22 #2
Peter’s strong arms circled Maria from behind, and he propped his chin on her shoulder. “Good to see you again, Nava. Ramón.
Carah. I intend to text all of you next week about coming to our house for dinner.”
Carah’s blue eyes lit with glee. “ Our house? Peter Motherfucking Reedton, after all this goddamn time, did you finally get your thumb out of your—”
“Yes, Carah,” Peter interrupted, then kissed Maria’s cheek. “The two of us are together, and my ass is now entirely digit-free.
Thank you so much for inquiring.”
Well, that was an outright lie, unless he was referencing the state of his ass at this very moment, but she generously chose not to
point that out.
The more truthful part of his declaration, as predicted, elicited another round of hugs, more swearing, and several disapproving
stares from neighboring tables. Then the lights flickered, a signal that the more formal portion of the evening was about
to begin, and everyone let go of one another and circled the table to find an empty seat.
Poor Peter sagged in introverted relief as he thumped down into the chair beside hers. But a wide smile split that dark beard
of his, and he intertwined their fingers on the tabletop, where everyone could see.
“Later tonight, you will tell me every fucking detail,” Carah whispered in Maria’s ear. “And I mean that in every possible way I can.”
After Alex made his heartfelt, impassioned case for supporting his charity, the live auction commenced.
And when he urged the attendees to spend big and bid it up, they listened.
If Maria thought the silent auction items were going for breathtaking amounts, that was nothing compared to what people would evidently pay to attend a series finale party with the Gates showrunners or what they’d spend for a fucking car .
Suffice it to say, he raised—as Carah put it—a shitload of money for his charity.
Afterward, crowds of people were waiting to speak to Alex, which meant Lauren knew no one at the table. So after all her tablemates
filled their plates at the dinner buffet, they introduced themselves, confirmed she was uninjured, and made casual conversation.
Even Peter, despite his discomfort socializing with strangers.
“Lovely to meet you, Lauren.” He smiled at her, warmth in his dark eyes. “We’ve heard so much about you from Alex.”
“I’m certain you have,” Lauren said dryly. “I hope your data plan is very generous.”
Apart from having the most gorgeous green eyes Maria had ever seen, Alex’s short, round minder was also smart and very funny,
albeit in an understated way. And then, when they were nearly done eating, the star of the evening swooped down upon the table,
hustled Lauren toward the ballroom exit, and took her... somewhere.
“That’ll be interesting to watch,” Nava murmured, and she wasn’t wrong.
Ramón’s phone buzzed atop the table. One glance at the screen was enough to make him sigh. Meeting Nava’s inquiring gaze,
he gave her a tiny nod.
She groaned. “Again?”
“Sadly, yes.” Leaning back in his chair, the director laced his hands over his belly and told the assembled group, “So that was my ex-wife, for approximately the thousandth time in the last couple of weeks. As soon as she heard I was in a committed rela tionship with Nava, the barrage of texts and calls started. Which I don’t get, since we’ve been divorced almost a decade now, and the decision to split was mutual. ”
“Wants what she can’t fucking have.” Carah shook her head.
“We’re just waiting her out.” Nava patted Ramón’s thigh consolingly. “Thank goddess I don’t have the same issue. Dottie’s
been great. Very supportive of my relationship with Ramón, especially around Carlie.”
“I would have expected my ex to be the same way, but...” He lifted a shoulder. “Like I said, I don’t get it, but I’ve heard
it’s a pretty common phenomenon.”
Poor Ramón. Maria couldn’t even imagine how frustrating that would be, for him and for Nava too. Given the circumstances of
Maria’s own breakup with her only significant ex-lover, she was entirely certain she’d never know from firsthand experience.
Ramón, obviously ready to stop discussing his own woes, twisted in his chair to face Peter. “What about you? Any exes come
out of the woodwork after you and Maria got together, asking you to give them another chance?”
Maria fought a wince and nudged Peter’s leg with her own.
Yes, Ramón wanted to change the subject, but that was clumsy of their former director. After all this time, he should know
Peter didn’t share sensitive information in public. Or at all, generally.
To her surprise, though, Peter didn’t seem bothered by the question.
“My only significant ex is married to a thoracic surgeon now, so the good news is that she’s extremely unlikely to come calling the first time she sees me kissing Maria in a tabloid photo.
” Turning his head, he met Maria’s eyes and .
. . smiled. Not a forced or fake smile, but an expression of genuine joy.
“No, I take it back. That’s not the good news.
The good news—the best news—is that if she’d stayed with me, I wouldn’t have Maria. So I’m glad she left me. Thrilled.”
A chorus of awwwww s greeted his declaration, and for good reason. Coming from a man like Peter, that was a public declaration of love.
Smiling back at him, she squeezed his fingers and absently rubbed at her chest, which seemed to have... melted, somehow?
Nava turned to her. “What about you, Maria? Any persistent exes?”
Well, that took care of the melting. Immediately.
