Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
M ax and Jude placed their orders at the walk-up window of their usual lobster pound in Bangor. Then chose an outdoor table overlooking the Penobscot River. The setting—sun, breeze, trees lazy with leaves—communicated relaxation. Even Jude looked relaxed. Since he’d fallen in love with Gemma, there was an ease about him that hadn’t been there before. Loving Gemma had made Jude less uptight and significantly happier.
In principle, Max was glad for Jude and glad for the good weather. But in practice, the contentment around him was serving as a contrast to his own discontent. Which underscored how out of step he was with the rest of the world. Out of step with himself, even. And that, in turn, underscored his sense of aloneness.
Whenever he and Jude came here, they ate the same meal—whole lobster with coleslaw, corn, and a bread roll. Max argued with himself about how to bring up the topic he’d come to discuss as they dug into the food. They chatted about Jude’s work. Gemma. Sports. About the missing tiara—no progress to report there.
Eventually, Jude gave him a considering look. “It feels like you’re stalling.”
Max pulled lobster meat out of the shell, dunked it in melted butter, chewed.
“How are things going with Sloane?” Jude asked with pretend innocence.
Wiping his fingers, Max sat back in his chair. “She’s driving me crazy. I’ve had no peace in days.”
Jude gave a sympathetic nod and a go on gesture .
“When she moved in, I thought that would make me happy and her unhappy. Instead, she’s happy and I’m worse than unhappy. I wish she’d never come to Maine.”
“Any specific reason why you’re unhappy?”
“We had a . . . moment a week ago.”
“A moment?”
Max shoved a hand through his hair. “A few kisses. That’s all it was.” He shrugged because he himself didn’t understand why a stimulus as small as a few kisses should have had this seismic effect. “I’ve been on a downward spiral ever since.”
“I see.”
Jude was incredibly familiar to Max. Someone he’d known all his life, respected, trusted. “What’s your advice?”
Jude lifted his brows. “You never ask for my advice.”
“You know me and you know Sloane. You just went through a roller coaster with Gemma and survived. This time, I’m asking.”
“How to fix your downward spiral?”
“Exactly.”
“Sure you’re ready to hear my take on this?”
Jude was offering Max a chance to turn back.
Truthfully, Max wasn’t ready to hear Jude’s take. But nor did he want to have lousy sleep and a mood set permanently on irritable and pain in his ribs every time he looked in the direction of the garage apartment. He’d come to Jude because he needed to fix this. “Yeah. I’m ready to hear your take.”
Though they were both only halfway through their meals, Jude followed Max’s lead, paused his eating, set aside his fork. “You became friends with Sloane at the end of your freshman year.” Jude regarded him levelly. “By the end of your sophomore year, you were in love with her.”
The statement wound around Max like thick nautical rope, tightening.
Jude winced as if to say, Sorry, buddy . But he kept going, relentless and calm. “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s . . .” Jude motioned for Max to complete the sentence.
“Indifference.”
“And you’ve never been indifferent to Sloane. Never. Not these past four years. Not now. That’s because you’ve kept on loving her all this time. She was dating that Nate guy, remember, when you had your big fight? You weren’t thinking straight. If she hadn’t been dating him then, you wouldn’t have been so on edge and maybe wouldn’t have overreacted the way you did.”
Max’s heart beat fast and hard. His instincts were urging him to disagree. But something stronger, fed by the misery of this past week, kept him sitting in silence.
“Then you heard that Sloane was contemplating selling her shares,” Jude went on. “That news wouldn’t have had the power to crush you the way it did if you didn’t love her. She broke your heart, though I don’t think you’ve ever admitted that to yourself. Afterward, you became more cynical and more ambitious than you were already. Now you have everything and yet you have nothing because you don’t have her. To fix your downward spiral, you’ll need to win Sloane over.”
The nautical rope cinched tighter.
“Start by telling her how you feel,” Jude said.
Nothing Max had ever encountered in his life had the ability to scare him as much as that did.
“Then work to earn her trust,” Jude added. “It’s not going to be easy. She’s leery of you after everything that went down and everything you took from her. She lives in California. She thinks, with good reason, that you’re not husband material.”
Max registered birds singing. Another note of contentment that conflicted with his state of mind.
“If you’re going to be worthy of her,” Jude said, “it won’t work for you to party, or chase models, or spend as many hours at the office as you always have. The good news is this—I don’t think you actually get much satisfaction out of the parties and the models. Libri is trickier. You’ve spent a lot of time making that your everything.”
It was true. Libri was his everything. His source of worth, his life’s work.
So how come not even Libri had been able to save him this past week?
“I have hope that Sloane might give you a shot,” Jude said.
