Chapter Three
Michael…
One month later…
The sun is setting over my parent’s garden, sending long fingers of red and gold, lighting up the table where the family is enjoying another one of Martha’s spectacular meals.
Catriona, my twin sister, is here with her husband Lucas.
Duncan brought his latest boyfriend Kyle along.
Jack dinnae have a date, being both between girlfriends and a serial monogamist. Maisie is dateless too, though I caught her whispering to Sophie and giggling as she showed her a text.
I’ll need to have her bodyguard Knox report on who she’s been seeing.
Celia is seated next to me, wearing an elegant pale linen dress and a tight smile, since Jack had accidentally spilled a bit of his drink on her. It was only a couple of drops, but I’m thinking she won’t forgive him anytime soon.
“I regret moving out every time I have another one of Martha’s dinners,” Catriona sighs, scraping every last bit of fricassee of cauliflower and sea samphire from her plate.
“Is that why I’m always seeing Sophie slipping you a big tin of dessert every time we leave?” Lucas teases her gently.
“I apologize for nothing,” she says loftily, putting one hand over her rather pregnant belly. I’m happy for her and Lucas. Of all the circuitous routes the MacTavishes have taken to find true love, theirs was surely one of the most challenging.
My gaze rises to the back of the house. There’s a wide bank of windows in the kitchen, and I can see Martha and Sophie bustling back and forth.
Mum brought in extra servers to help tonight, but I know Sophie never leaves her mother to do all the work when she’s home from school.
Sophie’s already promised to work in the MacTavish International legal division after she graduates from law school.
Which means she’ll be around the office. Where I’ll see her.
Often.
She’s twenty-two, ye arse. My voice of reason is getting easier to ignore as I watch her bounce back and forth, cheeks pink from the heat of the kitchen and laughing at something her mother said.
My mobile vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out just enough to see a text from Ryan, of my best captains.
We have two visitors here. They’re looking to dive into the pool but they’re barely keeping their heads above water. I guess Albanians dinnae know how to swim.
So, he and his crew picked up the Albanian feckers responsible for robbing two of our gaming clubs and torching them. He’s letting me know they’re in the bunker under the pool house and severely injured.
Show them our best hospitality, please engage them in conversation until I arrive.
Mum glares at me until I reluctantly slip my mobile back into my pocket. She tries to hold to the rule of no calls or texts at family dinner, but after a week as disastrous as this one, there’s no ignoring reports from my security team.
We lost another client after his shipment of US military grade sniper rifles exploded at the docks.
Interpol is trying to freeze several of our bank accounts in the Cayman Islands for suspicious activity after transfers from the UK were flagged.
There was a security breach at one of our pharmaceutical labs last night.
It’s been a shite year and it keeps on coming.
“So!” Da gets to the best part of our monthly dinners. “Who has something to share?”
“I still think being pregnant wins this round,” Catriona pouts.
“Ach, no, lass. We’ve let you have it the last three months,” Da says, shaking his finger at her. “It’s time to give someone else the first crack at dessert.”
The ritual of sharing the good and the bad has been part of dinner since we were just bairns, though now it only takes place at our once a month dinners.
The winner gets the first helping of dessert, usually a gigantic serving that requires being boxed up and taken with them after a herculean effort to finish it in one serving.
I know everyone’s bringing their best tonight because Martha has made an enormous pear frangipane with pistachio cream. This particular dessert is so sublime that Jack once offered Maisie the use of his Ferrari Strada for a month in trade for her share, and she refused him.
“I have news,” Maisie offers, “I’ve just been accepted into the early internship at the Glasgow Royal Infirmary.” There’s a boisterous round of applause.
“That’s a huge thing,” Duncan says. “I thought ye had to finish your first year of med school before they accepted ye for that.”
Maisie beams. “All that extra work with Dr. Morozov last summer paid off. She gave me a glowing recommendation.”
Dr. Morozov is the wife of the Pakhan of the Morozov Bratva, who are our key Russian allies in the U.S. and St Petersburg. I’m thinking Maisie sewed up plenty of bullet wounds.
