CHAPTER FOUR
Payton
VICTORIA CAME BY TWO days after our anniversary without calling first.
She never did. During the first few years of my marriage, that had surprised me. Conrad scheduled everything weeks in advance. Victoria preferred to show up whenever she felt like seeing us.
That morning, I was drinking coffee in the sunroom with the first edition Max had given me resting beside my chair when I heard voices in the hallway. A moment later, Victoria appeared in the doorway.
“There you are.”
I smiled. “Should I be worried that you know where to find me in your own son’s house?”
“Absolutely,” she said, crossing the room. “It means you’re predictable.”
She kissed my cheek. Victoria Winslow wore cream slacks, a pale blue blouse, and pearl earrings that probably cost more than my first car, her blond hair swept into a loose knot.
“I brought lunch,” she said.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know.”
I smiled at the familiar answer. “Max says that.”
Victoria glanced toward the book beside me and stopped. “Oh.”
“What?”
She picked it up carefully. “He gave you this for your anniversary?”
“Yes.”
A smile appeared. “I wondered what he was doing.”
I sat forward. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Victoria.”
She laughed and returned the book to the table. “Max called me three weeks ago and asked if I remembered the name of a book you loved as a child.”
My chest tightened. “He called you?”
“Yes. I told him to ask you.”
“He couldn’t exactly do that.”
“I pointed that out afterward.”
Three weeks ago, Max had already been thinking about our anniversary. The knowledge affected me more than I wanted it to.
“He remembered that conversation?” I asked.
“Max remembers everything.”
“Mostly business things.”
“Everything,” Victoria repeated.
I picked up my coffee, unsure what to say. She watched me for a moment. “Happy anniversary, by the way. Was it a good day?”
“It was quiet.”
Understanding crossed her face. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
Victoria looked toward the windows. “I still wish things had happened differently.”
I knew she meant the way our marriage had begun.
“You wanted him to marry for love,” I said.
“Of course. I wanted him to meet someone himself, fall in love, make mistakes, and break his heart once or twice.”
“That seems mean.”
“It builds character.”
I laughed. Her smile faded. “Conrad thought love was an inefficient basis for marriage.”
“That sounds like him.”
“It does.” There was an old resentment in her voice I rarely heard. “I told him I disagreed and warned him Max would hate being forced into marriage. Conrad listened and did exactly what he intended to do.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I should have fought harder.”
“You tried.”
“Eventually you learn which arguments will change something and which ones won’t. I learned that lesson too well.”
I had watched her manage Conrad for years through quiet suggestions and carefully timed disagreements. Perhaps that was one reason she understood the compromises I had made in my own marriage.
“You’ve always been good to me,” I said.
“That shouldn’t require gratitude.”
“I’m still grateful.”
Victoria reached for my hand. “When Conrad told me about Edison’s daughter, I had no idea what to expect.”
I smiled faintly. “Then you met the daughter of a cleaning woman.”
Her expression sharpened. “Payton.”
“I know.”
“Kim worked harder for everything she has than most people we know ever will. Never diminish that.”
“I don’t. I’m proud of her.”
“Good.” Victoria squeezed my fingers. “Max respects that too.”
I gave her a doubtful look. “You have more faith in your son than I do.”
“I know my son.”
“So do I.”
“I think you know the parts he lets you see.”
I glanced at the book again. Three weeks of searching for a story I’d mentioned once hardly transformed our marriage, but it made Max’s distance harder to understand.
Victoria followed my gaze. “Conrad decided how your marriage began,” she said softly. “The rest belongs to you and Max.”
I wanted to believe that. After six years, apparently some part of me still did.
I saw Jules that evening at a fundraiser for a children’s literacy foundation, in a downtown ballroom covered in enough gold to make the room feel excessive even by Max’s standards.
Winslow Retail Group was one of the donors, which meant Max had been invited and my presence was expected. After six years, I knew how these evenings worked. My calendar was full of galas, donor dinners, and receptions where remembering the right names was part of being Max Winslow’s wife.
Max stood beside me near the bar, discussing a literacy program with the foundation’s director, one hand in his pocket as he listened. People wanted his attention. Sometimes I forgot how much influence he carried until I watched a room respond to him.
“Excuse me,” he told the director, then turned to me. “Drink?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re holding an empty glass.”
I looked down and laughed. “Apparently I need one.”
“What do you want?”
“Sparkling water.”
“Wild,” he said.
“I like to keep you guessing.”
His mouth lifted. “I’ve noticed.”
Max took my glass and headed toward the bar.
“Payton?”
I turned toward the woman who had stopped beside me and recognized her a second later.
Jules. Her blond hair was shorter now, and she wore a black dress with a narrow diamond necklace. Years had changed her appearance without erasing the assessing look I remembered, the one she gave people before deciding how much attention they deserved.
“Jules.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You remember me.”
“I do.”
“I wasn’t sure you would.”
“I spent enough time at your house.”
Her gaze traveled over me. “You look different.”
“So do you.”
“Marriage suits you,” she said, something unplaceable in her tone.
“Thank you.”
Jules glanced toward the bar and found Max immediately. “I haven’t seen him properly in years. He looks exactly the same.”
“He’d be devastated to hear that.”
She laughed. “Still dry?”
