33. An Arrogant Man
Roman
The hangi was uncovered at last, the old man’s great-grandsons wielding the shovels that shifted the mound of dirt out of the enormous pit that was a homemade Maori steam oven. When they pulled the blankets back, a cloud of fragrant steam rose into the air, and I realized how hungry I was. The baskets came out of the ground, the food was put on a serving table that practically groaned under its weight, and I took a plate when my turn came around and piled it with chicken and pork and lamb, kumara and pumpkin and potato and cabbage, and slices off rounds of crusty bread smeared with fresh butter, while Summer followed behind me, piled her plate considerably less high, and didn’t say much at all. I asked her, “Doing OK?” and she gave me the I’m-fine smile that drove me mad and said, “Of course. How about you?”
“Me?” I said. “Why?”
“Roman.” Her gray eyes serious now, her hand on my forearm. “This has to be hard.”
“Maybe Roman doesn’t want you to be understanding.” That was Delilah, of course, who was ahead of me in the queue. “Like, at all.”
A woman going through on the other side of the table, whose hair was as short as Delilah’s, laughed and said, “Oh, man, do you sound like me and my sister.”
“The loving concern,” Delilah said. “It burns. Which one’s your sister? And by the way—which one are you? American, obviously, which is a big ‘huh’ from me. I guess that’ll make Summer and me less unacceptable, anyway. I’m Delilah. Basically nobody, except I’m Summer’s cousin, so I’m Roman’s plus-one’s plus-one. Awkward much?”
“Awkward heaps,” the woman said, “as Jax would say. I’m Karen, and this is Jax behind me. My husband. I still love how that sounds. Possibly not entirely feminist of me. What do you think?”
Jax, who had a startlingly wide blue scar down one side of his face and another beside his nose, and was wearing a prosthetic leg with shorts while holding a little boy by one hand and a plate in the other, said, “Nah. I’ll take being your husband. And I’ll definitely take you being my wife.”
“Ha,” Karen said. “He thinks it sounds lordly or something, but then, he’s kind of a throwback to a manlier time. It’s a family trait, even when the family isn’t, you know, blood. Probably why my heart called to his in the first place, since I’m sort of a Te Mana myself, at least by extension. Jax is Poppy’s brother. I saw that you met Poppy. And I’m Hemi’s sister-in-law, which makes me a sort-of cousin to you, Roman, aren’t you lucky, and doesn’t actually make me mokopuna at all, except it does, because Koro’s the best. He basically adopted Hope and me ages ago, back when Hemi was being evil. That’s not a family trait, fortunately, so don’t worry. That’s just Hemi.”
“Evil?” Delilah’s ears were practically waving, she was listening so hard. “I thought Daniel was the black sheep.”
“Oh, he is,” Karen said. “I’d say more, but you know—circumstances demand a marginal level of tact, at least until Jax and I are in the car and I can gossip and he can look dangerously stern and disapproving and secretly love my frankness. You’ll find out.”
“I’ve already found out,” Delilah said. “He talked smack about Summer’s body and, you know, her sexuality, the first time we met him. That’s Summer, by the way. My cousin. Legit gorgeous, so?—”
“And Roman didn’t shut him down?” Karen asked. “See, Hemi would have totally shut that down. That’s the good part of the hard, ruthless, occasionally evil thing.”
“Oh, he did,” Delilah said with delight. “He stood up and said, ‘Get her name out of your mouth’ in an extremely scary manner. Total domination fest. That’s not really what I go for, because I’d just have slapped him myself if violence weren’t wrong and possibly even though it is, but Summer’s more traditional.”
I considered saying something here, but Karen beat me to it. “I should hate that kind of thing, but—nope. Lovin’ it, sorry.” I noticed that Jax was smiling. He had the sort of smile you’d call “dangerous,” and I realized with a start who he was. Jax MacGregor, scion of one of New Zealand’s wealthiest families and former top model, and current Army bomb-disposal expert. Something flinty around the eyes that told you the ravaged good looks weren’t the whole story, and the scars that told you the rest.
Karen went on, “You’ll find out for yourself what Hemi’s like, because there are three empty seats beside Koro that I’m guessing are for you, and guess who’s sitting opposite? Not enough room for Jax and me, which is too bad, if there are going to be fireworks. I’ll have to get the scoop from Hope later, except she’s so annoyingly tactful that she either won’t say at all, or she’ll be so understanding, she’ll take all the fun out of it.”
“You can get it from me,” Delilah said. “I’m not tactful. I’m also taking notes.”
“Excellent,” Karen said. “Get over there and start taking them. I can’t wait to hear.”
Summer
As we walked over to the table where the old man was ensconced, I told Roman, “Too bad Delilah isn’t your fake girlfriend after all. She’s much better at it than me. Look at all the icebreaking she’s done already.”
