Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
S loane jerked to a stop, heart rate spiking.
Max sat in deep shadow in an opulent leather armchair. His strong fingers loosely held a crystal tumbler half-full of amber liquid—likely bourbon. He’d never been much of a drinker, but even back when he could seldom afford good-quality bourbon, he’d had an appreciation for it.
“If you’re trying to seduce me,” he went on, pale eyes gleaming, “it would be faster and more expedient for you to simply tell me you want me.” He was giving the impression of being mostly in control of his faculties, but something about his demeanor—an underlying recklessness?—made her suspect he was feeling his liquor.
“I can assure you that the only thing I want,” Sloane said, “and the only thing that brought me down here is food.”
“Help yourself.”
“If you’d bothered to inform Ivy and me that you were having a gathering, we could’ve planned accordingly and taken water and food upstairs. Had that been the case, we wouldn’t have had to disturb your guests.”
At some point since she’d seen him last, he’d freed the top few buttons on his business shirt. The glow from the kitchen slid over him lovingly, highlighting the hard planes of his face, nestling into his disheveled hair, gleaming against his diamond cufflinks. “You didn’t disturb my guests.”
“Well, if nothing else, it disturbed me to insert myself into a party to which I had not been invited.”
“I’m giving you a standing invitation to every party I host here while you’re living on my property.”
“And I’m preemptively registering my RSVP to that as a no.”
She crossed to the fridge. Bingo. Leftovers from the caterers. She found a plate and served herself roast beef, corn salad, and a popover.
From his chair, Max watched Sloane perch on a stool at the island and begin eating in her Miss Manners way.
He rose and came to a stop across the island from her, setting his bourbon down with a clink . This was a better viewing position. Much closer. He noted how a few caramel brown strands of hair curved to a stop near the base of her throat. How the pink silk of her pajama collar rested smoothly against her ivory skin.
He’d screwed up the really good thing he’d had with Sloane. It hadn’t been until she’d gone that he’d understood just how good of a thing, how rare of a thing, it had been.
She popped a bite of bread in her mouth. “Oh,” she murmured in response to the taste. Every now and then, he was lucky enough to hear Sloane make that soft oh sound unconsciously.
She gathered another bite of food on her fork. “I’m surprised to find you downstairs alone.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I expected you to be spending quality time with one of those women from earlier.”
He could have been doing just that. But he hadn’t wanted to. “You sound annoyed. Are you jealous of those women?”
With everyone but him, her eyes communicated compassion and calm. At the moment, they communicated nothing but indignation. “Why would I be jealous of them? I pity them. And you. More than a decade has passed since we first met and you’re still choosing women who are interested in you for your looks.”
“Oh? You’re acknowledging that I’m handsome enough to draw women with my looks?”
She regrouped almost instantly, dabbing her lips with her napkin. “You know very well that you draw women with your looks and have always used that to your advantage. Which is a big part of your problem.”
“What problem? That of being desired by beautiful women?”
She cut a bite of beef into a precise rectangle. “You have no idea what type of woman would make you happy.”
“And you have no idea what type of man would make you happy. I saw your reunion with Nate.” Max had gotten along well with Nate for the past four years. But seeing Nate slobber over Sloane this evening had reminded Max why he’d been unable to stand the guy back when Nate and Sloane had been dating. The sight of them together had caused his mood to curl at the edges like burning paper. “He’s dull and predictable.”
“Unlike some people, he’s friendly, kind, and respectful toward me.”
“Enter into a relationship with him and you’ll soon be bored out of your skull.”
“I prefer bored out of my skull to what you’ll be once those women are done with you. Which is emptied of your money.”
“It’s cute that you think my money could be emptied.” He threw back the rest of the bourbon. “My bank accounts are bottomless.”
