Chapter Eleven #2
Madison shrinks in her seat. I’ve spent a week trying to intimidate this kid into leaving, and my mother manages it with three words and a look.
“Mother,” Sebastian starts, “this is Ivy and …”
“Madison. Madison, our half-sister.” There’s no gentle way to do this. “Dad’s daughter with Naomi Payne.”
My mother doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. The perfect bourbon wife, trained to weather humiliation with dignity. But I see the slight whitening of her knuckles on her purse.
“Yes, I remember her from Louis’s funeral,” she says. “What I do not understand is why she is here.”
“Long story. Do you want the Cliffs Notes?” I ask.
She nods. “Short version.”
“Dad bought land on the cheap because it’s contaminated.
He’s been paying off the right people to keep it hidden.
Madison has proof. She’s blackmailing us to stay here for the summer while Ivy works on her guardianship.
” Okay, the last part was mostly a lie. She doesn’t need to know that Madison is trying to weasel her way into becoming family.
She sighs. “I guess a paternity test isn’t needed. With that move, she’s definitely Louis’s kid.” Her mother’s gaze shifts to Ivy. “And you are?”
“Ivy West, Madison’s sister. I’m the guardian,” she answers, standing and extending her hand. “Different fathers.”
My mother ignores the offered hand. “How convenient. Two for one.”
“Mother,” Sebastian warns.
“What? Am I supposed to pretend this isn’t awkward?” She runs a hand along her chignon with tight, deliberate movements. “Your father’s barely cold in the ground, and you’ve opened your home to his... indiscretions.”
Madison flinches. Ivy’s face hardens.
“That’s enough,” I say, my voice low. “Madison is fourteen. Her mother just died.”
My mother’s eyes widen slightly. “When did you get a heart?”
“If I had, that might have hurt,” I drawl. I’d forgotten how sharp her tongue could be. But I’ve got enough scar tissue that I barely feel the cut.
And fine, a week ago, I might have tossed Madison out like bad mash. But something’s shifted slightly. Maybe it’s the sporadic mornings when Madison joins Ivy and me at the pool. When the teenager actually lets her guard down and shows flashes of humor and intelligence.
Madison lifts her chin. “I don’t need to be defended. Mrs. Blackstone has every right to her feelings.”
The maturity in her tone catches me off guard. Seems it does my mother as well, who studies Madison more carefully.
“You have his eyes,” she says after a moment. “That same Blackstone blue.”
Madison nods. “Mom always said that's how she knew I was his.”
An uncomfortable silence falls, broken only when Patricia appears with iced tea for my mother. She accepts it with a nod. “I came to tell you all that I’m leaving for Europe. Tomorrow.”
“Europe?” Sebastian repeats. “For how long?”
“Six months, perhaps more.” She sits in the empty chair and takes a sip. Is she stalling? “I’ve rented a villa in Tuscany for the summer, and then I’ll spend autumn in the South of France.”
“That’s… sudden,” Lillianna says.
My mother’s lips curve slightly. “For me, it’s a long time coming.”
I narrow my eyes. There’s something she’s not telling us. “With Irene?” I ask, referring to her closest friend.
“No.” She sets down her cup with a deliberate click. “With Thomas.”
“Thomas?” Sebastian echoes. “Who’s Thomas?”
My mother looks at him, then at Lillianna, and then at me. There’s unexpected amusement and unease in her eyes. “Thomas Hargrove. My boyfriend of five years.”
My head jolts back. Five years? I pick up my snifter, remember it’s empty, and set it down. “You’ve had a boyfriend for five years? While married to Dad?”
She laughs, the sound startlingly genuine. “Oh, please. Your father had Naomi and God knows how many others. Did you expect me to remain faithful to a man who never returned the courtesy?”
“But—" Sebastian starts.
“I was just more discreet about it,” she continues. “Once I realized your father would never change, I changed my views on marriage. I became more like him. The difference is, I simply chose not to advertise my choices the way he did.”
My mother. The proper, traditional, perfect Catherine Blackstone has been carrying on a long-term affair while maintaining her public image as the devoted wife.