“Wha—” Max’s voice was rusty. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What makes you think that?”
“Before she moved to California, I watched you two finish each other’s sentences, or communicate without any words at all, or laugh at the same things. You’d banter and joke and disagree. You’d come through for each other when it mattered.”
“None of that means she’d be willing to give me a shot.”
“Occasionally, I’d catch her looking at you with deep affection and I’d think that maybe she cared or could come to care about you the way you cared about her. Again, I think you should start by telling her how you feel.”
“Definitely not.”
“To what?”
“To all of it. I don’t even agree with this theory of yours. I don’t love Sloane.”
Jude regarded him with knowing patience. “Don’t you?”
“And I’m not willing to change anything about my life.”
“Max—”
“I’m through talking about this,” he said raggedly. Looking to the side, he scowled at the river.
“It’s going to be all right,” Jude said.
It didn’t feel like it was going to be all right.
Sloane didn’t love him. She wouldn’t have him. He’d never be able to convince her. When he imagined her turning him down, panic tightened his throat at the thought of the humiliation he’d feel.
That night, Max flicked through his photo roll from the last couple of months in search of the women he’d hung out with before Sloane moved in.
He stopped on the face of a blonde. Academically speaking, she was hotter than Sloane. Younger than Sloane. She certainly dressed sexier than Sloane. She was even nicer than Sloane. He pulled her up in his contacts and placed a call.
She answered right away. “Max!”
“Hello, beautiful. I’ve missed you,” he lied.
“I’ve missed you. It’s been too long.”
“I agree. Any chance you’re free to go to a club tomorrow?”
“I’d love to.”
The next evening around ten, Sloane was tucked under the duvet in her silk PJs reading a cozy mystery when Ivy’s voice drifted through her closed bedroom door.
“Max is out clubbing tonight with an actress!” the girl called.
Tension overtook Sloane’s body with the speed of a light switching on.
“Can I come in?” Ivy asked.
“Yes, you may.” Sloane did not want to see or hear about Max’s romantic escapades. But she couldn’t very well forbid that because then Ivy would ask why talking about Max’s escapades was forbidden. And Sloane would have no explanation to give.
Ivy hurried over, sitting on the edge of the bed to show Sloane the image on her phone. “I’ve been following Social Sophie and she’s been quiet about Max for weeks. Until now. She reposted this picture of him taken tonight with some woman who was on a Netflix series. Social Sophie says she’s wearing Tom Ford.”
The photo, of Max and the actress entering a night club, had captured his handsomeness well. The lines of his body were elegant. His face blatant in its symmetry. He gave the impression of debonair composure.
“I don’t think,” Sloane said carefully, “we should place too much value on things like designer clothes.”
“I know, I know! I don’t. It’s just cool to see our Max on social media. He’s a little bit famous!”
“He’s . . . something.”
Ivy was already madly texting, probably updating her friends on this Max sighting, as she darted out of Sloane’s room and closed the door behind her.
A pit formed in Sloane’s stomach.
She’d been having a delightful evening. She’d taken a long bath and applied pale pink polish to her fingernails and toes.
That picture of Max and his date shouldn’t have the ability to take all that had been good and rip it in half. She’d known his dating playbook.
It was good, great even, that he was reverting to his usual ways and taking any fleeting interest he’d had away from her. So why had that photo left her feeling deflated and angry?
You have no reason to feel either of those ways , she told herself.
He’s not worth tanking your mood, Sloane .
That sentiment fell flat. In all fairness, Max Cirillo was actually worth quite a lot. More than he knew, even.
She remembered him painting her first apartment. She remembered him rushing Advil to her on more than one occasion when she was immobilized by a headache. She remembered him leading meetings, his cheeks flushed because their company meant so much to him.
She’d long understood that Max was a heartbreaker and not cut out for long-term romantic commitment.
She’d kissed him one time. They didn’t owe each other anything. It wasn’t sane to hope for more with him.
All these commonsensical things, Sloane articulated to herself.
However, the pit in her stomach remained.
For the next six nights straight, Ivy showed Sloane Social Sophie’s pictures of Max.
Every night.
A new, glamorous location. Nantucket. Bar Harbor. Manhattan. The Hamptons.
A new, glamorous woman.
A new, glamorous set of clothes for him and her.
Max was consuming hedonism the way competitive eaters consumed hot dogs on the Fourth of July. After she’d expressly asked him to model propriety in this area while Ivy was living on his property. Given, he hadn’t brought a single woman home as far as she could tell. But still.
