CHAPTER NINE
Max was so warm and strong. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to lean against him completely.
I cleared my throat and said, “Thank you for rescuing me. And for paying for the drinks.”
He raised his fingers slightly, like he was waving my words away. “Consider it payment for the pleasure of your company.”
His eyes went wide as he seemed to realize how that sounded. “I didn’t mean, that is to say, I meant, it was a small price to pay for getting to spend time with you.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I liked him flustered. I bet this happened sometimes when English was your second language.
“I feel bad that you paid for beers we didn’t actually drink,” I said.
His arm seemed to flex under mine and I tried not to get distracted by it. “I was more interested in talking to you.”
“So was I.” Now I was the one tripping over my words. “To you. Not to myself. Not that I ever talk to myself.”
Great, now I was the one who was flustered.
Being so close to him was obviously scrambling my brain. I needed to talk about something, anything, else. “When you came up to me at the bar, what did you call me?”
“La mia lei.”
“That’s pretty. What does it mean?”
“It means ‘my her.’ It’s a way of saying that out of all the women in the world, you are the only one who belongs with me.”
While I knew he didn’t actually mean me and was using you in a more general sense, I couldn’t help the flapping that started up in my stomach.
He went on, “Italians and Monterrans are notorious for their paroline dolci. Sweet words. We make fun but we all use them for the people we love.”
I internally sighed as I tried to imagine what it would be like if I were the woman Max felt that way about.
“So besides birthday parties, what other kinds of events do you do?” he asked, and I wondered whether he kept asking me questions because he was curious about the answers or because I kept getting lost in my own thoughts and daydreams about him and wasn’t holding up my side of the conversation.
“I work on mostly corporate events.”
“Like the kinds at hotels where you sit around and listen to people talk?”
“Yep.”
He had to redirect Basta, who saw something that interested her and pulled against her leash. “I’m getting the sense it’s not your dream job.”
“Right now I’m just an administrative assistant and don’t even have the official title of event planner. I’d really like to get a promotion, and this birthday party is my ticket to make that happen. I’m already planning events; I just don’t have the title.”
“That doesn’t sound fair.”
“You have to pay your dues,” I said. “I’ve paid mine about four times longer than anyone else, though.” I felt a tiny bit of resentment creeping in and shook my head, determined not to let myself get down. “My dream is to do showers.”
“Like installing them?” He sounded so adorably confused.
I held in my laugh. “No, ‘showers’ as in ‘parties.’ Here in the States we have like, baby showers or bridal showers. It’s a gathering to celebrate a new life or a new relationship. I love how much emotion is involved, all the joy. It feels like an honor to join in on something that is so important to the people involved.”
“We have those types of parties in Monterra, too.”
I felt a bit embarrassed that I had assumed he wouldn’t know what I was talking about. “You’re right—they have them all over the world, and it’s a tradition that’s been carried on for a long time in some cultures. I looked it up once, and they started calling them ‘showers’ because of a custom in the nineteenth century where presents were put inside of an umbrella and then they would shower it down on the bride.”
“I would guess that getting smacked in the head with a high chair wouldn’t be fun.”
Now I did laugh. “Maybe that’s why they stopped doing it.” I realized that for our whole walk home, he’d been the one asking me questions. My mother would be so upset with me for being so impolite. “What do you do for a living?”
“I work at a nonprofit.”
That caused me to stumble as I basically tripped over my own feet. A nonprofit? Really, Universe? He couldn’t have been like, a professional dog kidnapper or a loan shark or a scammer telemarketer? He worked for a charity?
Then I considered the fact that Nico also devoted all of his time to charitable causes, and it made my attraction to Max grow even stronger.
He let me fall against him until I found my footing. I just knew he was going to ask me if I was all right again and I couldn’t take it a fourth time. This poor man did not have to keep coming to my rescue.
“I’m okay. Just having some staying-vertical issues that aren’t my fault,” I said.
“Yes, I saw the way that sidewalk leapt out at you,” he agreed, seriously. I smiled.
“Do you like your job?” I asked.
“Very much. My father thinks it’s a waste of my education.”
“Where did you go to school?”
“Yale.”
I was impressed. He didn’t strike me as wealthy, though. He was too down-to-earth for that. “Did you have to put yourself through school?”
“Basically, yes.”
“I’ve noticed that you use some American expressions and phrasing.” It made sense. Nico’s younger twin brothers, Prince Dante and Prince Rafe, also attended American universities and their Monterran accents were much lighter than their older brother’s as a result.