“And yet I’m still glad I’m with you,” he said. “Despite your annoying concern and understanding.”
I tried not to let that affect me, but it wasn’t easy. There was something watchful about Roman. Underneath all the decisiveness and toughness, he had a kind of patience, of reserve, that spoke to my heart. He wasn’t tough because he’d wanted to be. He was tough because he’d had to be, and right now, he was going to need all of that. Which he showed me by stepping over the picnic bench beside the old man at the head of the table, then turning and offering me his hand, ignoring Hemi’s dark eyes fixed on him from across the way.
I sat down, smoothing my dress beneath my thighs, so grateful that I’d been able to polish up a little for this. When you’re meeting a famous designer, it doesn’t exactly help your confidence to be sporting ragged cuticles and split ends, not to mention a much-washed T-shirt and skort from Topshop. Also, this had to be Hemi’s wife Hope beside him, looking petite, blonde, and angelically pretty in a pale-blue sleeveless dress that was so simple and so perfect, it must have cost the earth. She proved it by smiling at all of us and saying, “Hi. I’m Hope. American, obviously. I’m not sure if you’ve met Hemi.”
“We’ve met.” Hemi’s voice was almost a growl. His hair was short and extremely well cut, and his T-shirt and shorts looked like nothing so much as a disguise. Also, he wasn’t smiling. That is, until he transferred his gaze from Roman to Delilah and me, when he did smile. A little. And say, “Summer and Delilah.”
“That’s us,” Delilah said. “And you’re Roman’s brother and wishing you weren’t.”
Hope and I both jumped in at the same time, saying something like, “Oh, that’s not—” but Hemi didn’t glower, or whatever I’d expected. He actually laughed and said, “It’s Karen all over again, eh, Hope.”
“My sister,” Hope said.
“I know,” Delilah said. “We met her and got as much of the scoop as she could give us in about two minutes. Hemi used to be evil but now he’s just ruthless and tough and extremely rich and powerful, Daniel is nobody anybody could want as their dad, and you’re tactful and kind like Summer, so you probably won’t ask, but here you go. My mom went to prison for cooking meth, and who knows where my dad is. Who knows who my dad is. Or Summer’s. We’re not exactly pedigreed poodles. Since ancestry matters to Maori and all, you should know—we don’t have any.”
Roman didn’t say anything. He was just looking at Hemi. Hemi shifted his gaze back to him, and, yes, that was pretty much a staredown. Until Hemi spoke again, still to me. “You’re American, eh. Blonde as well.” He glanced at his wife, and I realized what he meant. That Hope and I looked and probably seemed oddly similar, as if half-brothers were like identical twins raised apart, with the same tastes. Which they weren’t.
“I’m blonde,” I said, “but I’m not American anymore, or not entirely. I’ve lived in the UK for eight years. I’m a citizen, in fact.”
“And in New Zealand why?” Hemi asked. “With this bloke why?”
“Hemi.” Hope said it softly, but he glanced at her, his face softened a fraction, and he said, “You don’t know what people can be. And neither does Koro.”
“I’ll bet she does.” That was, somehow, me, because I was getting mad again. “And I’ll bet Koro really does. I’m sorry, do I call you something else?” I leaned around Roman to ask him. “I don’t know the proper … address. Mr. Te Mana.”
He smiled, missing teeth and all. “Nah. Koro’s good. That’s who I am now. Reckon we all become who we are at the end.”
“Thank you,” I said, then turned back to Hemi. “You think I’m a gold-digger. Join the club. Was your wife a gold-digger when you met her, then? Because you’ve had big money for ages, and, sorry, but she looks quite a bit younger than you. Or was she maybe not into all that money and power? Did she tell you instead that she didn’t need some guy running her life and running her over, and you’d better back off if you expected to be with her?” I was sure Delilah was sitting there with her mouth open, but I was going on anyway.
Hemi’s face darkened. “Anybody can do a web search.”
“Anybody can,” I said, “but I didn’t. I looked at you, I looked at her, I heard what Karen said, and I thought about how I felt when I met Roman. Which was exactly like that. It’s great to be a decisive, authoritative person, I’m sure, but it doesn’t mean other people have to submit to your authority.”
“It’s true,” Roman said. “Unfortunately.” Any composure he’d lost, he’d regained. “Didn’t want to take my help. Not with stitches in four places. Not with her campervan in pieces on my hillside, when that was her only home and her cousin’s, too, and she had nowhere to go. And definitely not when I pushed it too hard and suggested she could live with me and avoid having to pay rent. That’s when she ran.”
“Oh, my goodness.” That was Hope, with her hand at her throat. “It’s like … déjà vu. Because that was Hemi,” she told me. “Only worse. He hired me, and can you believe it? I actually took the job. That’s how na?ve I was. I’ll bet you didn’t.”
