Chapter Five
Roman’s Big Accident
Only a few hours later, Finn was back from his errand. He had gone to pick up his mother’s gift—a new printer for her office. As he rounded the corner, he found Roman sitting in a lawn chair on the patio reading Food and Wine and eating a cheese plate.
“Where were you?” Roman asked, not looking up.
“Picking up mum’s gift.”
“What’d you get her?”
“New printer.”
“Sentimental fool, you. I picked her up Dream Weaver,” he said, spitting an olive pit into a bush. “There was a drop auction online. Just had it wrapped downtown.”
“A Dream Weaver?”
“You know, the artist. The one getting really famous.”
“I—I know who Dream Weaver is. I was shocked we now own one and asked you to repeat the name merely to confirm what I heard. They’re incredibly expensive, Roman.”
“Yeah. I got a good one. Really good one. It’s called Oregon Coast Whims. I wanted a Monet, but those are harder to come by according to my art guy.”
“How much did this cost me?”
“Eh. Couple hundred grand. Can’t remember. A lot of people wanted that one. There was a bidding war online, apparently.”
Finn dropped his head against the patio railing and groaned.
He wasn’t sure when Roman would begin to take some responsibility with the business or just get some sort of direction in his life, but it didn’t seem to be happening any time soon.
He had no interest in working for the company—which was fine—but he had no interest in anything else either, which was not so fine.
Rosa ran past, chasing a tiny, yapping, white dog.
“Sorry, sir—pardon me,” she said, half bowing as she always did.
“What the heck is that?” Finn asked.
“Oh—a dog.”
“Why...?”
“Gift from Jane to Mum. She said she’s sorry she can’t be here, but there’s a doctors conference in Miami that she’s been committed to since before we even met.”
“Mum will love that,” Finn said dryly. “She’s always loved animals. Says she doesn’t know where I got my wildlife warrior badge from.”
Roman stood up and grinned, filling his glass. He motioned to Finn with the bottle. “Want some?”
Finn shook his head vigorously. Not a chance.
“Did I overhear you inviting Flora Fairchild to mum’s party tonight?”
“You did.”
“Roman, you keep your nose out of trouble,” Finn said sharply.
“You are engaged now, and that girl has been in love with you since we were nine. We will not lose the Brooks merger because you decide to renege on the only good thing you’ve ever done for this company to follow a schoolyard crush fifteen years too late. ”
Roman just shrugged. “Sure.”
Finn didn’t bother to look at him.
He stared across the lawn, now dotted with tables, chairs, and flower arrangements. He was calculating the cost of this party, wondering how much money they’d save if they never had another one of these stupid things.
Party planners usually cost him five to ten thousand, the chairs and tables three to four thousand, food was always in the high twenties, drinks were even higher. Of course, his mother would get a new outfit and hire a band. Another few thousand. The valet had to be hired. The clean-up crew.
He felt sick.
Even though the estate was sprawling and the party only occupied a sliver of it, he still hated it. A waste of time and precious resources dedicated to showing off for a night, only to do it all again a month later.
As he stared vacantly at the lawn, his mother’s favorite event planner, Mrs. Kent, who had time-traveled from the twenties, swept by the patio. She was a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and sparkles.
“Look—it’s Prince Charming in the flesh. My favorite boy.”
Despite Roman being the crowd favorite, Mrs. Kent had always had a soft spot for Finn. She saw him clearly—gentle, kind, burdened with great responsibility.
Finn let few people treat him like a child, and even fewer were allowed to tease or touch him. He didn’t like it when people got too close, had always backed away from shared space (even on dates), and hated hugs. Yet, somehow, Mrs. Kent had always gotten away with squeezing his cheek.
“Hello, Mrs. Kent,” Finn said, as she reached up to pinch his cheek. “Back for another party, I see.”
“And you better be there, my darling,” she said, wagging her finger at him. “And not in your room, hiding from everyone like a hermit. Maybe you could even dance with someone or enjoy the evening for your mother and my sake.”
“Mrs. Kent, you ask the impossible, especially with a reputation such as mine.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “But I will do my best.”
“You are not at all your reputation, Mr. Woodhouse, but we must not let everyone know. It might ruin your mystique.”
She winked, and Finn laughed under his breath.
That afternoon, after surprising her father and the other staff, Flora found herself staring at her closet.
She pulled out the long, silk, red dress with the low back. One that Alexandre had picked for her. She stuck it in the bathroom to steam out the wrinkles.