“Have you noticed?” he asked playfully, calling attention to the fact that I’d been observing him so closely that I’d been able to detect speech patterns.
Back to feeling pathetic again.
“My mother is from California, and growing up, I spent my summers there with my cousin, Sunny,” he added when I didn’t respond to his question. “I’ve spent a lot of time in America.”
That piqued my interest. Monterran royalty did have a tendency to marry American women. Maybe that had happened with his family and Max was a secret prince. “Are you like, nobility or a lord or something?”
“Like Lord of the Dance ?” He sounded confused.
“No, I ...” How was I supposed to explain that I was attempting to make sure that he wasn’t royal?
“What does that have to do with my speech patterns?” He was teasing, but I no longer wanted to discuss this particular topic because of the potential traps and pitfalls waiting for me and my assumptions.
“Working at a nonprofit seems pretty noble to me. What did your dad want you to do instead?” I asked, changing the subject.
I wondered if he might tease me, challenge me, but instead he just answered, “Go into the family business.”
“Which is?”
“Deceiving people for money.”
Were they lawyers? Actors? Writers? Max had sounded a bit prickly, and I got the sense that I shouldn’t ask him specifics. I settled on, “That doesn’t sound great.”
“It’s not. My mother isn’t much better. Growing up I had a babysitter who was really dedicated to helping other people, and I guess it stuck with me. But all in all, I’m a disappointment to everyone in my life.”
“I get it,” I told him with a sigh. “Even the family business part. My mother wanted me to come work with her at her nail salon after I graduated from college, but I didn’t want to, which did not make her happy. She didn’t want me to move to New York, either. She also seems to be upset with my personality. She thinks I’m too much of a people pleaser.”
“You can’t be that much of a people pleaser if you came to New York City over her objections.”
That mollified me slightly. That was sort of true. “There are things I’m not willing to back down on and will stand firm, but she’s not wrong. I usually want to make other people happy.”
He considered this information and then said, “Did your parents fight a lot when you were a kid?”
“Constantly. All the time. They would have arguments that would last for days where they would just scream at each other. I hated it so much. It was actually kind of a relief when my dad left.”
“I understand,” he said. “Same in my home growing up. And the arguing is what made you a people pleaser.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I was in therapy for a long time as a kid. My parents also fought constantly before they got divorced. I wanted to make everything okay for them by making them happy. Thinking that if I could just be the perfect kid, then they’d stop fighting all the time. I took on that burden of wanting to make others feel better. Because if I could do whatever they asked, then maybe my life would have been okay.”
It was, in all honesty, probably one of the most profound and insightful things anyone had ever said to me. It was like Max had cracked open my soul and peered inside. His revelation shook me. “That was exactly how I felt, too.”
He looked at me then, his face close to mine. And if we’d been just regular people who’d met for the first time at a bar, felt an attraction for one another, and were walking home together, this might have been the part where he kissed me.
My pulse went haywire and my lips tingled with want. There were two heartbeats, three, four, where he just looked into my eyes. I wanted so desperately to see what color his were in sunlight. The streetlamps weren’t doing him justice.
“I suppose that makes us kindred spirits,” he said, facing forward again and breaking the spell. “My dysfunction manifests less as people-pleasing, more savior complex. I like to rush in and save someone.”
“You like to rescue people.” I nodded, finally understanding what had happened tonight. “Which explains why you came over to talk to me in the bar and why you work for a nonprofit.”
“That’s not why I ...” But whatever he’d been about to say, he stopped. I held my breath, hoping he would finish his sentence and that he might confess something—that he’d thought I was pretty or he felt the same spark I had when we’d first met. But he didn’t and instead just said, “It’s complicated, I guess.”
I got caught up in imagining what he could have said and fell silent. I didn’t know him well enough to accurately predict it but was coming up with some very outlandish explanations.
“What is the worst thing you’ve ever done?” he asked me, probably because I’d fallen silent again and was forcing him to single-handedly carry the conversation.
“Oh. Let me think.” I hadn’t done a lot of bad things. Pettiness hadn’t ever really been a part of my personality. Except for that one time. “I had auditioned for the Christmas nativity at my church. When I was twelve, I really wanted to play Mary, but they picked Ellie Macon to play the part. The director just did not like me, and to this day I have no idea why. This was right around the time my parents divorced, and I had a lot of pent-up anger.”
“I’m almost afraid to find out what you did,” he said, sounding amused.