“No,” Roman said. “Turned me down just this morning on that one.”
“I turned him down,” I was somehow saying, “because I’m not na?ve. Not anymore. I’m Felipe Moyano’s ex-wife.”
“The footballer.” Hemi’s eyes had sharpened, giving him a definite resemblance to a bird of prey. “Went to prison for tax evasion.”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s the story, and that’s me. Acquitted, but bankrupt and disgraced all the same. Your basic pariah.”
“I thought we were avoiding telling this story,” Delilah said.
“Not anymore,” I said. “I’m tired of hiding. I wasn’t a gold-digger back then, I’m sure not one now, and I’m not going to listen to a single person implying that anymore. Not. A. Single. Person.” I was clutching my fork too tightly, so I relaxed my hold with an effort and tried to breathe. Tried to smile. It didn’t work.
“He’s not going to do that,” Roman said. “I’m not going to let him.”
Another staredown, until I said, “I’ve set Hemi straight, Roman. You don’t need to keep defending my honor. Time for me to defend yours.” I told Hemi, “He didn’t want to come today. He doesn’t want anything from anybody, especially not from your father. His father. Which is good, because I’ll bet he wouldn’t get it.”
“You’re right about that,” Hemi said.
“Giving not his love language?” Delilah piped up. “That one took about five seconds to figure out. And guess what? It’s not Roman’s mom’s, either. Boy, is she a taker.”
“Delilah,” I said, feeling Roman stiffen beside me.
“No worries,” Hemi said. “My mum’s the same.” Roman didn’t answer, just looked at him, and Hemi sighed and said, “Reckon we’re too much alike to make this easy. Proud. Stubborn. Holding our cards close to the vest.”
“Arrogant?” Delilah asked sweetly, and Hemi smiled a little and said, “Maybe.”
Hope said, “Anybody would be cautious if he had that many people counting on him. When he’s the final word, that word had better be right. Fortunately, Hemi’s almost always right, and I’m guessing you are too, Roman.”
“Except when I’m wrong,” Hemi said, and beside me, some of the tension went out of Roman’s shoulder and leg. “So, cuz.” Hemi held out a big hand. “We’ll take it from here.”
Roman looked back at him, his face set, put out his own hand, and they shook.
“It’s not like you two live remotely close to each other,” Delilah said. “That should make it easier.”
“Except that Roman lives heaps closer to Daniel than I do,” Hemi said. “Unfortunately.”
This time, Roman actually cracked a smile. “No worries,” he said. “I’m no soft touch.”
Hemi finally looked at Koro, who’d sat between him and Roman during all this without saying a word, occasionally taking a bite of lamb or kumara, but otherwise just listening. “Good enough for you?” Hemi asked.
“He’s probably been holding his breath,” Delilah said. “Wondering if we were going to have to do a cage match. That would’ve been interesting. Hemi’s older, but he seems meaner.”
“Nah,” Koro said. “Hemi knows what’s right. That’s good enough for me, my son,” he told Hemi.
“Whanau is whanau,” Hemi said.
“Especially if you’re Maori,” Hope said.
“I should tell you,” Roman said. “I’ve never considered myself Maori.”
“How could you,” Koro said, “without an iwi. Without your mountain and your river. Without knowing what you come from.”
“His tribe,” Hope said quietly to me. “His ancestors. His sense of place. His marae—the meeting place. A Maori belongs to the place, and he belongs to the people.”
“I’ve got along without those things so far,” Roman said. “I can respect it, but I won’t be rushing out to get a tattoo.”
“Fair enough,” Hemi said.
“Are you sure?” Delilah asked. “It could be totally awesome, and those tattoos are smokin’ hot. If you actually want Summer to fall for you, that is, and not keep running away.”
Hemi smiled and said to Hope, “We may as well have Karen here, eh.”
“Which would be awesome,” Delilah said. “Karen is my kind of people.”
I said, because I thought I needed to, “I don’t care about the tattoo. I don’t care about the packaging. I care about the man underneath, and so far …” I took a deep breath. Could I say this? Yes, because Roman needed to hear it. “So far, the man underneath is pretty special. It’s not what a man says. It’s what he does. I forgot that for a little while,” I told Roman, “because of my prejudices. Against wealthy men. Good-looking men. Confident men.”
“Arrogant men,” Delilah chimed in helpfully.
“No,” I said. “I’ve decided not. An arrogant man can’t be set right. He can’t change his mind, because he’s sure he doesn’t need to. And that’s not the man Roman is.” Another breath. “Not the kind of good man he is. If you have to get a long-lost brother,” I told Hemi, “I can’t think of a better one.”
“Think I’m getting that,” Hemi answered gravely, but with some humor in his eyes. “And I’m thinking you’re not doing too badly yourself,” he told Roman. “In more ways than one.”