incident of 2022.”
I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling at the memory. He pulled out my chair before taking his own seat. As he settled beside me, his leg brushed mine under the table, but I tried not to read anything into the contact.
“So,” Jessica ventured, trying to break the tension in our group. “Are you still at New England General, Max?”
“Youngest Chief of Pediatric Oncology the hospital’s ever seen,” I answered before Max could demur about this significant achievement. It was a position he’d worked hard for, and I was inordinately proud of all he’d accomplished.
Max shifted in his seat, and I recognized his tell—the way he always felt a little uncomfortable talking about his achievements. Many doctors I knew were in it for the prestige and loved to boast about their positions, but not Max. He genuinely wanted to make a difference in young patients’ lives, and when he spoke, his voice carried that intensity he felt when discussing them.
“The transition was challenging,” he admitted. “Of course, I miss having as much direct patient contact, but being Chief means I can implement programs that help more kids in the long run. For example, we’ve doubled our clinical trial participation, launched a support program for siblings of cancer patients, and we’re working on making our entire floor more family-friendly.” His expression brightened. “Actually, we just got approval for therapy dogs in the oncology ward.”
“That must be fascinating,” Jessica noted. From the way she was leaning in and hanging on Max’s every word, I could tell she was genuinely interested in what he had to say.
Not that I should have been surprised. Jessica was a teacher at a nationally recognized academy in the area, and last we’d spoken, she’d mentioned wanting to pursue her Master’s degree so that she could move into administration.
“Nothing could be as fascinating as the story of how these two finally got together,” my mother chimed in, suddenly appearing beside our table as if she’d materialized from thin air. “I mean, Hannah’s been in love with Max since?—”
I caught movement over my mother’s shoulder that offered the perfect escape from this conversation. “Hey, Mom. Aren’t you supposed to be on Uncle Tony duty tonight? I just saw him heading straight toward the bar.”
Unfortunately, she simply waved off my attempt at distraction. “He’s fine; the bartender knows not to serve him. Now, Max, tell everyone how you finally worked up the courage to ask my daughter out.”
I felt Max tense beside me for a fraction of a second before his usual easy confidence took over. He turned to face me, his expression softening in a way that made my heart skip. “Actually, Hannah made the first move.”
Wait, what?
“She did?” My mother and Rachel asked simultaneously with vastly different tones of voice.
“She did.” Max’s eyes stayed glued to mine, and there was something in them—some mix of mischief and warmth that had me holding my breath as I waited to hear what else he might say. “We were at David’s watching the Patriots lose again. The game was so boring that Hannah actually fell asleep on my shoulder despite her brother hollering at the television.”
“That never happened, and you know it!” I protested automatically. I had no idea where Max was going with this story, but I couldn’t let him besmirch my good name. As a dyed-in-the-wool Patriots fan, I would never fall asleep during a game (except, of course, for that one time a month or so ago when I actually had fallen asleep during the third quarter after working a double shift).
His grin widened. “Anyway, when she woke up, she looked up at me and said …” He paused, his expression turning suddenly tender in a way that felt almost too real. “She said she’d dreamed that we were together, and maybe we should give it a shot.”
My mouth went dry. He was making all of this up, but something about the way he told the story felt so natural that, for a moment, I could almost believe it had happened exactly the way he described. The fact that he remembered my actual nap during that game—how I’d dozed off against his shoulder despite my brother screaming about the ref—made it worse somehow. Or better. I couldn’t decide which. He was weaving truth and fiction together so seamlessly that I found myself wondering if I’d really said something in my sleep that day. If maybe I had dreamed about us being together.
The scariest part was how right it felt, sitting here with his thumb tracing patterns on my knuckles while he spun our love story for my family. How easily I could picture it happening just the way he described—me, my sleepiness giving way to a level of honesty I’d never meant to reveal by finally admitting what I’d been feeling for years. Him, waiting all this time for me to be ready.
But this wasn’t real. No matter how much my heart raced when he looked at me like that, no matter how natural it felt to lean into his touch, this was all pretend. I had to remember that.
“And?” my mother prodded, practically bouncing on her toes.
Max’s hand found mine under the table, our fingers linking together. “And she was right.”
Rachel made a small sound of disgust and pushed back from the table. “I need another drink.”
I barely noticed her departure. I was too caught up in the way Max was looking at me, in how his hand felt wrapped around mine, in how easy it would be to believe this wasn’t all pretend.
What I did notice, however, was from the table behind us, Melody’s sister Sophia was whispering none-too-quietly to her husband, saying, “I always thought there was something between those two. Remember Uncle Tony’s birthday party and the way Max refused to leave her side?”
“You’d twisted your ankle,” Max murmured close to my ear, his breath stirring goosebumps along my skin. “I promised to keep you entertained while David chased after that redhead.”
I couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “Hardly a chore, especially when Katie kept bringing us champagne.” What I didn’t tell him was that a few days later, Katie had confessed she’d been hoping Max and I might find ourselves drunkenly falling into bed together. She’d been so disappointed when I told her he’d held my hair back while I puked my guts out instead.
He chuckled. “Thank god for Uber.”
“I couldn’t drink champagne for months afterward—and you know how much I love my bubbly.”
Before Max could respond, another of my aunts appeared at our table, fixing him with a stern look. “You better be serious about our Hannah, young man. Some of us have been waiting far too long for you to come to your senses,” she scolded before harrumphing and stalking off toward the cookie table on the other side of the room.
My smile felt brittle as I watched her go. Between my mother’s enthusiasm, Rachel’s hostility, and now my many aunts delivering dire warnings, the weight of our pretending was becoming unbearable.
Max must have read that in my expression because he squeezed my hand. “Hey,” he said softly, leaning close. “You’ve done your time. Want to get out of here?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. He smoothly made our excuses—something about an early morning call with the hospital board—and guided me toward the exit, his hand steady against my back as my thoughts spiraled.
The elevator ride up to our suite was silent, charged with something I refused to give name to. Max seemed tense, his body still in a way that made my stomach twist. Was he regretting coming here with me? Had my family’s behavior toward our supposed relationship made him worry about how this would all play out? Max was like the second son my mother never had. What if this ruse, when it eventually ended, caused a rift that couldn’t be repaired?
When we reached our room, he waited until the door clicked shut behind us before running a hand through his hair and blowing out a long, slow breath. The mask he’d worn all night slipped from his face, and I realized he looked suddenly uncomfortable.
“Hey,” I ventured. “Are you okay?” Even as I asked, I was terrified he’d tell me that he wasn’t. That this had all been a horrible mistake.
He paced to the window and back, his erratic movements so different from his usual grace. He finally came to a stop and faced me, his hands splayed on his hips. “I just … that story I told downstairs?” He turned his face away, his jaw ticking.
“About me falling asleep on you?” I clarified, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What about it?”
He turned back to me, his expression more serious than I’d ever seen it. He blew out another breath before saying, “So I’ve been thinking …”