“I downloaded and printed out a copy of Imagine Dragons’ ‘Radioactive’ sheet music. I took off the name and entitled it ‘Baby in the Manger’ and put it on the piano the night of the performance. Sure enough, the pianist played it all the way to the end before Ellie Macon ratted me out to the pastor and the director. I got yelled at by a bunch of church leaders.”
He laughed.
“What about you?” I asked. “Worst thing you’ve ever done or your deepest regret?”
“I’ve never been yelled at by religious leaders. The worst thing I’ve ever done—it’s probably how I treated my father. He fought my mother hard for custody, and I think it was more about how much he hated her than wanting to be with me. He got primary custody of me for years and I resented him the entire time, so I did everything I could to make him miserable. Especially since he married my stepmother six months after the divorce was finalized. My stepmother couldn’t have children and she wanted to mother me, but I wouldn’t let her. I’ve been angry with both of them for a long time. I’ve been trying to work through it.”
“How is that going?”
Max grimaced. “It’s going. Slow and steady.”
“Well, the tortoise does win the race. Although now you have me thinking I have to revise my answer because I don’t speak to my dad. To be fair, he doesn’t speak to me, either.”
“Why not?”
“He didn’t want to be a husband or a father, and he’s much happier somewhere out in Oregon pretending I don’t exist. With his new wife and new children that he spends all kinds of time with.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be,” I said with a wave of my hand. “What’s sad is I don’t even miss him. I did a lot in the beginning, but after someone rejects you so many times, there’s only so much you can take. I had to figure out a way to move on with my life and be happy, and I did.”
“Someday I hope to be as evolved as you.”
I didn’t feel very evolved. Sometimes I felt like I had made the wrong choice and that maybe I should have tried harder and not written my dad off completely. “I think maybe it’s better to have the relationship if you can. Not if it’s toxic or harmful, obviously. But I do worry that I’ll regret things when my father passes away. That I’ll wish I’d tried harder. So good for you that you are.”
He shrugged. “We’ll see.”
“Can I tell you something?” I asked as we turned a corner, approaching my building.
“You’ve known me for about an hour. You can tell me anything. I have an open-shoulder policy.” At my confused expression, he added, “In case you need a shoulder to cry on.”
I smiled. “No crying. I just needed to let you know that it is entirely unfair that you are both nice and hot. No one should have two ways to get free stuff.”
“And here I was thinking the same thing about you.”
Panic and elation slammed into me at the same time. Was he serious? Kidding? Being polite? Facetious?
I had no way of knowing.
While I would usually keep such thoughts to myself, to my dismay I admitted, “Max, I know I’m not hot.”
He came to a halt. “What liar told you that?”
Uh, every man I’d had feelings for since I’d hit puberty? You didn’t get stood up, rejected, abandoned, and ditched out on as many times as I had without developing an inferiority complex.
I studied his face, adrenaline flooding through me as that temporary bravado left my system. I saw a slight smile. Kindness. Friendliness.
What I did not see was overwhelming desire, lust, or any indication that he was about to take me in his arms and kiss me senseless. As if he couldn’t resist me for one more minute.
He devoted his life to charity and rescued people. That apparently included sad, insecure women with no love life to speak of.
Feeling ridiculous, I started walking toward my building. I was always creating castles in the sky. Which was fine when it came to my work but wasn’t very practical for my personal life. I was sure it had something to do with my father being terrible and wanting a fairy tale, because reality, so far, had pretty much sucked. I dug into my purse and got my keys out, preparing myself to make a quick and nonhumiliating exit.
When I reached my building, I nodded to Casimir, the night doorman. He opened the front door, greeting us. I said hello and Max actually introduced himself to Casimir, proving that he was just nice to everyone he met.
I tried to swallow down the nervous blob that had lodged there. Vella didn’t care what other people thought. She did whatever she wanted when she wanted all the time.
I’d never been that brave.
He went to the elevators with me. “Thank you so much for walking me home,” I said, ready for this night to be over and for my heartbeat to return to a normal rhythm. It hadn’t pumped correctly since Max had walked into my life.
“Thank you for letting me,” he said.
Now what? “Okay, good night.” I pushed the up button and he reached out to touch my arm.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“You’re really easy to talk to.”
Like a good buddy or a kid sister? That somehow just made everything worse. “You too.” I crouched down and rubbed Basta’s ears, which she seemed to enjoy.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. “Bye.”
“Have a good night,” he said. Max hesitated for a second, and then he gently pulled on Basta’s leash and they headed off. I watched as he walked away, allowing myself one last good look.
I figured I deserved it, given that I was never going to see him again.