She was striving to look unbothered by this exchange and doing a pretty good job of it. But small details were making it past her control. He watched her pull off another piece of popover with too much force, then chew it rapidly. “While we’re on the topic of your women?—”
“—Which you brought up?—”
“—Do you think you can find it within yourself to behave well this summer while Ivy’s staying at The Gables? I would much prefer it if she doesn’t see you set an example of valuing women for nothing but their sex appeal.”
He raised his eyebrows a fraction.
“I don’t want her witnessing anything above a PG level,” Sloane said. “Brooke and Jared and I would appreciate it very much if you could tone things down to a suitable level while she’s here.”
“Oh? Are Brooke and Jared spending a lot of time worrying about my dating life while over in the Middle East?”
“Can you tone things down to a suitable level?”
“That question implies that I’m not operating at a suitable level now. I’ve had one party since you moved in, and you came down and saw it. Completely suitable.”
“Answer my question, please.”
“I’ll make sure that Ivy doesn’t witness anything above a PG level. Are you going to permit me to conduct R-rated behavior in private? Or are you ruling that out as well?”
“What you do in private is none of my business.”
“It could be your business, if you’re the one in private with me.” He’d spoken without thinking, his mouth getting ahead of his brain. But as he watched Sloane blush, he didn’t regret his words.
He could make her blush. At the very least, he could do that.
During their friendship and business partnership, he hadn’t said things like that to her. He’d thought them. A lot. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d felt the tug of physical attraction toward her. But he’d never said anything suggestive because he’d been afraid of injuring their friendship. In the end, had that carefulness benefitted him? No. Their friendship had been injured anyway.
“Did this evening’s cloud of perfume damage your short-term memory?” she asked. “I clearly stated a few minutes ago that the only thing I wanted, and the only thing that brought me down here, was food.”
He smiled at her—his very best smile. This was the wide, flattering smile that had won him numerous hard-to-get women.
She blinked once, slowly, then gave her head a little shake. All of a sudden, she was a blur of motion. Standing and sweeping up her plate, cutlery, napkin. “I’ll be taking my food upstairs.”
He didn’t want her to go. Yet she’d already vanished.
Leaving him lonely.
The following evening, Ivy parked herself on Max’s front steps and waited for him to get home from work.
It took ages. She didn’t mind because she could entertain herself on her phone. But man. She couldn’t imagine working until eight o’clock at night. When she was in school, she was dying to leave by 3:30 p.m.
She heard his car first, then saw it. He usually drove his Porsche, but she’d seen inside his garage, so she knew he also owned a new Mercedes and the car he was driving today—a 1970s Chevy Blazer.
She waved.
Instead of continuing past the house to the garage, Max parked nearby on the drive and walked over. He’d stayed at the office so late that it was almost sunset. The cooling air had a gray-blue tinge. Fireflies hovered in the bushes.
“Did you escape your terrible Aunt Sloane,” he asked, “in order to tell me that you’d like to take me up on my generous offer of a Gucci purse or Tiffany bracelet?”
Grinning, she pressed to her feet. “No. I’m here because your assistant called Aunt Sloane this afternoon to tell her that the mouse was rehomed. We moved out of your house back to ours.”
“I liked having you both at my house. If it were up to me, I’d have let the mouse become the new tenant of the apartment and kept you guys here at The Gables.” He looked like he was serious.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Aunt Sloane never would have gone for that.”
“No. She’s a spoilsport.”
“She’s a lot of fun!”
“Only if you enjoy discussing which glass to use for dessert wine.”
Ivy giggled. She was standing on the lowest step, which brought her closer to his eye level. “First, I want to thank you so much for finding a way to let the mouse live. Kevin and Ricky and I are super happy about how it all turned out. The rat boys celebrated by eating grapes after we got back to the apartment. They’re thrilled.”
“Always glad to thrill a pair of rats.”
She toyed with the hem of her neon pink T-shirt. “The second thing I wanted to talk to you about is kind of personal.”
“That’s a terrifying intro. It’s like I’ve got a speed train full of cars labeled with all the personal issues of teenaged girls whizzing in front of my eyes.”