She and Ivy went back-to-school shopping for supplies. The first day of school arrived and Sloane made breakfast, oversaw the packing of Ivy’s lunch, and proudly took pictures of her niece holding a handmade sign that read, 10 th grade . After a FaceTime call to mark the big occasion with Brooke and Jared, Sloane dropped the girl off at the high school. She got teary-eyed because here was yet another special moment in Ivy’s life that Harper was not around to experience. Yet God, in His mercy, had granted Sloane the ability to experience it. Which was bittersweet.
Above all of it—every one of those late-August days—hovered the dark, quiet shadow of Max’s mansion. Two weeks had gone by with no contact or conversation between them. Maybe this was their new thing? Not seeing and not speaking to each other?
If so, it made her blue. And the swath he was cutting through socialites made her seethe.
She began concocting revenge fantasies.
She’d steal all his cutlery except his dessert spoons, so he’d never be able to lay a place setting with good etiquette ever, ever again.
She’d hide Kevin and Ricky in his bed. Except that would mean handling Kevin and Ricky, so never mind that plan.
She’d figure out how to turn off his water. Take that, Max!
Ivy
I just heard you park your car in the garage. Can I come by and say hi tonight?
Max
Sure. I was planning on eating a ham sandwich for dinner in about an hour. You want one?
Ivy
Yes, please! What can I bring?
Max
Nothing.
Ivy
Aunt Sloane has started giving me etiquette lessons. She’ll kill me if she finds out I invited myself over AND brought nothing.
Max
Then I guess she’ll have to kill you.
Ivy
How bout if I bring the rat boys in their exercise balls?
Max
YES.
Ivy
The cuteness of the rat boys is the best gift I can give you.
Max
My thought exactly.
An hour later, Ivy knocked on Max’s back sliding door.
He walked into view and eased the glass panel to the side.
Ivy held up the rats in their exercise balls. “Here’s my gift!”
“Just what I wanted.”
Ivy gently set them down. Right away the boys started running inside the balls, sending them in crazy directions.
“Are the rat boys drunk?” Max asked.
Ivy laughed.
“Ready for a sandwich?”
“Ready.” She followed him into his kitchen, where he already had an assembly line of sandwich stuff set up on his counter.
“There’s something you should know about me.”
“Okay.”
“I love sandwiches. And take them seriously. You’re fifteen, right?”
“Yep, fifteen.”
“Tonight’s sandwich is made with Iberico ham and I’m not sure you’re old enough to fully appreciate Iberico ham. But I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt because you seem like a discerning fifteen-year-old.”
“I am discerning. For sure.”
“In addition to ham, these sandwiches are made with French bread, arugula, goat cheese, and spicy pepper jam. I’m no sandwich rookie, so I’m not playing around with this.”
“I see that.”
“Ready?”
“Ready!” They built their sandwiches. If she’d been alone, she’d have skipped the arugula, goat cheese, and spicy pepper jam. But she didn’t because she wanted to prove to Max how “discerning” she was.
They carried their plates to the kitchen table, where they’d had breakfast the mornings she and Aunt Sloane had stayed here. The sky was still bright, the wind gently thumping the purple hydrangeas planted outside against the bottom of the window.
He motioned for her to take a bite.
“Your verdict?” he asked when she finished chewing and swallowing.
“Delicious.” It surprised her but this sandwich was super, super good.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Ricky rolled his ball between the island and the stove.
“Tell me what’s up with your search for your sister,” he said as they ate.
“Aunt Sloane and I checked into that Adoption Reunion Registry thing.”
“And?”
“And we found a girl born on the same day at the same hospital as me. In other words, we’re pretty sure we’ve found my sister.”
He looked impressed. “Wow.”
“Her name’s Anna Thomas. Sloane sent an email—’cause that was the only contact information listed for Anna—to who we think is Anna’s mom. But we haven’t heard anything back yet.”
“Great progress, though.”
“This search is taking forever .”
“You learned the name of your birth father just over a month ago. And now look at you. You’ve already met Seth and know the name of your sister.”
“It’s taking for-ev-er .” Which it was.
“Is there a reason for us to continue to meet to discuss how to help you?”
“Not right now, because we’re sort of stuck. But if anything happens, I’ll be sure to tell you right away, ’kay?”
“Yep.”
For some reason, Max looked kind of . . . lost.
His eyes were tired, and his hair was messy. He was saying normal things but underneath his words, she sensed sadness. “I’m sorry we cancelled our last meeting so I could see my friend’s musical.”
“Not a problem.”
She’d texted him last week and asked if everything was okay and he’d said it was. After that, he’d been out every night, so she’d thought he was good. But now she was pretty sure that he wasn’t good.
