Chapter 22 #2
‘That’s enough, Maisie,’ Kit says, ears turning distinctly pink. ‘Can we talk about something else? Like how surprisingly good this dinner is?’
‘The lighthouse guy looked grumpy like Dad,’ Maisie continues, ignoring him completely. ‘Except when he smiled. Dad smiles more, though.’
‘Moving on,’ Kit says firmly. ‘Seconds, please?’
I bite back a smile, sliding the serving dish towards him. ‘Told you vegetarian could be good.’
‘I’m still keeping the emergency pizza place on speed dial,’ he says, but his eyes are warm when they meet mine across the table.
‘Isla?’ Maisie cuts in, oblivious to the looks, the heat, the density in the air between me and her father.
‘Yes, love?’ I reply, noticing the small flicker of Kit’s mouth as I do.
‘When you make your next movie, how will you be here and there?’
Fuck.
I pause, my noodle-loaded fork hovering between the plate and my mouth. Kit’s gaze is analysing those ribbons of carrots like his life depends on it, but I don’t miss the drum of his fingers on the tabletop.
‘Well.’ I clear my throat, because it’s tightening by the moment. ‘Can I be honest, Maisie?’ I put my fork down on my plate.
‘Dad says honesty is the bedrock of family.’
Fuck. Again. Did she just call me family?
I want to cry.
‘Making films isn’t everything,’ I say cautiously. ‘Maybe I won’t make another one.’
This has Kit’s gaze lifted and staring straight into me like he’s reading my soul. A small frown chips its way between his brows.
‘But you have to make movies. You’re the best,’ Maisie blunders on, unaware of the look her father is giving me,
My cheeks sting with heat. ‘That’s sweet of you, but there are a lot, and I mean a lot, of other very talented people who are just as good as me.’
Kit is watching me so carefully.
‘Nope.’ Maisie’s bottom lip turns out in a pout. ‘Definitely not.’
My laugh is the most natural sound I’ve made in years. It almost sounds alien as it dances from me and into the Harding kitchen. ‘You are too cute. Well, anyway, I’ve upset some very important people; they might not want me to make another movie.’
Maisie cocks her head and it occurs to me for the first time what she might have heard – at school, in the playground. Surely nothing, right? She’s eight.
She shrugs a little lift of her shoulders. ‘Well, I think you should. But you still have to come home to see us. You could use your private jet.’
I snort a laugh. ‘I do not have a private jet. And anyway, I live in London most of the time.’
Her nose wrinkles. ‘I’ve never been. Dad says it smells.’
I side-eye her father. I have no idea if he’s ever been back to London after our visit that fateful day for my meeting with Vale. He’s very busy looking at his wilting stir-fry so I can’t catch a read of his expression.
‘You get used to the smell.’
Maisie nods. ‘Perfect. I think I’ll like it.’
Kit rolls his eyes and gives a shake of his head at his presumptuous daughter, but something settles in my chest – a quiet, dangerous contentment that feels too much like belonging.
‘Ha! Park Lane with a hotel!’ Maisie crows, throwing her hands up in victory. ‘Pay up, Dad!’
Kit groans, counting his dwindling Monopoly cash. ‘This is highway robbery.’
‘It’s the rules,’ she corrects, sitting up straighter. ‘You landed on my property, you gotta pay!’
‘When did you get so bossy about board games?’
‘I’m not bossy, I’m the banker,’ she says, holding out her hand. ‘Also, I’m totally winning.’
‘I can see that,’ Kit mutters, handing over most of his remaining money. He turns to me, his knee bumping mine under the coffee table. ‘A little help here? She’s ruthless.’
I study my own meagre holdings. ‘Sorry, I’m one bad roll away from bankruptcy myself. Your daughter’s a shark.’
‘Told you we should’ve played Snap,’ Kit grumbles.
Maisie rolls the dice again, moving her little silver dog around the board with the confidence of a casino boss. ‘Your turn, Isla.’
