Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
M oments after they’d taken their seats at church prior to the worship service, a whisper from Ivy interrupted Sloane’s reading of the bulletin.
“There’s Max!”
It was absurd, the sparkle of delight this instantaneously set off within Sloane. “Surely not.” Max didn’t come to church.
Ivy, sitting on the end of the pew, was twisted in her seat, waving. “Max.” More waving.
Sloane turned and, sure enough, Max was walking down the center aisle. He’d spotted them and gave a nod in recognition of Ivy’s efforts.
“You came to our church!” Ivy said.
“I did.” He moved past Ivy and sat next to Sloane.
“It’s good to see you here,” Ivy told him. “Welcome.”
“Thanks.”
One of Ivy’s friends skipped toward them, and the two girls started chatting. Which left Sloane sitting in very close proximity to Max while a wave of interest in his arrival eddied through the females in the congregation. He had on a beautifully tailored navy suit with a white business shirt. He smelled like paradise.
“What brings you here?” She directed the question forward because if she looked fully toward him, they’d be nose-to-nose.
“I think you know.”
“A sudden desire to worship prompted by the Holy Spirit?”
“Not to diss the Holy Spirit, but no. You’re familiar with the phrase ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’?”
“I am.”
“Well, I think one of the ways to your heart is through the doors of this church.” His eyes crinkled when he smiled. And those dimples! “That’s what brings me here. It’s a genius move on my part, you have to admit.”
“I admit no such thing,” she responded. “If you come to church, you should come for a genuine reason.”
“Oh, my reason is very genuine, I assure you.” He looked around approvingly. “I went to church with my mom every Sunday when I was growing up. The Cirillos, including me, are Christians, don’t forget. We have been for generations.”
“I did somehow forget this information. I wonder why? Hmm . . .” She tapped her chin. “Oh! I think I know. All your behavior in all the days since I met you,” she teased.
His smile widened even more. In his contrary way, Max adored bickering. “I admit that my heart could use some redeeming. So here I am.”
The musicians took the stage, which meant they had just seconds before the first song started.
“There’s grace even for me, right?” The smug set of his chin informed her that he knew he had her there, because she couldn’t very well answer that question with anything but the truth.
“Right.”
“Good. I’ll take all the grace I can get. From Him.” He glanced upward, then back to her. “And from you.”
The music began and they stood to sing.
He leaned near her ear. “When we sit back down, can I put my arm on the pew behind you?” The rumble of his words sent heat feathering along the shell of her ear, jaw, neck.
“No.”
“Okay. We’ll work up to that on a future Sunday.”
Fiona did not use the word butt .
It was crude and beneath her. Thus, the thought in her head as she arrived at Lake St. George Park for her meeting with Nicole Cirillo was this. Nicole is a pain in my derriere .
Max had told Fiona that Nicole had agreed to see her, which was the outcome she’d wanted in order to meet Isobel’s demand and thus achieve her goal of seeing her sister in the long term. However, she dreaded interacting with Nicole in the short term.
Nicole, of course, had asserted control when she’d dictated the time and place of this conversation. By choosing a park, Nicole was telling Fiona that she didn’t want Fiona anywhere near her home. By choosing a weekday at this time, Nicole had forced Fiona to clear her work schedule and drive more than thirty minutes to Nicole’s turf.
Though Fiona typically ran late, she’d made an effort to arrive here at the scheduled meeting time. She positioned herself near the playground, where Nicole couldn’t fail to spot her.
A few preschoolers clambered over the equipment. Their squeals and chatter merged with the more modulated tones of their caregivers. A man jogged past. He was shirtless. Fiona was all for shirtlessness on joggers with chiseled torsos, but this particular man did not fall into that rarefied category.
Nicole was nowhere to be seen, another control move. She was making Fiona wait.
Fiona adjusted her short-sleeved, pink and white Hermes sweater. She’d wrapped herself in style and wealth for this unwelcome reunion. Her heels were high. Her gray pants, tailored. Her hair and nails, impeccable.
When one heel began to sink into the gravel, she carefully adjusted her footing so both feet were firmly set. Now that she was in her late fifties, she frequently sensed just how easy it would be, at any moment, to fall and break a bone?—
She spotted a woman walking in her direction. Recognition instantly slotted into place. Nicole. The sight of her former friend spurred a kaleidoscope of memories.