Jack holds up a hand. “I dinnae want to brag, but I just finished a highly successful business meeting with Wallace. We smoked the other corporation bidding for the contract.”
He’s treading lightly due to the presence of Celia and the servers. Wallace, our cousin, is our mafia’s arsonist, and the two of them just incinerated a rival mafia’s attempt to push into our Boston interests.
“Have you come to a conclusion on who wins dessert?” Sophie’s sweet voice rings out as she heads for the table, deftly carrying the huge silver platter, piled high with an elaborate display of frangipane.
Her long chestnut colored hair is pulled back into a long ponytail and her simple black dress is highlighting her exquisite lines, the curve of her wee waist to a slope of generous hip.
My hand tightens into a fist. God, I want to run my fingers over those curves.
“Well, I know it’s rather a bit early,” Celia suddenly speaks up. “But I believe that at this dinner next month, Michael and I will have happy news to share.”
The table goes silent, everyone trying to shape their expressions into approving ones. I’m watching Sophie’s face over Mum’s shoulder. There’s a quick flash of acute sorrow before she forces a smile.
“Well, I’ll just put this in front of the Chieftain,” she says, “and leave you all to it.”
I feel Celia’s cool hand on my arm, but I’m busy watching Sophie’s ponytail swing back and forth as she hurries back into the house.
Sophie…
The next day…
“Well that dinner turned into one hell of a stramash,” Maisie says crossly, dumping half the sugar in the pot into her tea.
“Oh?” I try to look nonchalant. “How so?”
“Are ye kidding?” She seizes the creamer and fills up the rest of the mug. “Ye dinnae hear that wee bombshell that Miss Resting Bitch Face dropped?”
Oh, that.
When Celia spoke up last night, she’d glanced at me briefly with a cruel little smile.
Michael only raised his brow at her and smiled politely as my heart dropped.
It shattered in my chest like a fragile vase.
I don’t know why I’m feeling this way. It’s not like Michael had ever really seen me.
Some stupid part of me had hoped, though.
That he would see me as a grownup now that I’d graduated from college. Someone mature and worthy of notice.
“...can ye believe that shite?” Maisie’s looking at me expectantly.
Crap.
“I’m sorry, what shite?”
“I knew ye weren’t listening,” she says sourly. “Can ye believe she had the nerve to pretend Michael’s asked her to marry him?”
“Well, they have dated for a while,” I say.
She laughs, reaching over to grab the other half of my scone. We’re having lunch close to the hospital. She’s in scrubs and I’m in my best office wear for my summer internship at MacTavish International.
“They look good on paper, though he’s made it clear that they’re not exclusive.
Not that she would pay any attention to that,” she says, munching on my scone thoughtfully.
“I dinnae see them ever getting married. MacTavish men are passionate!” Thumping her chest, Maisie deepens her voice, making me laugh.
“They worship their women!” The two girls who look like college students at the table next to us are trying to hide their smiles.
“Celia’s proper but ye know she’s a snake under all that Chanel. ”
“Oh, I hate those,” one of the girls at the next table says.
“Right?” Maisie says, unperturbed. “Acting all sweet when ye know they’d tear your head off if they cornered ye in the ladies’ room?”
I flash back to the vivid image of Celia touching up her makeup while mocking me in the Witchery bathroom.
“Aye!” Both girls are nodding furiously. “I’ve had one of those before,” the blonde agrees. “Wanting my boyfriend and ready to stab me in the kidney to get him.”
Knox, Maisie’s bodyguard, is sitting at the table on the other side of us, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
“While I’m enjoying this moment, I have to get back to the hospital,” Maisie groans, standing up and stretching her back. “Leaning over those patients to give rectal examinations is killing my back.”
We wave goodbye to our sympathetic table neighbors and head out into the cloudy Edinburgh afternoon.
“Hey, is Miles still trying to set up his friend with me?” I ask, lingering on the sidewalk. I can’t stop seeing Celia’s little smirk as she made her “announcement” at the MacTavish family dinner.