“Good for you,” Ivy says, raising her glass in a small toast.
My mother looks at her with newfound interest. “Thank you, dear. It was, indeed, very good for me.”
Rosalia coughs to hide a laugh. Lillianna doesn’t bother hiding hers.
“I can’t believe this,” Sebastian mutters.
“Believe it,” our mother replies. “Thomas is waiting for me at the airport hotel. We leave for Florence tomorrow afternoon.”
She stands, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her dress. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some last-minute packing to do. Madison, it was... interesting to meet you. I suspect you have more of your father in you than just his eyes. Let’s hope it’s the better parts.”
With that parting shot, which somehow manages to be both acknowledgment and warning, she sweeps from the library, leaving us in silence.
“Well,” Ivy says after a moment. “That was…”
“Typical Blackstone drama,” I finish, running a hand down my trim beard. “Welcome to the family.”
“I like her,” Madison declares, surprising us all.
“You do?” Lillianna asks.
Madison nods. “She didn’t pretend to be happy about me being here, but wasn’t cruel.” Her gaze snaps to me. “Unlike other people, when I first met them.”
“Keep it up, kid,” I say without any real heat. “I can bring back that attitude.”
She holds up a hand. “No, no. The one you still have now is more than enough.”
I snort and Lillianna outright laughs. “I like you, Madison.”
The happiness that flashes in Madison's eyes makes even my cold heart pinch.
Checking her watch, Lillianna says, “I have to go. I’m meeting one of my students at the book part of 3Bs.”
My brows furrow. “Student? When did you start teaching again? Don’t you help Rosalia at 3Bs?
” I ask. The bookstore, bar, and boutique hotel had been their passion project since my sister returned to help Rosalisa after I gave it to her before moving to Quebec.
After what I’d done to her, it was the least I could do.
“I do, but things are settled. I have more free time, so I’ve started tutoring kids in French and Spanish. Today is a French student.”
“Can I come?” asks Madison. Her shoulders hunch slightly as if preparing for rejection. “I plan on taking French in high school. The headstart would be great.”
Lillianna shrugs. “Sure.”
They get up and wave a quick goodbye. Sebastian and his wife follow. “Speaking of 3Bs, tonight is Romance Book Club,” Rosalia says.
“You still do that even though you have the bar and hotel added on to the bookstore?”
“Well, Daniel’s fiancée, Anna, has taken over most of the book clubs. But this one is my favorite, so I help out,” Rosalia replies.
My brother takes her hand and they start for the door. “Where are you going?” I ask, pointing at the papers spread over the table. “There’s more we need to discuss.”
He shakes his head. “Not today. It’s Sunday. I’m ignoring my problems for the rest of the night and going with my wife to 3Bs. And if she doesn’t need my help, I’m going to partake in all three of the B’s. I’m getting a double of our single barrel and hiding in a vacant room with a good book.”
Rosalia squeezes his hand and wiggles her eyebrows. “Oh, the Dark Romance room is vacant tonight...”
My brother’s expression shifts from exhausted to interested in record time. “Oh, yeah…”
I shake my head. “Subtle.”
“We never claimed to be,” Sebastian says with a half-smile as they head for the door. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”
“Eight a.m.,” I remind him, tapping on the EPA documents. “Don’t be late.”
He nods and they slip out, heads bowed in conversation. Their connection pulls unexpected longing through me. What is it like to have a person who not only has your back, but also your heart?
The quiet of the house settles over me like a weight. Too much has happened today, and now I’m alone with Ivy.
I glance at my jeans and black boots, suddenly restless, needing escape. “Have a good evening,” I tell Ivy, heading for the door.
She rises, following me. “Where are you going?”
“Out.” I push through the library door and head toward my garage.
“No shit,” she snarks. “Anywhere in particular? Does it have to do with the case?”
“Nothing to do with the case.”
She keeps in step with me through the hallway and onto the loggia. A streak of orange fur darts between us, sprinting down the steps, followed by a black cat that nearly trips Ivy. She stumbles forward with a gasp.