The first time she’d met Nicole—to interview her for the housekeeping position. Laughing together in the kitchen at Maple Lane. Max’s birth, and the giant floral bouquet Fiona had brought to the hospital for mother and baby. She and Nicole sitting on the back deck, watching the three little boys playing. Her two sons so fair-haired; Max with his dark hair and olive skin. And, finally, she recalled their last exchange when Fiona had fired Nicole and ordered her to move off the property immediately.
It had been twenty years since she and Nicole had been face-to-face. As the other woman neared, Fiona noted that her former housekeeper bore the evidence of the passage of time. Nicole had always looked like she could’ve been Andie MacDowell’s slightly-less-attractive cousin. Still did. Her hair was gray. Her squarish face more lined than before. Her body curvier than it had been. Nicole had dressed with almost aggressive casualness in jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt. All of which communicated, I feel no need to dress up for you .
Nicole came to a stop a few feet away.
They eyed each other. Nicole’s expression gave away little. Had they both arrived barefoot, Nicole would have been an inch or two shorter than Fiona. But Fiona’s heels amplified her greater height, so that she was looking down to meet the eyes of the woman who’d slept with and then had a baby with Fiona’s then-husband.
This was shockingly painful. This was bringing back the glowing red coals of betrayal and the bitterness that Fiona had thought she’d banked long ago. Which gave her a glaring glimpse into how Isobel likely felt about her.
“Hello, Nicole,” she made herself say.
“Hello, Fiona.”
Fiona had selected the opening remark she was about to deliver. Selecting it hadn’t been hard, seeing as how there was really only one compliment she could give to Nicole. “Max is wonderful. He’s turned out very well.” That was extraordinarily gracious of her to say.
“Thank you,” Nicole said stiffly. “Jeremiah and Jude have also turned out very well.”
Anger snapped like a crocodile at Fiona. The words No thanks to you rushed to her tongue, unspoken. The scandal with Nicole and Max had been awful for Jeremiah and Jude. Fiona’s sons had prospered, yes. But they’d been forced to overcome the scars Nicole had given them in order to do so. “I assume Max relayed to you the motivation for my requesting this meeting?”
“He did.” Nicole waited like, Go ahead and say you’re sorry so we can get this over with .
When Fiona had learned of Felix’s affair with Nicole, she’d racked her brain to fathom what Felix had seen in the other woman. Fiona had been more beautiful than Nicole. She was five years younger than Nicole. She’d been in love with Felix. Felix had left his supermodel wife for her, and Fiona had paid him back for that by being very good to him. They’d shared two children. Fiona had thought their marriage was strong. And still—Felix had betrayed her.
In the end, there’d been no explanation for it other than the fact that Nicole had offered an available body. Fresh adulation. And the excitement of infidelity.
“I want you to know that I forgive you,” Fiona lied. She’d spoken the words only to fulfill Isobel’s demand.
“Fine. Max said we need to take a photo?”
“Yes.” Fiona slid her phone from her purse.
“World’s Most Uncomfortable Selfie?” Nicole murmured, revealing a flash of the humor Fiona had once associated with her.
“Indeed it is,” Fiona admitted, holding up the phone. “We should call the Guinness Book of World Records.”
They stepped just close enough to one another to appear in the same frame.
Fiona gave the camera a small smile because, thank God, this meeting from hell was almost over. Nicole did not smile but she also wasn’t glowering or looking pained. Figuring this was as good as she was going to get, Fiona captured the shot.
“Will that do?” Nicole asked, backing away.
“That will do.”
“Goodbye, then.” Nicole turned, presenting Fiona with her back and striding off in her robust way.
Fiona watched Nicole depart through narrowed eyes.
Felix Camden was an utterly faithless man. He’d proven that to Isobel, Fiona, and Nicole. But only the two of them, herself and Nicole, had given birth to his children. Theirs was a small and vicious club.
Once Nicole had driven away, Fiona placed a palm over her heart. She forced air into tight lungs.