“This issue isn’t terrifying,” she rushed to say. “It’s about my birth father.”
“Your birth father?”
“Yes. I’d like to meet him. Aunt Sloane and I learned that his name is Seth Taylor. We think he once lived in Boston, back when Harper lived in Boston. But that’s about all we know.”
“I see.”
“We googled him and looked for him on social media. But we couldn’t find him. I wondered if you could help us. You’re smart and great with computers and you’re the type of person who gets things done, right?”
“Right. I’ll definitely help you.”
“Great, because I feel kinda bad that I’ve dumped all of this on Aunt Sloane. It would be good if we had someone with your connections working with us, you know? To share the load.” When she was young, Max had come with Aunt Sloane to her house lots of times. He’d played board games with her, made crafts with her, kicked a ball with her, joked with her. Twice, she’d visited the Libri office in Philadelphia with Aunt Sloane and both times he’d taken them out for ice cream. She’d always been a giant Max fan.
Ivy didn’t understand everything that had gone wrong between Sloane and Max. But she, personally, couldn’t be happier that they were living on his property. His property was gorgeous. And this was Sloane and Max’s big chance to make up.
“Your aunt will oppose including me in the search for you birth father,” he said.
“I know. Sunday afternoon, I’m going to my friend’s house to spend the night. If you, um, wanted to talk with Aunt Sloane about it then, you could.”
“Very cagey.” He raised his fist.
She bumped it. “You think you can get Aunt Sloane to agree?”
“Unsure. I meant it when I said I’d do anything for you. That includes going toe-to-toe with your Aunt Sloane.”
Across town, Fiona was also returning home from a long day at work. She emptied her mailbox near the stone wall outlining her property. Then flicked through the items on autopilot, going through mail in the same way she went through mail six days a week?—
One of the letters caused her nerves to jolt.
Isobel had sent her a letter. Isobel.
Her older sister had handwritten the address. The penmanship was recognizable to Fiona, even after all this time. This was the first communication between them that Isobel had initiated in thirty-five years.
It could be bad news, she cautioned herself. Maybe a sentiment along the lines of, I will hate you as long as I live. Never reach out to me again under any circumstances.
It could also be good news, Fiona’s stubborn streak countered.
Mind spinning, she drove her Aston Martin the rest of the way to her house. Once inside, she set everything else down and made a circuit of her kitchen, tapping the letter against the palm of her free hand.
She stopped and peered at the letter, suspense pinging inside her like a pinball. Finally, she went to her favorite chair in the living room, the one she used for reading. Instead of reclining back into it as if it were a hug like usual, she sat upright.
Gathering courage, she ripped open the envelope’s flap and slid out an ivory notecard embossed at the top with her sister’s monogram.
Fiona,
If you’d like for me to consider joining you for the eclipse, as you’ve expressed, then I have a stipulation. Restore communication between yourself and Nicole. Extend her forgiveness. Send me a photo of the two of you together.
This will show me that you understand how hard it is to do the thing you’re asking me to do. But that you’re willing, as you’re asking me to be willing.
—Isobel
Diabolical. Fiona had never once anticipated this. And yet, Isobel’s request made a terrible kind of sense. Fiona had done to Isobel what Nicole had done to Fiona. And so if Fiona wanted Isobel to forgive, then it wasn’t completely shocking to think that Isobel would demand that Fiona forgive first.
Since the day she’d learned that Felix was Max’s father, Fiona had seen Nicole from a distance a couple of times in Groomsport. That’s it. That’s as close as their paths had come to crossing. They’d never spoken because when Nicole slept with Fiona’s husband, she’d betrayed their friendship in the worst way. Nicole had become someone Fiona loathed.
And these are, no doubt , an inner voice pointed out, the feelings that Isobel has toward you.
