947 A.M. #6
She felt bothered by how transactional he could be. He called it strategic, but the truth was her husband had hints of being a sociopath himself. “I actually do want to help them. I really like them both, and I don’t think they understand what they’re getting themselves into.”
“Winslow does. Miguel however…”
Antonia nodded. “Yes, he seems a little naive. All the more reason to try to help.” Feeling as though the conversation was over, she said, “Oh, I texted Charlotte. She’s working in her room.”
“Yeah, I know. I went to see her.”
Antonia offered him an easy smile even though a quiet alarm was going off in her head. “Did you?”
“Yeah, I wasn’t about to take someone else’s word that she was fine.”
“And how did she seem?”
“Fine.” He leaned back and placed his hands behind his head. His forearms flexed when he did it, and she felt a brief sense of attraction to him like she had the night before. “She looked a little worse for wear though.”
“I wonder what they got up to last night,” Antonia answered in a sing-songy voice that implied maybe Charlotte had slept with Oliver.
She would never normally concern herself with the personal life of a staff member, but part of her wanted to test her husband.
Test him—how healthy. “Maybe she is going to have that fling after all.”
“No, she’s not.”
“You sound sure of yourself,” she answered, studying him from behind her sunglasses.
This is exactly how he was with their daughter.
He couldn’t bear the thought of a man getting anywhere near his little girl.
Men were so strangely protective, even of their adult children.
Or staffers, in this case. She found some primal part of herself attracted to that too.
Good lord, what was going on with her? It must be some new hormonal shift that happens at this age.
“First of all, they have literally nothing in common. Second, Char’s not the type for some meaningless fling.”
Antonia wrinkled up her nose. “How could you possibly know whether they have anything in common?”
“I can just tell,” he answered in that manly ‘I know best’ way he had.
She shifted on the chair and lifted her legs back up so she could recline. But also so she could put more distance between them.
“You’re annoyed because I’m so sure I’m right.”
She glanced at him and smiled. “Well, it is annoying.”
He grinned a little, then said, “It’s annoying when you do it, but when I do it, it’s called good leadership.”
She laughed, knowing he was trying to irritate her on purpose. It was their favorite game—trying to get a rise out of each other. “The 1950s called. They said you should come back where you belong.”
That worked. Ted laughed, then shook his head. “I almost forgot you knew how to make a joke.”
She nodded, the reality of the pressure of their lives coming back to her. “Same. I’ve completely lost touch with her now, but I’m relatively sure there’s still a very fun woman hidden inside me.”
“Let her out once in a while. She was pretty terrific.”
“I’ll try.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Antonia drinking in her surroundings. There was something wonderful about being on a yacht with the azure sky when she should be at the studio. “This is really nice, isn’t it?”
“It’s the life I’ve always wanted,” he said.
She sat with his statement for a second, at first insulted that he was suggesting he didn’t want their life.
But then she remembered she didn’t want it either and she decided to get off her high horse.
“What do you think? Maybe someday we sell the Seattle property and the apartment, and buy a small yacht?”
He chuckled at the idea. “I’d rather make enough that we keep it all and add to the collection.”
She thought about it. “Maybe we should scrape some cash together to invest with Winslow.”
He grinned back. “Or we convince Travis to double our salaries for the next contract.”
“Do you think we might be able to do that?”
He sat up and lifted his legs off the lounger so he could face her fully.
Setting his feet on the deck, he let his fingertips rest on her forearm—something he hadn’t done in a very long time.
“Our ratings have never been better. I think if everything goes well enough this week, there’s no reason we shouldn’t expect a huge raise. ”
A warmth spread through her body. Not about the money, but about his fingers.
Strange how she still reacted like this at just the slightest touch.
After all these years and every ounce of resentment she had for him, he still did something to her.
She knew exactly what question to ask. “So? What do we need to do?”
“You know exactly what to do with a man like him. We flatter him, pump up his ego, and prove that we can be very useful.” He smiled at her, completely unaware that he had just described himself.
