Chapter 9
Vivian
"You need help packing?" Lizzie asks from the phone screen.
"No, thanks. Though, I'm beginning to forget you exist outside of a device!” I waggle a finger at her. “If I accept Q's proposal, I'll have a space for you to come visit me.”
'You're considering it?" she cries.
“I am,” I confess.
Her forehead wrinkles. “Have you seen Felix since the uh... wedding?”
That was three days ago. “I haven’t seen him at work.
He hasn’t been home, either.” Not that I’m complaining.
I pop a shoulder. “He paid the rent for the rest of the month on this place.
Now that our wedding is off, there's no way can I live here.” I came home today and realized I had to start packing.
Ideally, I’ll be out of here before he returns. But I’ve been so exhausted, I haven’t been able to muster the energy to get my stuff together.
"Where are you going to move to?" Lizzie’s question makes me sigh.
"I’m not sure."
There’s silence on her end. When I glance at her on the screen, it’s to find a worried look on her face.
“Honey, don’t worry. I’ll figure it out." I paste a smile on my face, but I don’t think I'm fooling her because her frown deepens.
"Vivi, where will you go?" she probes again.
"I… uh… could look up some of my friends from high school?" I wince.
I wasn’t ever that popular. Lizzie's the one who had a lot of friends. I preferred the company of colors and my canvas, or poems, to real people. Not much has changed now that I’m grown up. Unless you count watching Pornhub or reading spicy romances as a hobby.
“Hmm”—she frowns—“you sure?”
No, I’m not. “By the way, there are trials being run at Johns Hopkins near Washington, D.C. for ALS. If Dad got onto one of them, it would be experimental, but at least it would extend his life expectancy and improve his quality of life.” I say it, hoping to distract her, and I'm rewarded when her features brighten.
“That sounds amazing, but wouldn’t it be expensive?” Her shoulders sag.
“It would.” I nod. “Except Quentin already got him accepted for it and has agreed to foot the bill.”
“He has?” Understanding dawns on her face. “Oh Vivi, I see your reasoning behind considering his proposal now, but—” She purses her lips, “— is this what’s best for you?” Her forehead furrows. “You agreed to marry Felix because you thought it’d help you save money and look what happened.”
I wince. “It won’t happen again. Quentin won’t stand me up at the altar.” Given a choice, he’d consummate the marriage before the wedding night. I’d agree to that, too... No way I’m telling her that.
“But you don’t know this guy. You only just met him,” she protests.
“I know enough. I know he’s trustworthy and that, as his wife, I'll have access to money, which we need badly.”
“I can’t let you sacrifice yourself again, Vivi. I can’t!” Her chin trembles. "You’re young. You should be going to university and studying for your degree in fine arts,” she bursts out.
"Degrees are overrated. Besides, I got to paint the interior of the pizza shop, and the operations director of the company loved it and promised me I can paint the interiors of the other shops, too," I offer.
“Not that he paid you anything extra for it.” Her scowl deepens.
"I… Uh… Plan to talk to him about it." I hunch my shoulders. "You don’t have to worry about it or anything else." I shove the rest of my clothes into my suitcase and straighten. "I’ll figure it out Lizzie, I promise."
I head over to the kitchen and pour myself the last of the boxed wine. I take a sip from the glass, then wince.
"That bad?" she asks sympathetically.
"It’s not vinegar… yet."
She snickers. The intercom buzzes, and she frowns. "Were you expecting someone?"
I shake my head and press the button on the device. "Hello?"
"Vivian?" a woman’s voice asks. "Vivian Wells?"
"Yes?" I say cautiously.
"I’m Summer Sterling, a friend of Quentin Davenport."
"Okay?”
"I know this is a surprise, but do you mind if we come up?"
"We?"
"Hello," another woman chimes in, "I’m Zoey Malfoy. Also, Quentin’s friend. We would love to speak with you, if you have a little time?"
"Is Felix’s father’s name Quentin?" Lizzie whispers loudly.
I throw her a look, then speak into the intercom, "Did Quentin send you?"
"Yes, but only because he felt you’d be on your own and might need a bit of company," Summer answers.
"I promise, we are legit. We’ll show you our ID and everything. We’re here because he’s worried about you, but he knows you don’t want to see him… Yet," Zoey adds.
"Also, we have wine."
"Wine?" I say slowly.
"A very good 2009 Merlot." Summer’s voice is persuasive.
"A 2009? That would taste better than the vinegar you were having earlier," Lizzie exclaims.
I scowl at her. "What do you know about wine?"
She coughs. "Anything would be better than your boxed wine.”
"Hmm."