“Very.”
Her attention returned to me. “I don’t remember you being funny.”
The comment was mild enough to sound harmless, yet I understood the reminder underneath it. She remembered the girl who sat quietly in her family’s kitchen while her mother cleaned their house.
“I was younger,” I said.
“Your mother used to bring you with her, didn’t she? I remember you sitting in the kitchen with your books while she worked.”
“She didn’t like leaving me home alone.”
Jules nodded and lifted her champagne. “Of course.”
Max returned and handed me a fresh glass. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
Then he noticed Jules. Surprise crossed his face. “Jules.”
“Max.”
Her entire manner warmed. She stepped forward and kissed his cheek before he had much chance to react. My fingers tightened around my glass.
“How long have you been back?” Max asked.
“Three weeks. I’ve been keeping a low profile.” Jules smiled. “I heard you were coming tonight.”
Max let the comment pass. “How have you been?”
“Good. It’s been a long time.” Her gaze shifted toward me. “Payton and I were catching up.”
Max looked between us. “You know each other?”
“From childhood,” Jules said. “Her mother used to work for my family.”
The statement was accurate, although something about the way she delivered it made my shoulders tense.
“Small world,” I said.
“Very,” Jules agreed.
Someone across the ballroom called Max’s name. “I need to speak to someone. I’ll be five minutes.”
“Go,” I told him. “I’m fine.”
His gaze held mine briefly before he walked away.
Jules watched him disappear into the crowd. When she faced me again, some of the warmth she had shown him was gone.
“I always wondered who he’d end up marrying,” she said.
I took a sip of water. “Now you know.”
Her gaze moved over me again, slower this time, and I understood she hadn’t approached me simply to reminisce about childhood. Whatever Jules wanted from this conversation involved Max.
I was beginning to suspect it involved me too.
Jules waited until Max had crossed the ballroom before taking another sip of champagne. “You know, I really did have trouble recognizing you.”
“You mentioned that.”
“I suppose I remember you under very different circumstances.”
The meaning was clear enough now. I set my glass on the nearest table. “What circumstances?”
Jules gave me a patient smile. “Don’t be defensive.”
“I’m asking you to explain what you mean.”
Her eyebrows lifted, and I wondered if she had expected me to remain as quiet as the girl she remembered. “Fine. I remember your mother cleaning our house.”
“So do I.”
“You used to sit in the kitchen with a book while she worked upstairs. I remember. You were always very quiet.”
The memory of that kitchen returned easily. I had spent hours there while Mom moved through the house with her cleaning supplies. Once, Jules had come downstairs with two friends and asked her mother why the cleaner’s kid was there. I had been eleven. Mom heard her and kept working.
Jules glanced around the ballroom. “It’s strange seeing you here now. In this world.”
“I’ve been married to Max for six years. You’ve had plenty of time to adjust.”
“You really have changed.”
“I was a child the last time you knew me.”
Jules took another sip of champagne. “I always assumed Max would marry someone from our circle.”
“Someone like you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to.”
Her attention drifted toward Max, talking with two men near the stage. “We were together a long time.”
“I know.”
“Max told you?”
“No. I knew before we married.”
Her smile returned. “We were serious. We talked about marriage.”
That hurt more than I wanted it to, and Jules noticed. “There it is,” she said.
“What?”
“You care.”
“He’s my husband. Of course I care.”
“On paper.”
My grip tightened around my glass. Jules gave an insincere smile. “Sorry. That was rude.”
“You seem unusually interested in my marriage.”
“I was interested in Max long before you were.”
“Then I guess it’s unfortunate things didn’t work out.”
Her expression cooled. “You think you won?”
“Won what?”
“Max.”
“He’s a person, Jules.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t.”
She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Max was supposed to marry someone from his own world.”
The insult reached a place I thought I had left behind years ago.
I had never been ashamed of Mom, only of how people had treated us during those years, speaking around her as though she couldn’t hear them or barely acknowledging her at all.
I had learned young that people with money sometimes mistook wealth for worth.
“What exactly is his world?” I asked.
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
“I asked.”
She hesitated. “People who grew up the way he did.”
“And I didn’t.”
“You grew up differently.”
“My mother cleaned houses for families like yours,” I said. “You can say it.”
“I wasn’t insulting Kim.”
“You were trying to embarrass me with the work she did.” I continued before she could recover. “Mom raised me alone. She cleaned houses to support us, saved what she could, and eventually opened her own business. I’m proud of her.”
“I heard about the bookstore. That’s sweet.”
“She built it herself.”
Jules glanced away. I picked up my glass. “My mother working for your family never made her less important than them, and it never made me less important than you.”
“Everything okay?”
I turned at the sound of Max’s voice. He stood behind me, his attention moving from my face to Jules.
“Of course,” Jules said quickly.
I gave Max a small smile. “Everything’s fine.”
He watched me a moment longer. After six years, he knew when I was lying about that. Before he could ask, the foundation director approached and drew his attention away.
Jules gave me one last look before excusing herself.
Max’s hand settled against my lower back as he turned toward the director, and I tried to focus on their conversation.
Jules had failed to make me ashamed of my mother. She had still managed to remind me of the girl who once sat quietly in her family’s kitchen and understood exactly how little they thought of us.