Nicole had cost Fiona and her sons immeasurable pain when she’d called that reporter and announced Max’s paternity to everyone in the United States of America. Fiona had barely survived the scandal. Her sons had been scarred by it, Jude most of all because he’d been her caretaker when her mental health had tanked following the divorce. His high school years had mostly been consumed by Fiona’s depression. And all of this had started with Nicole.
Fiona’s conscience flared.
It wasn’t fair to lay all the blame at Nicole’s door. Felix bore half the responsibility. Her ex-husband’s inability to resist sex outside of marriage had left a wake of relationship destruction behind him. Including the destruction she and Felix together had wrought on Isobel.
In the years since her divorce, Fiona had endured Felix because that’s what was in the best interests of her sons. The same could not be said for Nicole. It had suited Fiona to cut Nicole out of her life and, as far as she knew, that had suited Nicole, too. Her former friend and housekeeper had never tried to reach out to her.
Fiona reread the short note two more times.
If one of them, she or Nicole, was going to make a move to mend fences then it should be Nicole because Nicole was the one who owed Fiona an apology. Nicole was the one who should express remorse.
Fiona, understanding this law of the universe, had done exactly that with Isobel. But now Isobel was asking Fiona to make contact. To forgive the person Fiona least wanted to forgive, a person who hadn’t asked for forgiveness.
With a growl, she flicked the letter to the side, yanked off one high heel, and threw it hard. It landed with a plunk , skidding. She yanked off the other high heel and chucked it, too. Then she speed-dialed Burke.
“Fiona,” he said with pleasure.
“I just received a letter from Isobel.” She brought him up to speed on her sister’s demands. He listened quietly as she railed. She knew him well enough to recognize that the silence was not full of judgment or criticism. She trusted that he wanted her best and was on her side.
The kindness in his voice confirmed it when he spoke. “What are you going to do?”
“I have no idea. My immediate plan is to stew on this for the next few days.”
“Okay,” he said without a trace of censure. “Want me to bring dinner over so we can talk through it more?”
“Yes, but only if the dinner you bring is very, very fattening.”
He chuckled. “You’ll never forgive me if I bring over a fattening dinner. I’ll only remain in your good graces if I bring over lean meat and vegetables.”
“Fine,” she said irritably.
“You know, Fiona, that I’ll bring you the most fattening dinner Groomsport has to offer if that’s what you really want. Is that what you really want?”
It was very hard to sustain any level of annoyance with him, even for seconds at a time. “No, you read me right,” she said, relenting. “Lean meat and vegetables it is.”
Sloane, it’s Nate. I’m so glad I ran into you at Max’s house. I’d love to take you out for lunch or drinks sometime next week, if you’re free.
Sloane
That sounds lovely, thank you. How about lunch on Tuesday?
Nate
Perfect. I can’t wait.
Jude
I spoke with my mom and Jeremiah about the missing tiara. They both remember it, my mom especially. Neither of them realized it was missing and neither of them have any idea what happened to it.
Max
Thanks for checking with them.
Jude
Sure. What are our next steps?
Max
How do you feel about snooping around in their houses?
Jude
Strongly against.
Max
K. I figured. Forget I said anything about that.
Jude
Forget it because you’re not going to snoop? Or forget it so that I can play dumb about it if you get caught snooping?
Max
The latter.
Jude
Look, it’s not right that my dad’s pressuring you to recover the tiara. And I definitely don’t want any more media attention on your mom or you. I’ll help you. But let’s chase other avenues before you consider snooping.
Max
Like?
Jude
I’ll talk with a colleague who has experience with jewelry thefts of this caliber and get back to you.
Nicole Cirillo was giving Sloane and Ivy an extraordinarily thorough tour of her home in Montville.
After Max’s party, Nicole had followed up with Sloane to reiterate her lunch invitation. Sloane had accepted and, now that she was here, found she was glad she had. Not only was it polite etiquette to take Nicole up on her gracious offer. But it also felt good, after years of silence, to restore communication with Nicole, who’d been a mother figure to Sloane during a formative season of Sloane’s life.