Before I can reply, Zoey chimes in, "Also, cupcakes and tacos."
Tacos! I exchange glances with Lizzie again.
"Keep me on the line, so I can make sure they are who they say they are,” she insists.
"No, absolutely not, you need to get back to practice."
She sighs, "You’re right, but—"
"I’ll message you after."
"Message me in ten minutes, and let me know you’re fine, else I’m coming over to join the party."
I roll my eyes. "Okay, grandma." I disconnect the call, slip the phone into the pocket of my jeans, and buzz them in.
A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door.
I throw it open to see a pretty, pink-haired woman with a big smile on her face.
She’s holding onto a pram with a sleeping baby in it.
Behind her is a taller woman with blonde hair pulled up into a tidy knot.
She’s wearing glasses and a skirt suit and has a satchel in her hand.
It looks like she came here directly from work.
The pink-haired woman beams at me. "I hope you don’t mind us coming by. I’m Summer, by the way.”
I hold out my hand. "I’m—"
"Vivian. Quentin’s told me all about you." She eschews my hand, steps around the pram and throws her arms about me. Her excitement at meeting me is infectious, and I find my lips curving. She steps back and her smile grows broader.
The other woman waves at me. "I hope you don’t mind our gatecrashing like this?”
“Quentin called me this morning and gave me a quick overview of the situation,” Summer offers.
“Situation?” I’m unable to keep the suspicion out of my voice.
“He explained you were special to him and that it would help if we dropped by to keep you company," she adds.
“Did he now?” I can’t keep the skepticism out of my voice.
Does Q know I don’t have that many friends? Is this his way of ensuring I didn’t start overanalyzing things in my head like I want to? But that’s not possible; he barely knows me.
And yet… When my gaze locked with his that first time, it felt as if he were seeing straight through to my insecurities and my deepest desires. Like he knew me better than I know myself. And I felt like I already knew him, though I’m positive it’s the first time I saw him.
"If you’re not comfortable, we’ll leave." Zoey scans my features.
“It’s not that. I’m just…” I raise a shoulder. “I’m surprised he’d reach out to you. Or that he’d have the time to do so, given we met three days ago.”
Zoey opens then shuts her mouth. “I didn’t realize—” She coughs, then shoots a sideways glance at Summer, who’s looking at me with shrewd eyes.
“Q mentioned the circumstances of your meeting were unorthodox.” She rolls the buggy back and forth without conscious thought, in the way mothers often do when they soothe their child. “But he didn’t tell us the details, so you know.”
I’m not sure what to say. It’s not like I know these women. Though, I suppose I appreciate Q looking out for me.
“Q is friends with my husband Sinclair Sterling. It’s how I met him. He struck me as someone who's a loner, by choice—”
“So of course, Summer goes out of her way to make sure he's invited home for dinner every chance he gets.” Zoey rolls her eyes.
“Often, it was me and Sinclair, and my sister Karma and her husband Michael, and then there was Q. My husband met Q after he retired from the Marines and joined the Davenports. They became friends very quickly, and that’s unusual for my husband.
Sinclair doesn’t trust people easily, nor does Michael.
But they both trust Q, enough to ask him to join us for dinner.
I’d like to think it was my husband and Michael who convinced Q there's life after the Marines,” Summer adds.
“Karma... You don’t mean Karma West Sovrano, the designer?” The name Karma is unusual, so I venture a guess.
Summer nods, and her features shine with pride.
“Oh, my god, I love her style! I found one of her originals in a charity shop, which was the only way I could afford it at my wedding—” I stop. “I mean, my almost-wedding.”
The baby yawns and stretches. He opens his eyes and looks at me in the way little kids have, when they’re fascinated by what they’re seeing. He blinks, then holds up his arms. And that’s it, I’m a goner.
"Aww, you’re a cutie." I glance at Summer. "May I?"
She nods and smiles, then bends and picks him up. She kisses him, then hands him over. I cuddle the baby, who continues to stare up at me. He smiles suddenly, and my heart melts further. "What’s his name?"
"It’s Matthew, but I call him Matty." She beams.
I carry the kid inside and the women follow with the pram. "Hey, baby, you’re such a cutie pie." He blows a bubble, then raises his hand and tugs on my hair.
"Oh, Matty, don’t do that." Summer walks over and tries to disentangle my hair from his little fist, but I laugh.
"It’s fine, really." I sit down in one of the armchairs and continue to gaze into Matty’s startling blue eyes. They are clear in the way babies’ eyes can be. He pulls on my hair again, and when I lower my head, he bats at my cheek with his other hand. He gurgles, and a wave of love overpowers me.