Chapter 6 – James
JAMES
Sharmi
Confirmed wedding photo sale to Toronto Globe. Proceeds will go to the Walsh Foundation.
Leaning against the back wall in the lobby, I text back my approval. I’m enough of a celebrity that our wedding photos command a high price, and the least I could do was siphon it to Cat’s charity.
Sharmi, my head of publicity, has been working overtime to arrange wedding press coverage of our wedding, so it’s no surprise to hear from her this close to eight on a Friday night. She’s just as much of a workaholic as I am, so she’ll probably stay on her phone, sending emails late into the night.
Part of me wishes I could go back to the office myself.
It’s not easy to silence the running to-do list that thrums in the back of my mind, reminding me of my responsibilities.
There’s the proposal from Reese Witherspoon’s company, the Pages pre-collab meetings, and prep for the quarterly earnings report.
Of course, all that comes second to tonight’s real priority.
My rehearsal dinner.
Tonight, Maura will meet my friends. She’ll take her first step into becoming a part of my world. I can only hope it won’t be too awkward.
At eight o’clock on the dot, Maura swans through the door in an emerald green dress, which sways around her knees as she walks.
It hugs her slender figure tightly, but the neckline is high and modest. Elegant as always.
Damn, I should have had my assistant ask about her dress color, so I could have worn a matching tie.
“Hi, James,” she says as she approaches me.
“Hello, Maura. You look gorgeous.” Leaning forward, I brush a kiss against her cheek. This close to her, I can smell the hint of jasmine in her perfume.
“You said Brinley, Cat, and Pippa would be there, right?” she asks.
I nod. “They’re already in the restaurant upstairs.”
“And you live in the building, right?”
“My apartment is on the top two floors.”
“Are you going to give me a tour?”
I hadn’t planned on that, but it would make sense. “Would you like one?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve got enough on my mind, meeting your friends. I can save exploring Bluebeard’s lair for another day.”
“Let’s go up to dinner, then.” I offer her my arm. Instead, she grabs my hand and twines her fingers in mine. They’re so slender, they still feel strangely fragile, like I have to be careful not to squeeze her hand too hard in case they break. I suppose I’ll get used to it eventually.
Together, we take the escalator up to the second floor—the only other floor open to the public. I squeeze her hand before I open the door and escort her inside the Terrace Steakhouse.
There’s a banner reading “Congratulations James and Maura” in pink and gold paint, which I know instantly is Cat’s doing.
Beau set up the restaurant beautifully, with warm gold-tinted wine glasses and napkins, which manage to be elegant rather than gaudy.
In a place of pride on the table next to us is the ugliest cake I’ve ever seen, a sloping three-tier disaster with chunky-looking frosting on it.
“Ryan made the cake,” Beau mutters under his breath, and I shudder. Our friend is the world’s worst cook, bar none. “Don’t worry. I’ll ‘take care of it’ later. Try to look disappointed.”
Maura presses slightly closer to me, her bare arm against my suit-covered one. She’s nervous, I realize—as bold as she is with me, she might be overwhelmed by large groups of strangers. I gesture between her and Beau. “This is Maura, my fiancée.”
“I’m Beau. Pleased to meet you.” Beau’s eyes flash down to our hands, hers tightly clenching mine. “Hope you’re ready to marry the world’s most taciturn man. Think you can get more than a dozen words out of him tonight?”
“I hope not,” Maura says. “I’ve always gone for the strong, silent type over the wannabe talk show host.”
Beau chuckles. “Then you found the right guy.”
Cat comes around the table next, her hand on Nate’s arm. “You look gorgeous, Maura. Thanks for having us. This is my fiancé, Nate.”
Nate nods. “Hello.”
“Don’t let the frown fool you, he’s happy to be here. That's just his resting grump-face.” Cat laughs. She’s wearing a floaty blue dress, and Maura looks calmer just by soaking up Cat’s presence.
“Ryan Archer, best man,” Ryan announces, thrusting out his hand for Maura to shake.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you about him,” Pippa tells Maura, pulling her in for a quick hug.
Maura hugs Brinley next, who introduces her to her brother Luke.
The three of them fall into conversation easily, and I realize two things.
First, that Luke and Brinley have agreed to play nice for the occasion, since they’re usually bickering.
Second, that Maura doesn’t need me by her side, babysitting her.
She’s found a way to blend comfortably into my friend group.
Beau offers me a glass of wine. “Are you good?”
“Yeah,” I say, accepting the glass. “I think I might be.”
“So,” Maura says once we’re all seated for dinner. “I have a question for the best man.”
Ryan preens. “Of course you do. Please, go ahead.”
“I’m sure you get this all the time, but I have to ask. Is poker really more about math or reading people?”
“Both,” Ryan and Pippa say simultaneously.
Ryan smiles enthusiastically, thrilled to be given a chance to delve into his favorite subject, while Pippa looks resigned to hear the same lecture for the hundredth time.
Funnily, Pippa enjoys the game almost as much as her boyfriend—she’s just less excited to talk about it.
“Think of it like building a house,” Ryan says.
“It doesn’t exist without wood, nails, cement.
That’s probability. It’s the building block of poker.
You couldn’t play the game without it—but you could use your tools badly.
You can have all the tools to build a house and still make one that falls down when it’s windy. ”
“Makes sense,” Maura says, nodding.
“Being able to read people is like getting your architecture degree. Now, you know how to use those tools to make something real. You need that degree if you want a game that will last.”
“I think you’re mixing up architects and contractors,” Beau points out.
“Contractors probably have a place in this analogy,” Maura concedes. “Maybe they’re the casino.”
“Just as hard to find a good casino as a good contractor,” Luke says. “We’re trying to do renovations on our warehouse and it’s been a nightmare.”