Why had that exchange been so hard on her? For ages, she’d viewed herself as a woman who’d recovered from the end of her marriage and the ensuing grief. Perhaps there were still tiny corners of her that hadn’t recovered?
She walked toward her Aston Martin.
“I’m worried that you’re still in love with Felix,” Burke had said to her the day of her picnic.
She’d insisted that was not the case. While she did occasionally experience flashes of physical attraction toward Felix, he had burned all her love for him out of her heart with his treatment of her.
Then Burke had said, “You’re still letting him dictate your life . ”
In the wake of her meeting with Nicole, maybe she needed to give that more thought.
Was she letting Felix dictate her life? At least when it came to dating, love, and marriage?
In a way, yes. She’d gone so far downhill after Felix broke her heart that she’d promised herself she’d never fall in love or marry again. That decision had served her well for twenty years. But was it still serving her well?
Burke had told her point-blank that he loved her and wanted to marry her. Nineteen days had passed since the picnic, and she hadn’t seen or communicated with him.
She missed him.
There could be no doubt that in all the ways Felix was undeserving of a woman’s love, Burke was deserving of it. He’d been a wonderful husband to his wife—remaining at her side during the grueling final months of her life. He was an excellent father to his two children and incredibly involved in his grandchildren’s lives. He’d been amazing to Fiona. Encouraging, filled with common sense, gentle.
It was horrible, frankly, to live with the knowledge that her close friendship with Burke had ruptured. For the first several days after their argument, she’d hugged defensiveness to her chest, telling herself that she was the injured party, and waiting for him to relent and apologize. But soon all of that had proven hollow. He might be the injured party here. And he might never relent and apologize.
She was no stranger to animosity in relationships. Her spunky determination and high standards had led to plenty of conflict in her female friendships. She’d learned to weather that. She knew how to prevent the fact that a friend was upset with her from tanking her day or her week. She knew how to have difficult conversations that resolved issues. She knew how to let go of the friendships that couldn’t recover from an argument. She knew how to tell herself she was better off without that particular friend and the drama she brought.
But none of that applied to this situation with Burke.
She couldn’t weather this. The fact that he was upset with her had tanked her days. She’d yet to figure out how to tackle a difficult conversation with him that would resolve their issue. And he was far too important to her to let go.
Max wasn’t getting enough Sloane in his life.
Not even close to enough.
Since their talk at her apartment on Friday, he’d spoken with her when she came outside each morning and at church on Sunday. That was it. He was striving to show her how agreeable he could be. But restraint did not come naturally to him. He was, at his core, a demanding person.
It was Tuesday night, and he was finally going to get more time with her because he could hear Sloane and Ivy coming through his sliding door for sandwiches and an etiquette lesson.
He should relax and enjoy this. He was going to enjoy this. But relaxing was harder because his brain was already gnawing on how to stretch this dinner out. From his spot at the kitchen counter, he lifted his gaze alertly and watched as Sloane came into view, wearing her white sundress, hair wound into a loose bun thing at the back of her neck.
“Thank you for having us over for dinner.” She handed him an object, which turned out to be a lemon-scented candle.
“For me?”
“Yes. It’s a gift.”
“You didn’t have to give me a gift.”
“Is part of the goal of these dinners to teach Ivy etiquette?”
“Yep!” Ivy piped up.
“Then we did have to give you a gift,” Sloane said kindly. “It’s good etiquette to bring a gift to the host.”
“In that case, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I like the smell of lemon.”
She gave a knowing nod, and he realized she’d chosen this scent because she already understood that he liked the smell of lemon. This candle might be small, but it was a symbol of something big—Sloane’s knowledge of him.
“What’s the polite thing to do here?” he asked. “Am I supposed to light this right now or set it aside?”
“Feel free to set it aside. I never give gifts that require immediate action from the host or hostess.”
He set it in a place of honor next to the sink faucet. “Tonight, we’re having a classic. Pastrami on rye.” He’d already buttered the bread, toasted it on the griddle, and placed slices of Swiss on top. The pastrami and sauerkraut were warm and ready.
Max talked them through assembling their sandwiches and adding mayo pickle relish.
“I’m impressed to see you trying new foods, Ivy,” Sloane commented.