She’d said to Aunt Sloane that Max was lonely. Sloane hadn’t agreed and even Max had told her he was never lonely. But Ivy could tell that she was right. Max was lonely . Maybe he was partying a lot because he was lonely?
Guilt poured over her. She’d let a whole week go by since she’d texted saying she’d stop over. Why hadn’t she come by sooner? “So even though we don’t have a reason to meet to talk about my birth family search right now, I think Sloane and I should come over here for sandwiches a few nights a week for dinner. Like we’re doing now, but with Sloane. You can teach us about making sandwiches and Sloane can teach you and me about etiquette. She’s given me a few lessons since our dinner in Boston and it’s been so fun.”
“I do not find etiquette to be fun.”
“But you adore me and Sloane.” She interlaced the tips of her fingers beneath her chin and lifted her elbows high, giving him the big “please” smile her dad had a hard time saying no to.
“Whatever you’re doing with your face and arms is not going to make me change my mind about etiquette.”
She slapped her palms down on the table. “When we moved in, you said that you’d do anything I asked.”
He threw his head back and groaned.
“This is what I’m asking for,” she pressed.
“Your aunt will probably refuse to share sandwiches with me.”
“We’ll come over two nights a week,” Ivy went on. “Like Tuesday and Thursday? We won’t stay long. Just long enough to eat and have a lesson. We’re going to have such a great time!”
Ivy left right after they’d cleaned up the remains of dinner.
Had he agreed to A) feeding Sloane and a fifteen-year-old sandwiches and B) receiving lessons in etiquette?
Not to worry. Sloane would never agree to Ivy’s plan.
But maybe she would. He hoped she would?—
No, he didn’t. He hoped she wouldn’t agree.
He’d gone out for a lot of nights in a row. He could go out again tonight because that would be better than sitting here in his house in a black mood.
He picked up his phone and opened his contacts.
His gaze lost focus.
What was he doing?
He’d been searching for distractions, hunting for a woman who could make him feel . . . anything.
He hadn’t succeeded.
One woman had a laugh that set his teeth on edge.
Another only ate lettuce.
And on and on. They were the cream of the crop of the dating pool, and he didn’t like any of them. He’d bought them food and drinks; he’d flirted. But he hadn’t kissed a single one because the thought of doing so turned his stomach.
The more nights he’d gone out, the harder he’d searched for oblivion, the emptier it all felt and the more entrenched his anxiety had become.
He was doing much worse now than he had been immediately after kissing Sloane.
For two weeks, he’d been running. And now he was exhausted.
Jude’s words came back to him for the thousandth time. “By the end of your sophomore year, you were in love with her . ”
Max walked straight to his home office. He immersed himself in work until the clock read 1:00 a.m. Surely now, he was tired enough to fall asleep.
He showered. Brushed his teeth. Got in bed.
“By the end of your sophomore year, you were in love with her . ”
Apparently, he wasn’t tired enough to fall asleep. With a growl, he rose from the tangled covers and went to stand at his bedroom window that provided a view of Sloane’s bedroom window.
“By the end of your sophomore year, you were in love with her.”
Was there any chance that Jude was right?
Max was accustomed to making things happen in accordance with his will. He’d set a goal, work toward it, achieve it. If something ran counter to his will, he squashed it.
Falling in love ran counter to his will. It wasn’t something he’d wanted. Never in his life had he thought to himself, I’m in love . It hadn’t occurred to him that he might fall in love despite the fact that it was against his will and regardless of whether he’d labeled his feelings as “love” or not.
This situation was yanking him back in time to when he’d discovered that Felix was his father. He’d had no control then to stop or change it. He hadn’t given his mother and Felix permission to have an affair or to conceive him. By the time he’d found out about Felix’s paternity, he’d been a teenager, his parentage fixed long before.
In many ways, the possibility that he might love Sloane felt similar. Again, he’d had no control to stop or change it. He hadn’t given himself permission to love her. In fact, he’d consciously chosen to remain her friend and then her business partner. Many years had passed since they’d met. If his fate was set, it had been fixed long before.
He’d hated finding himself, powerless, in the center of the scandal his mother and Felix had caused. He couldn’t say he was enjoying the powerlessness of this current predicament either.
It was true that by the end of his sophomore year, Sloane had become one of the most important people in his life, one of the people closest to him, someone he was intensely—secretly—attracted to.
But was that love? And if it was, how was it possible that he’d never recognized it as that?
Had he been too proud to admit it?
Too scared?
Too dishonest with himself?
Too young and immature?
One thing was certain. He wasn’t going to figure out his emotions toward Sloane standing here and staring at her apartment over there .
He’d been a coward.
He’d go to her tomorrow. Face her. And tell her as much of the truth as he could bear to say.