I cross through the adjoining sitting room and slide the back patio door open, walking swiftly toward my mother’s garden. The rain has stopped for now, a light breeze stirring the trees with a whisper. I follow a stone path that my mother had installed many years ago. The smell of roses floats around me as I approach the garden. I clinch my hands into fists, my nails bite into my palms, and I breathe in deeply.You’re almost done. It’s almost over.
I drop down unceremoniously on a stone bench underneath a huge live oak tree. It’s cool and dark out here, and I feel the tension leaving me. I just want to be alone. Being observed all night like a science experiment is exhausting. But it’s also quite interesting. Everyone is walking on eggshells withme, but not with each other. LikeI’mthe only one who has been on the other side of the rift all these years. My father is keepingthings from me. I can feel it. I just don’t know what, orwhy. I lean my head back against the massive tree trunk and let my eyes drift shut.
“I thought I’d find you out here,” a smooth, cool voice says above me.
I hadn’t heard him approach me, but for once this evening, I don’t feel quite as jumpy.
“Well,” I say, not moving or opening my eyes, “it’s not like there are many places to go. So, you don’t get a cookie for finding me.”
He laughs softly.
I open my eyes. He’s standing a few feet away, leaning casually against another tree, his hands in his pockets. I take in his broad shoulders, his muscular chest, the ink on it barely visible in the half-light from the window. My heart is pounding in my chest, but he looks calm and in control.
Fuck. Why did he have to look so good?
He breaks the silence again.
”You doing okay? I mean…” he waves his hand around vaguely, “with all of this?”
I sigh. “It’s not like I have a choice. My father sprung all of this on me at breakfast. I’m taking it in stride. I’ll make it work. Like always.”
He drops his head briefly, looking down at his shoes. Then, he straightens up and strolls over to where I’m sitting. He stands there for a second, hovering over me. I can feel the warmth of his body. He gestures at the spot beside me on the bench.
“May I?”
I move to the other side of the bench, giving him room. He hesitates for a moment, then sits down, leaving plenty of space between us.
“Look, Maeve,” he says, leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees. “I know I’m the last person you want to see—”
“You think?” I say acidly, cutting him off, but I immediately regret it.
He just looks at me for a few moments, half his face illuminated by the warm glow from the window, the other half in shadow. “I just want you to know that I… I want us to be able to be… friends again. There’s so much I want to tell you.” A hint of pleading in his voice. It grabs me, pulling at the iron bars around my heart. I meet his gaze.
There’s so much I want to tell you, too.The thought moves no closer to my lips than before. Part of me wants to tell him the truth. Tell him what I felt earlier when we locked eyes, when he touched my arm.
“Look,” he says, the spell breaking for a moment, “this is obviously a…uniquesituation, and there’s a lot we have to catch up on. Why don’t we go to dinner tomorrow night? Just us?”
I squirm on my end of the bench, torn by indecision. He moves a little closer to me. I can feel the heat of his body again. I can smell him. A cool, faintly spicy scent.Shyte, get it together, Maeve.
“I know tonight was a lot,” he continues, his voice soft. “I want us to be able to, you know, talk. Privately, that is, without an audience. You can pick the place, or I can make reservations for a private booth at a restaurant, so we can, you know…” he trails off, looking at me hopefully now. He’s so close now. I let my eyes drift down the straight ridge of his nose toward his mouth, wanting to run my fingers over the faint five o’clock shadow on his jaw. I snap my eyes back up, hoping he didn’t notice.
“If I say yes, will you stop rambling?”
He looks taken aback for a moment, then his blue eyes narrow playfully, and he laughs. “Saying yes would, in fact, stop the rambling. So, do us both a favor.”
I giggle despite myself, and I see his eyes drift down to my mouth. His gaze lingers there. My breathing begins to speed up, and I bite my lower lip, trying to get a grip. He looks back up at me, his gaze hooded, the corner of his mouth lifting slowly.
“It’s a date,” he whispers. He’s even closer now, our faces inches apart. I catch myself leaning toward him, wanting to close the remaining distance between us. He inches closer on the bench, pressing his thigh against mine and turning his torso toward me. I feel my lips part. He’s so still, looking at me steadily, waiting to see if I’ll make the next move.
But I don’t. I stand up and put a few steps between us. I hear Callum take a deep breath.
“It isnota date,” I say softly. “It’s just dinner. You take care of all of the details.”
He looks up at me, his face in shadow now. He leans over and casually rests his forearms on his thighs.
“Maeve,” he says, his voice silky, “the thing is, we’ll be… working closely together for the foreseeable future. We have to try to get along. We’re going to be partners, kind of like our fathers. We’re heirs to the empire, for better or worse.”
I look over at him, confused. I’ve known for a long time that my father expects me to take his place in the business one day. I have no other siblings to do it. I never really gave it much thought. It had always seemed like this distant possibility, barely a factor in my life. And, for the past nine years, I’d been too heartbroken and pissed over Callum and over everything else I’ve been through to consider the reality of taking over for my father. It indeed hadn’t occurred to me that I’d have to work closely with Callum. It’s all just too much.