“I’m impressed with myself. This is my first time to eat a pastrami sandwich. But I’m willing to give it a try for you, Max.”
While Ivy was looking down, Max caught Sloane’s eye over the top of the girl’s head. “I’m honored when I can convince people to try new things,” he said directly to Sloane.
She smiled and he felt like he’d won the lottery.
They added chips and a pickle to their plates and were soon sitting around his kitchen table.
No one made a move to start eating.
“Did I do the napkins and silverware right?” he asked.
“Yes,” Sloane assured him. “Ivy, you’ve already learned that we place our napkins on our lap as soon as we sit at a restaurant table. But in a private home like this one, it’s good etiquette to wait for the host to place his or her napkin in their lap. Then we follow suit.”
He placed his napkin in his lap. They did the same.
“Our goal with the napkin,” Sloane continued, “is to display only the clean side. We fold it in half. Then, during the meal when we dab our mouths, we bring the inside of that fold up to our lips without hunching over. Dab. Return the folded napkin to your lap with the clean side still showing.” Sloane demonstrated.
He was having a hard time not staring at the tiny daisy charm on Sloane’s necklace as it slid then rested then slid against the skin of her upper chest. Turned out, he was going to love etiquette class. Etiquette class meant he got to watch Sloane while she was teaching.
Ivy mimicked her aunt, dabbing her lips with her napkin.
“Well done,” Sloane told her.
“Should I wait for Max to take a bite before I do?”
“The main thing is that you wait until everyone has their food before you start eating. That said, it’s especially nice if the host gives the table the go-ahead to begin by saying something like ‘please enjoy.’”
“Please enjoy,” he said.
Sloane sent him an appreciative glance. “You two will have the manners of Princess Kate in no time.”
“Can I have the manners of someone more manly?” he asked.
“Certainly. You, Max, will have the manners of James Bond in no time.”
He took a bite of his sandwich. Delicious.
“When did your Princess Kate fandom begin?” Ivy asked Sloane.
“Prince William and Kate announced their engagement when I was seventeen,” Sloane told Ivy. “I was fascinated . A prince had fallen in love with a commoner. Like me. Like you. Imagine.”
“A real-life fairy tale,” Ivy said.
“ Yes . Kate married William and became a princess. In the years since, her beautiful etiquette has allowed her to glide through the highest levels of society. I thought, if Kate Middleton can become Princess Kate, then what’s stopping me from rising above my start in life? Etiquette as beautiful as Kate’s is available to us all.” She was gesturing with her delicate hands and color was blooming on her cheeks as she talked about this thing she loved.
And sitting there at his kitchen table on a summertime Tuesday night, Max comprehended that she was the thing he loved.
Jude had been right.
He loved her.
The realization was so terrifying that it froze him.
“At its heart,” Sloane was saying, “etiquette is about showing respect to everyone.”
“What do you mean?” Ivy asked.
“Etiquette teaches us tangible ways to give consideration to others. We learn how to interact with people kindly and thoughtfully. What could be more respectful?”
Surreal to have normal conversation continue around him after the epiphany he’d just had.
“Princess Kate is an inspiration because she’s a living example of kindness and thoughtfulness. She’s grace personified.”
“You’re grace personified.” Max’s voice came out rough-edged. “To me.”
Sloane’s face and Ivy’s face swung toward him.
Sloane recovered first. “That’s a lovely thing to say.”
“It’s true.”
Ivy’s eyeballs were practically popping out of her head.
“Let’s talk more about the continental way of holding our cutlery,” Sloane suggested to Ivy, rescuing the conversation.
Jude had recommended that Max tell Sloane how he felt. But there was no way he could tell her he loved her at this point. She’d laugh him out of the building.
For now he was committed to following through on the things they’d discussed Friday. They’d hang out. He’d stop partying, curtail travel, work fewer hours. He would do everything he could to convince her to be with him.
Nothing would stop him from executing that plan. It was similar to a compulsion—he had to give this his best. Here was the kicker, though. He had to give this his best even though he was fairly sure the endgame would be his own destruction. He was acting like a person who knew they had a weakness for alcohol yet had decided to drink like crazy for the next several months.
He loved Sloane. He needed this opportunity with her.
No matter what it cost him.