I roll, edge past Pass Go, and collect a pitiful handful of cash from the centre where the bank’s cash lives. Apparently Maisie and Kit can’t be trusted as banker. ‘I live to play another round.’
‘Not for long,’ Maisie sing-songs, eyeing my piece hovering dangerously close to her hotel empire.
‘I’ve faced tougher negotiators,’ I tell her, handing the dice to Kit, our fingers brushing. ‘Hollywood producers. Award-show hosts. Your dad when he doesn’t want to admit he’s wrong.’
‘Hey,’ Kit protests. ‘I admit when I’m wrong. It just doesn’t happen often.’
Maisie and I exchange a look.
‘Sure, Dad,’ she says, patting his hand consolingly. ‘Whatever you need to believe.’
An hour later, Maisie has bankrupted us both, her Monopoly empire complete.
‘I win!’ she announces, doing a little victory dance around the coffee table. ‘Again!’
‘No chance. I can’t believe one game takes so many hours; it’s like they wanted to create torture,’ Kit says, leaning back against the sofa. ‘I’m starting to think you’re counting cards.’
‘You can’t count cards in Monopoly, Dad.’
‘Then you’ve got a system. Or you’re just weirdly lucky.’
‘It’s skill,’ she insists. ‘And good property investments.’
I laugh, helping her gather the colourful money. ‘Future real-estate tycoon in the making.’
Kit checks his watch. ‘All right, property mogul. Time for bed.’
‘Ten more minutes?’ Maisie negotiates, already stifling a yawn.
‘Nice try. You know the drill. Teeth, pyjamas, be—’ Maisie sighs dramatically, cutting me off.
‘Will you be here for breakfast, Isla?’ she asks, starting to pack up the game.
The question catches me off guard. ‘Oh, I—’
‘Are you having a sleepover?’ she asks, looking between us. ‘Like when you stayed before and Dad got the couch?’
Kit and I exchange a look, heat crawling up my neck.
‘I haven’t decided yet,’ I say carefully.
‘Dad says sleepovers are fun,’ Maisie continues, yawning. ‘But he says the couch hurts his back ’cause he’s old.’
‘I did not say I was old,’ Kit protests, glaring at Maisie.
‘You said your back went crrrk,’ Maisie demonstrates, twisting her small body. ‘After you slept on the couch when Isla was here.’
‘That’s enough, Maisie,’ he says. ‘Bedtime. Now.’
‘Dad snores,’ she adds helpfully, collecting her hair tie from the table. ‘Not super loud, but kinda like a bear. A small one. But then you snore too, Isla, a little like this…’ She goes on to recreate the sound.
‘Thank you for that,’ I manage, pressing my lips together at Kit’s mortified expression. I know for a fact I’m bright red. ‘Goodnight, sweetheart,’ I add as she heads for the stairs.
‘Night, Isla. Night, Dad.’ She pauses at the bottom step. ‘Can we have pancakes for breakfast? Since Isla’s here? With chocolate chips?’
‘Bed,’ Kit points. ‘Before I change my mind about that new video game.’
She scampers up the stairs, leaving us in a silence charged with everything we haven’t said.
‘So,’ Kit says after a moment, his voice rougher than before. ‘The couch, huh?’
‘Apparently it’s the gentlemanly thing,’ I tease, packing away the last of the Monopoly money.
‘About that.’ He moves closer, the space between us suddenly electric. ‘I’m not feeling particularly gentlemanly tonight.’
My mouth goes dry. ‘No?’
‘No.’ His fingers brush my wrist, a touch so light it might be accidental if not for the heat in his eyes. ‘But I’ll take the couch if you want me to.’
‘And if I don’t want you to?’
His gaze drops to my mouth. ‘Then we wait until Maisie’s asleep, and I show you exactly how ungentlemanly I can be.’
‘Promise?’ The word comes out breathier than I intended.
The corner of his mouth lifts in a smile that’s pure sin. ‘I never make promises I don’t intend to keep.’