“You own Twisted Devil, don’t you?” Maura asks.
“Yeah.” Luke grins. “Do you drink it?”
“I don’t drink, but I love that bottle series you did with local artists. I think a painter I know, Ruby, made a limited-edition label for your rye?”
“Yeah, that was fantastic,” Luke says, nodding. “We sold out of all those specialty bottles. I keep meaning to do another series, but I’ve been too busy.”
“If you do it, I have some great people I could recommend,” Maura says.
The two of them start chatting about some printmakers I’ve never heard of, and I sit back, amazed.
To think that earlier tonight, I thought my friends might overwhelm my fiancée, instead, she’s slotted into the group with unnerving ease.
She rolls with their teasing and private jokes, and I know she’s won a permanent fan in Ryan for asking him about poker.
I suppose she knows how to pretend to be comfortable, even when she’s not.
She’d have to be a good actress to live with Victor’s expectations of polite perfection.
I have a feeling he’s even more demanding with his daughter than he is with his business associates.
No wonder she wants a different upbringing for her child.
It can’t have been easy, meeting his standards.
I shake off the thought. Maura wouldn’t want my pity. Instead, I try to refocus on the conversations around me.
“You have a houseguest next week, right?” Cat’s asking Brinley.
“No, she had to cancel.” Brinley sighs. “I’m hoping she’ll make it next month.”
“Who’s visiting?” Luke asks.
“Eden. She was my best friend when I was a kid,” Brinley explains to Maura. “She’s thinking about moving to Toronto, and she promised she’d visit and check it out.”
Luke stiffens, his smile frozen in place. The women don’t seem to notice, and I file it away for later.
“Are you sure she actually wants to move here, or are you trying to force it?” Cat asks.
“Maybe I’m forcing it a little,” Brinley admits. “But I’m sure once she gets here, she’ll love it. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Looks like everyone’s done with dinner, which means it’s time for cake!” Ryan declares.
Beau and Luke exchange worried glances. “I’ll go get some plates,” Luke announces, heading back toward the kitchen.
“I’ll start cutting slices,” Beau says.
Maura whispers, “What’s the deal with the cake?”
“Ryan’s the world’s worst chef, and the most sensitive. You’re about to see a piece of theater that may or may not go terribly.”
She hums and sits back in our chair. We both watch as Luke rushes out of the kitchen, carrying a stack of dessert plates. Beau pretends not to see him, turning abruptly and “tripping” Luke. The plates go flying, and they both crash into the cake.
“Oh my god!” Pippa cries.
“Are you guys okay?” Cat asks, taking her napkin off her lap and hustling over. Nate stops her.
“You’re wearing sandals,” he growls. “I don’t want you cutting your feet.”
“Sorry about your cake, sweetie,” Pippa says, patting Ryan on the back. “I know how hard you worked.”
When Ryan’s looking away, though, she gives Luke and Beau a thumbs up.
Maura leans over to me. “While they’re busy cleaning up, could we have a word in private?”
“Of course.”
I escort her to an alcove of the restaurant where we won’t be overheard. Maura shifts, crossing her arms over her chest and looking down at her feet. For the first time all night, she seems truly nervous.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“It’s fine,” she says, and bites her lip.
“The party wasn’t too informal? I know my friends can be a bit much.”
Maura smiles. “No. Informal is better, if you ask me. I’ve been dragged to fundraising banquets and galas since I was an infant, and I’ve had enough canapes to last me a lifetime.”
“Me too,” I admit. “Lots of time in child tuxedos. Charities always want movie stars at their fundraising events.”
She shudders. “They shouldn't even make child tuxedos. Let kids wear what they want, for god's sake.”
“I didn't mind the tuxedos,” I say, surprising myself. “And my parents always let me explore when I got bored. The kitchen staff always gave me treats.”
Something flickers across Maura's face—curiosity, maybe, or nostalgia.
“That sounds nice. But you can’t tell me you wouldn’t have been happier in a Spider-Man costume than a bowtie and dress shoes.”
“I was always more of a Batman guy.”
“Big surprise.” She rolls her eyes. “Billionaire kid wants to be billionaire vigilante. You could have at least been original and gone for Cyclops or something.”
“Like from The Odyssey?”
“Like from the X-Men,” she says, exasperated. “Honestly, you’re the CEO of a media company. Your whole job is knowing IP. You’re lucky I’m not telling your board about this.”
I chuckle. “So nothing’s wrong, other than my comic book knowledge?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” She looks back at her feet. “It’s more…awkward.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been tracking my cycle, ever since my father proposed this whole idea. I wanted to let you know that my ovulation window should start around the day of our wedding. There’s no pressure—but you should know that I’m serious about this.”
She gazes at me, carefully cataloguing my response. I realize that she’s checking to make sure that I’m taking this part seriously, too. The real weight of what we’re about to do settles on my shoulders. We’re going to have a child together, and I can’t begin to imagine what that will mean.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “I appreciate your efficiency.”
“So we’ll start then?” she murmurs.
“Yes, we will. Oh, while we’re here, I have something for you.” I pull a small velvet box out of my jacket pocket and hand it to her. “Your engagement ring and wedding band.”
She opens the box. When her eyes fall on the rings, there’s no excitement in them. It’s a simple set in white gold. The engagement ring features a large, cushion cut diamond, and the band has diamonds studded around it. I frown. Maybe she wanted something flashier.
“They’re lovely,” she says politely.
“You can choose any ring you want, if you don’t like them,” I assure her. “I just thought you should have something, for the optics.”
“No, it’s fine.” She pulls out the engagement ring and slides it on her finger, handing me back the box. “It’s not important. We both know this marriage isn’t about romance.”
I thought the ring was nice when I picked it out. Now, when I see it on her hand, I’m not sure I like it, either.