The older woman glowed with pride as she showed them every room, bathroom, and even every closet. Nicole went into raptures over the storage the house offered. They admired the kitchen cabinetry, the natural light, and the herbs growing in profusion in Nicole’s backyard.
There could be no doubt that Nicole cherished her house. As well she should. It was an adorable Tudor-style—a whimsical mix of original craftsmanship and excellent updating. Despite the merits of the house, Sloane understood that Nicole’s verbal enthusiasm for it today was less about the building and more about convincing Sloane that Max, who’d purchased this house for his mother, was a decent human being.
That message was not lost on her. Whatever Max’s faults, whatever the ways he’d wronged Sloane, he obviously loved his mother and had provided for her well.
A man who loved and provided for his mother could not be a completely irredeemable man. Though there were likely death row inmates who loved and provided for their mothers. So maybe that hypothesis wasn’t correct.
Nicole served them lemonade on her back patio while grilling burgers for their lunch.
Sloane couldn’t help but make an uncomfortable observation. Max was doing a better job taking care of his single parent than she was doing taking care of hers. That stemmed mostly, though, from the fact that Max was rich, and she was not. If she was still co-owner of Libri, she could’ve afforded to purchase a home for her father, too.
“My son was never happier than he was during those years when you and he were close friends,” Nicole said, standing at the barbecue with a spatula in hand.
“That’s interesting,” Ivy said. “Because weren’t you and Max pretty short on money in those days?”
“Not only did we have very little money, we also worked really long hours.” It might be revisionist history on Nicole’s part to think Max had never been happier than he had been then. However, Sloane couldn’t discard Nicole’s conclusion out of hand because she herself had been happy then, too. “There was something special about those years despite the struggles. When we were building Libri, we had the sense that we were onto something that had the potential to be big. Our efforts felt meaningful. Everyone on our staff shared our vision. It was exciting.”
“Max and Sloane were the best team,” Nicole told Ivy. “They both pursued excellence. They both wanted to make something of themselves and their opportunities. Both were charming. It was wonderful for me to see them together because they had the kind of relationship that I never did find for myself yet have always wanted for my son.”
Nicole flipped the three burgers, then looked to Sloane. “What I valued most, though, is how you complemented each other. You stood up to him and disagreed with him when he needed that. He made you laugh when you needed that. Adding your intelligence to Max’s intelligence was like one plus one equaling twenty.”
“Thank you for saying that.” It was gratifying to hear that Nicole had seen and appreciated Sloane’s contributions.
“You’re welcome. Libri never would have become what it became without you.”
Except that, in the end, Libri had become what it became without her.
The next afternoon, Max cut off the water to the garage apartment.
This was one of the best signals ever invented. Mayday—the phonetic English pronunciation of the French m’aidez , which meant help me —signaled distress. The cutting off of water signaled to Sloane that a conversation with him was required.
An hour passed. Max watched golf in his living room while impatiently waiting for her to show. He’d rather argue with Sloane than actually go and do some of his favorite things, things he paid to do—like playing golf or attending NFL games.
Another thirty minutes went by.
A notification came through on his phone alerting him to activity on the motion-sensor camera pointed at his driveway. Ideal. This meant she was heading his way.
He opened the video feed. Sure enough, his phone screen showed a live image of Sloane wearing a navy one-piece pantsuit. He anticipated her marching past the camera’s field of view toward his front door. Instead, she leaned over and fit a long tool into the keyhole of the water valve’s cover. She lifted the cover away, fitted the other end of the tool onto the valve, and confidently turned it ninety degrees.
Max stared open-mouthed at his screen, then threw back his head and laughed.
Sloane had gone to the hardware store, purchased the equipment needed, and learned how to use it in order to get water flowing back to her apartment.
Well played, Sloane.
He wouldn’t have believed he could have more respect for her than he already did. But he’d been wrong.
He grabbed his keys and made for his car.
She was forcing him to change his tactics.