After six years together, she still hadn’t told Peter about Hugo. And maybe it was a tale better told privately, but he needed
to hear it one way or another, sooner rather than later, and she wasn’t embarrassed or heartbroken anymore.
Hugo’s behavior didn’t indicate her worth. Or, rather, her lack thereof.
As Carah would say: What the fuck. Do it, bitch .
A big gulp of wine, a deep breath, and Maria prepared to offer the briefest explanation possible. Hugo hadn’t deserved her
time then, and she wouldn’t waste an extra moment of it on him now.
“Like Peter, I only have one significant ex,” she said. “Hugo. He was a banker in Stockholm. We’d been a couple for two years
and were talking about buying an apartment together when his company transferred him to their London office. Our relationship
became long-distance.”
Later, of course, she’d found out the transfer hadn’t been forced on him without warning, as he’d implied. He’d asked for
it. Asked to move away from her, to an entirely different country.
“A long-distance relationship is...” Nava’s face creased in sympathy. “It’s hard to make it work. I know that from very
personal experience.”
Hmmm. Maria had always wondered whether endless months spent apart as Nava filmed on location had broken her relationship with Dottie. She’d also wondered, however, whether her own experiences were coloring her suspicions.
Both could be true. Likely, both were true.
“Frankly, I don’t see how anybody could make one work,” Maria told her. “I certainly couldn’t, anyway.”
And Hugo never tried. He didn’t remain faithful for even a month. Which she knew for certain, based on a single piece of evidence.
In her defense, it was a very good piece.
“Several months after he moved, he texted the wrong thing to the wrong person,” she continued, and wished her cell weren’t
in Peter’s pocket, because she wanted to capture their reaction to the next bit. “A request to the obstetrics office of Dr.
Millicent Ivey that they reschedule his pregnant wife’s ultrasound appointment.”
Peter’s hand convulsed in hers, and his dark brows snapped together so hard, he appeared to have a generously sized caterpillar
on his face. Carah mouthed the word motherfucker , and Ramón jerked back in his chair with enough force that it scraped against the floor.
Otherwise, it was all dead silence and dropped jaws.
Fy fan . She really should have reclaimed her phone. This was priceless .
And to her shock, the story didn’t cause her pain anymore. Not a single twinge. In fact, the whole thing was kind of...
hilarious?
With a huff of amusement, she flicked her wrist. “Ivey, Ivarsson. It could happen to anyone.”
“It happened to you .” Peter didn’t look amused. At all.
In fact, he was staring at her so hard, she half wondered if he was attempting telepathy. Or perhaps telekinesis, in hopes he could whisk her from the ballroom to somewhere more private using only the seething energy generated by his scowl.
If so, good luck to him. Her ass was planted in this seat for the duration.
“It hurt.” She spoke directly to him, because she knew at least part of what that glower hid. Concern. For her. “But my family
helped me pick up the pieces. And a few months later, I sent audition materials to Hollywood on a whim, figuring I could use
a new setting. A new adventure.”
Slowly, the severe lines of his face softened as he saw her smile and heard what she hadn’t said: Then I met you. Then you became my closest friend. Then you became my everything .
Those snapping dark eyes turned tender, and he gave a little nod. An answering smile tipped the edges of his mouth, and it
was small and sweet.
He didn’t need to remove her from the crowded ballroom with the power of his mind.
The music swelling in the distance was only for them, because everyone else had already disappeared. Just like that.
“Without him, sotnos , there’s no us. That’s his only importance to me now.” She lifted their entwined fingers. Kissed his knuckles. “So let’s
hit that chocolate fountain at the dessert display, order more drinks at no additional cost, and find out whether I can convince
the DJ to play ‘Dancing Queen.’”
His eyes narrowed again as he helped her to her feet. “Oh, they’ll play it.”
“Or you’ll... what? Murder them?” Even as a proud Swede, that seemed a bit extreme.
“I had intended a bribe, but . . .” He lifted a shoulder. “Whatever’s necessary. I’ve plumbed the depths of evil before. Peered into the eyes of killers. Learned their malevolent secrets, which I can now employ for my own ends.”
She stopped. “You’re talking about the Irish cows again, aren’t you?”
“I’m talking about all cows,” he corrected. “Now gather your molten milk chocolate and enjoy the fruits of iniquity.”
In the end, the DJ did indeed play “Dancing Queen.” It required only a twenty-dollar bill, rather than bovine-inspired homicide.
With the ridiculous man she adored at her side, she danced surrounded by friends, and she contained no more secrets. No more
hidden history. Nothing else to hold within and curl around, out of shame or wounded pride or lingering grief.
She felt light enough to drift, airborne, in the wake of Peter’s laughter.
And if this—along with her family—was her reward for all her pain, all the times she’d been abandoned, all the moments she’d
been set aside and watched the people she loved choose anything and everything other than her, it was enough.
More than enough.
Like Peter, it was everything.