She brightens immediately. “Bryce? Aye, he brings it up all the time. He says Bryce keeps talking about how beautiful ye are.” She nudges me. “Which shows how desperately the man needs glasses.”
“I can always count on you to protect my self-esteem,” I laugh. “Let’s…” I hesitate. I’d almost rather be helping her with those prostate exams than go out on a date, but…
It’s enough. You have to move on.
“Let’s do it,” I sigh. “But it has to be a double date! I’m not going out with him alone. That’s hours of painful ‘get to know you’ conversation. We go somewhere loud. With drinks. The four of us.”
“Are ye sure?” Maisie asks. “If ye two go out on your own, ye can make one of those nice, big lists ye love of all the questions that matter most, like: ‘What are your hobbies? Do ye have a fondness for sharp knives or taxidermy? Is there a deep pit in your basement?’”
“Okay, that’s it. I changed my mind-” I take one step before she charges me, seizing my arm.
“I take it back!” she laughs. “It’s like ye dinnae trust me. When have I steered ye wrong?”
“Freshman year, Nelson Yates who told me I had to meet his mother before we could go to dinner?” I say dryly. “Oh, wait, I made a list on my phone of all of your most disastrous suggestions about my love life.” She groans as I pull out my phone, pulling up my notes app.
“Not the lists!” Maisie says dramatically. “Okay, have I steered ye wrong recently?”
“Only because I’ve given up on dating, along with bad tequila and the belief that high-waisted jeans are flattering,” I say sourly.
“Ye won’t regret it!” Maisie gives me a big, smacking kiss on the cheek. “Who knows, ye might actually have fun, ye uptight wee thing.”
Probably not, I think. But I’ve pined after Michael long enough.
“Look at you! You’re gorgeous!” Mom says, giving me a huge smile. “I’m guessing you and Maisie are going out clubbing? Remember, don’t drink anything you didn’t see the bartender make, and-”
“Not to worry, Mom.” I’m putting in some long, sparkly earrings Daisy gave me at school and I’d never had an occasion to wear them. “We’re going to Whiskey Dreams, it’s a MacTavish nightclub. You know nothing’s getting spiked there.”
“Well, good,” she says, taking my brush and running it over a couple of snarls in the back of my hair that I’d missed. “Maybe you and Maisie can meet a couple of nice guys there.” She grins at me in the mirror. “Hot, nice guys.”
“Yeah, we’re bringing our own,” I say, putting my brush and some lipstick in my little purse. “Maisie’s setting me up with her new boyfriend’s co-worker.”
“Oh?” Mom looks so pleased that it’s making me feel guilty for not having more of a love life. “What’s his name?”
“Bryce. He and Miles work together at a venture capital firm. He seems… nice,” I say with a shrug.
“So much enthusiasm,” she teases. “Still, this is good. You’re been working so hard in this internship. You’re twenty-two! You’re supposed to be having fun and making poor life choices!”
“What have you done with my mother?” I laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be telling your daughter that.”
Mom flushes, chuckling a bit. She’s always been so pretty.
I got my slate-grey eyes and aggressively thick hair from her.
I’m concerned, though, because life seems to be wearing her down recently.
There are dark circles under her eyes, and I’ve been hearing her out in the kitchen in the early morning hours, moving around quietly.
“Do you want me to pick you up some melatonin pills?” I ask gently, “I feel like you’re never fully rested.”
“I’m fine,” she brushes it off. “Go!” She makes a shooing gesture at me. “Go have fun.”
Kissing her on the cheek, I breathe in her soothing lavender-vanilla scent. “I will. I’m still getting you those melatonin pills, though.” I make a quick note on my shopping list.
One last check for lipstick on my teeth and I’m slinging my purse over my shoulder, halfway out the door when she calls out.
“Sophie?”
“Yeah, Mom?” I turn around, watching her expression go from miserable to forced cheerfulness in seconds.
“Nothing.” She shakes her head firmly. “Go and have fun. I love you.”
Hurrying back, I give her a big hug. “I love you, too. Always and forever.”
“Always and forever,” she echoes, watching me leave.