I catch her, one hand at her elbow, the other at her waist. We’re close enough that I catch the subtle scent of her shampoo, something with vanilla and spice. Her eyes meet mine, dilating slightly.
“Sorry,” she says, not pulling away. Her hand rests against my chest, and I’m acutely aware of the warmth of her palm through my shirt.
I clear my throat and step back, putting necessary distance between us. “Damn cats. They have no boundaries.”
“I’ve noticed there are a few around here. Why?” she asks, looking around, probably for more cats. Can’t blame her. I do have a lot of them roaming my property.
I shrug, pretending to ignore how my hand still feels warm where it touched her waist. “I fed a couple strays. Then more showed up, so I fed them too.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Keeps away mice,” I mutter, not meeting her eyes, afraid she might see that I also like their company. That I have names for all of them.
I key in the garage code, and when the door clicks open, she asks, “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere in particular.” I step into the garage. “I’m going out on my motorcycle.”
She grabs my elbow, halting me. “You have a bike?”
“Yes.” I point to my Ducati, then my Arch.
“I miss my Triumph.”
I freeze midway to my Arch. “You ride?”
"I did. I had an '85 Bonneville. T140. Bought her used when I was in college, already beat up but she ran like a dream.
" She sighs and I hear the longing. "Sold her after graduating law school to pay off some bills.
Seemed like the reasonable thing to do since I was barely riding anymore.
Not exactly practical to commute to a law firm in heels and pencil skirts. "
She laughs, but there's genuine regret underneath it. "I still think about that bike sometimes. She was temperamental as hell, leaked oil, needed constant tinkering, but God, I loved her."
And now I’m picturing her ass in a fitted black shirt and a low-cut blouse. I am the asshole people call me. Shaking my head, I take in her linen slacks and white cotton shirt. “Change into jeans and boots. Come with me.” I wave toward the motorcycles. “Which one do you want?”
Her mouth falls slightly open, then she asks, “To ride?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Each of these bikes costs more than my car.”
“Do you plan on wrecking the one you ride? Is this your way of telling me you’re a shitty driver?”
She scrunches her nose and it’s adorable. “No. I’m probably better than you, but these are way too tall for me.”
I rub my chin. “Yeah, you are vertically challenged.”
She smacks my arm, laughing. “True. Plus, I’m more of a cruiser girl, like my Bonneville.”
“Well, if you’re willing, you can be my backpack.” I switch from the Arch, since it doesn’t have a passenger seat, to the Ducati.
“I don’t know. I like in being charge—”
“I’m well aware.” I look at her mouth, recalling the night on the train. Her demands were hot as sin.
“I was going to say on a motorcycle. But it’s true, I like being in charge…unless the other person actually knows how to do it.”
My gaze falls to her mouth. “I do.”
She licks her lips and parrots my earlier words, “I’m well aware.”
We are close. Bridging the distance would be so easy.
But the fallout would be the opposite.
I force myself to step back instead, shoving my hands in my pockets before I do something stupid. “We can stop for roadside burgers I found while exploring the perfect riding road.”
“Okay. Give me ten minutes to change.”
She runs inside the house and is back in under five minutes. I barely even had time to regret my suggestion. Why had I thought that having Ivy pressed up against me would be a good idea? Too late now.
Handing her Lillianna’s jacket and helmet, I get on the Ducati and flip up the visor of my full-face helmet. “Hop on.”
I see the hesitation in her eyes as she takes in the small passenger seat. And for a moment, I think she’ll back out. Part of me hopes she will. Having her pressed against me for the next hour or so isn’t the smartest move I’ve made today.
Then she swings her leg over the bike and settles behind me, her thighs bracketing mine. Her hands hover awkwardly at my sides.
“You’ll want to hold on,” I say, my voice rough even to my ears.
Her arms slide around my waist, her body molding against my back as I press the ignition. The Ducati purrs to life with its signature growl, more felt than heard. The engine’s vibration travels through both of us and her grip tightens.
Bad idea or not, there’s no backing out now. I’m taking Ivy West on a ride that could lead us anywhere. And the most dangerous part has nothing to do with the motorcycle.