“Flora… what are you doing? You just got back. Don’t worry about your clothes now. You’ll have plenty of time to clean them—Flora… what is that look I am seeing?”
“Dad,” she said, leaning on the doorframe of the bathroom, “don’t think I’m regressing within an hour of being back, but I’m going to the party tonight”
“What party?” he asked blankly.
“Clara’s birthday party.”
“Oh.” He looked surprised. “Who’s invited you?”
“Roman. Roman has.”
“Flora!” he exclaimed, eyes wide as he set his newspaper down with a flourish.
“Dad! I promise you, it’s not like that. You know I’ve always dreamed of going to a Woodhouse party. This is my chance! I may never have another one.”
“Just be careful, my dear,” he replied, sighing.
Even though a very different Flora had arrived home, he was nervous.
She’d aged quite a few years in the nine months spent abroad.
He hoped she was only going to the party to fulfill a childhood dream.
Though he was still concerned that all the growth in those nine months would be tossed to the wind in one night with that silly boy.
A few hours later, Flora was ready. Red dress, hair curled, makeup done. She was jet lagged, of course, but it would take much more than that to stop her.
She followed the path she’d walked a thousand times to spy on the parties. But this time, she wasn’t going to sit in a tree and watch like an owl.
She was going inside.
And she couldn’t believe it.
She paused at the sycamore tree, looking at it like an old friend.
“I’m finally going inside!” she whispered. “Can you believe it? All these years I sat in your branches, and now I’m crossing over. And if anyone sees me talking to tree, they will not let me in… see you, Mr. Tree.”
Flora was sure Mr. Tree was smiling, just as happy as she was, and, with his subtle blessing, she walked through the jasmine-covered trellis, into the party.
She paused, taking in the grandeur of it all from the ground instead of the branches.
It was so much better from the ground.
Outside of the Fourth of July and Christmas, Mrs. Woodhouse’s birthday parties were the best parties of the year. Occasionally, Roman’s birthday came close (Finn always asked not to have a party—that was his gift), but tonight Mrs. Woodhouse had outdone herself.
Lights were strung over everything, trailing from the porch to the tree in the middle of the dancefloor.
The orchestra was playing big band and swing music.
People were dressed beautifully. Pink and purple hydrangeas sat clustered in bunches on tables, tumbling from the porch staircases, and wrapped around chairs.
Candles burned in excess, thousands of them, their light flickering against crystal.
Flora was staring at the chandeliers above the tables, wondering how in the world they’d hung them in the sky, when Roman caught his first glimpse of her.
He stopped.
He couldn’t believe she’d been hidden from him all these years.
How had he not seen her before this?
“You look absolutely beautiful,” he said, approaching from the side. “In fact, beautiful is a terrible word to use. I don’t even know what to call it.”
“There are plenty of alternatives,” she said, automatically.
“Appealing, charming, exquisite, fascinating, marvelous…” She paused, realizing how immodest it sounded.
“Sorry. I promise I’m not a walking thesaurus nor a complete headcase.
What I should have said was—thank you, I feel rather out of place here. ”
“Don’t feel out of place, you’re just in your backyard!” Roman commanded, smiling at her. “Here. One second.”
Rosa passed by now with a plate of the famous bruschetta everyone fought over. She stopped at Flora, smiling broadly like a proud mother.
“Eat! Eat! Before it’s gone!”
Flora snatched one.
“You look like a princess,” Rosa said, squeezing her cheek.
Flora forced a smile, breathless from it all. “Thanks. I’m so nervous.”
“Don’t be. You are the prettiest girl here by far!”
As the band began Moonlight Serenade, Flora felt her stomach turn itself inside out and she swallowed back a lot of old feelings. She’d heard this song so many times from the tree. She still couldn’t believe she wasn’t in the tree.
Roman reappeared with an entire tray of Ruinart champagne. Mrs. Woodhouse called it “cheap party water,” even though it ran a hundred dollars a bottle.
“I got the whole tray. My mum is going to be so annoyed. Here’s one for you.” Roman grinned. “Now, I am going to have to insist that you dance with me. Otherwise, I might have to call security and let them know that the chauffeur’s daughter infiltrated this very upscale event.”
Flora, still a little dizzy, followed him to the dance floor.
It was all too much.
“All the times…” she murmured to herself after a few minutes.
“What?”
“All the times I sat watching these parties,” she replied, “from that tree right there, like a bat. And I finally got into one. I feel like I’ve stolen something.”
“I remember that now that you mention it. Just last year you were up there, hovering.”