But that was a nasty thought, and Antonia felt instantly terrible entertaining it, especially when they were finally having a moment of pure connection.
One that hadn’t happened in so long, she couldn’t remember the last time.
Maybe this would be the start of them falling back in love.
She hadn’t expected it to happen, but maybe it could.
Maybe these last few years of struggle and terror and blurred lines between their relationship and their bank account would finally come to an end, and it would all be worth it.
Maybe they’d finally have it all. Success and happiness.
They could be calm and connected and joyful, cooking side-by-side again like they used to, and playing cards after dinner instead of going off to separate corners of their massive house to be alone.
They could write a book about it, called Having it All, and open up a little to their fans about the troubles they’d been having.
Not too much, of course, or they would look like hypocrites, but just enough so they were still relatable.
Antonia could start hitting the gym with him and eating healthy.
Maybe get off her sleeping pills so she could be awake long enough in the evening for sex.
She’d get all lean and toned for the first time in her life so they’d match again.
She would tell people it was all about longevity, of course.
I’m not getting any younger and if you don’t take care of yourself, things start to fall apart.
She’d have enough energy that she wouldn’t need to nap every day like an old lady.
And they could finally start saving money so they wouldn’t have to continue relentlessly running on the hamster wheel of their own making.
That one moment held infinite possibilities for them, and she felt her heart surge with joy.
She flipped her arm so he was touching the inside of it, as if opening herself up to him. “I’m in.”
MERCY
Mercy was hiding in the air-conditioned library.
Travis, Ted, Winslow, and Oliver were out on the speedboat for a fishing expedition, and based on the amount of booze she’d seen Oliver packing, Mercy knew they’d be gone for quite some time.
Antonia had returned to her suite to do some work, Charlotte hadn’t emerged from hers yet, and Mercy hadn’t seen Miguel for a while.
She’d called home again while she watched the men disappear into the distance, which, as it turned out allowed her to calm down a distraught Grace, who had come home early from school with a stomachache.
It happened at least once a week, even though her teacher, Mrs. Milton, was a patient, kind woman who tried everything to get her to stay the whole day (including a sticker chart, letting her erase the whiteboard, and special coloring pages).
Today, she’d only lasted until eleven in the morning.
Mercy spent forty-five minutes reassuring her that she would most definitely, one-hundred-percent come back in five days, that Auntie Faith did know how to clean out the fishbowl properly and wouldn’t kill her goldfish, and that no, Auntie Faith was not going to force her to eat ‘liver with fava beans’ (something Rhett threatened her with to get her in the car earlier that morning, and she would have to talk to him about).
By the time she hung up, she was worn out, and the last thing she wanted was to spend the afternoon engaged in small talk with their other guests.
She’d get enough of hosting and conversing at dinner when the men returned.
So she’d pulled on a hoodie and some yoga pants, then sneaked down the hall from their suite to enjoy one of life’s most pure luxuries—reading a novel.
Snuggled on the white couch under a crocheted blanket, Mercy sipped her mug of green tea and cracked open the hardcover of Little Fires Everywhere, needing to know who set fire to the Richardsons’ house.
Mercy grew up devouring books, but as soon as she moved to Hollywood, her life had taken off in a way that made finding the time for this simple pleasure nearly impossible.
So, having had enough of the sun and people for one day (actually, lately it felt like enough for one lifetime), she was gloriously happy to have the cool air, a warm blanket, and some solitude.
But just as she opened the book, the door to the library swung open and in walked Miguel in his swim trunks and a linen button-down shirt. “Oh! Chilly in here.”
“Yes, a little,” she answered, resting the book on her lap, but keeping her finger in to mark the page.
“I’m glad I found you,” he said. “Can we talk?” he asked, giving her a pointed look. “Like, really talk?”
“Of course.” She smiled and patted the couch cushion next to her, even though it was the very last thing she wanted to do.
He planted himself next to her and shivered. “God, it’s cold in here. Is that on purpose?”
“Yes, sometimes it’s nice to have a break from the heat.”