“You must be Nola,” Madelyn says with her patented million-dollar Tinseltown smile, releasing my soon-to-be fake wife. “It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Madelyn Ford.”
Nola stands there, still stunned, and I step in, hooking my arm around her waist, pulling her against me. I like touching her now, the same way I enjoyed holding her hand last night, even if that was to remove us from Gin and Bear It. “Yes, this is Nola Adler. She’s a big fan of yours for some reason I don’t understand.” I give Nola a squeeze and lean my head against hers, still looking at my twin. “Adler, do you need to freak out a little bit? Maybe let out a wooo or something?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m fine, I’m fine.” She takes a breath and relaxes into me. I like it more than I should. She smells like lavender and fits against me perfectly. “Hi, Madelyn, it’s so nice to meet you. I just wasn’t expecting to meet you tonight and”—she looks around and gestures—“can somebody tell me why this song keeps playing?”
Violet laughs at this as she joins our little trio, sipping a glass of fizzy lemonade. Our grandmother has never been a social drinker, and she thinks soda is trashy, yet she subsists on a signature mix of lemons, baking soda, and sugar. “Stella put it on repeat. Max, is that normal? I thought she only doesthat when . . . you know.” She tips her head at me, letting me fill in the blanks.
I shrug. Stella’s in her right mind, so it’s anybody’s guess why “You Got It” is on an endless loop. “Welcome to the circus, Nola. I’m Violet, the older sister.”
“It’s nice to meet you. Max told me you live in Vienna.”
“Yes! Have you been?”
“I love the triple chocolate cake at SIXTA,” Nola says, and that’s how I lose the three women to a conversation about a dessert I’ve never had, in a city I’ve never been to.
Stella slides up to me with a fresh glass of fizzy lemonade. “I need to know exactly what is going on here, Maxford. Is she a grifter? Does she plan to steal my fortune?”
Disbelief washes over me but she doesn’t back down. Stella’s been pretty receptive of the people we’ve dated on and off over the years, so I chalk this up to some of her paranoia with the dementia, but it’s uncalled for. I make sure Nola hasn’t overheard Stella’s questions and guide my grandmother to her favorite armchair. “Stella, you’ve met Nola and you like her. She’s who you want painting your portrait, for crying out loud. What would make you say that?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs nonchalantly, like being asked if she enjoys the symphony. “Riddle me this, grandson. You’ve got a storied past. You don’t spend time in the company of quality women like her, and the women you do see don’t last very long. It sounds like you two have spent some time together and then the internet is saying you’re married. What am I supposed to think?”
“You could have always called and asked me what was going on instead of creating this pomp and circumstance.” I motion around at the arch and the priest.
“You two aren’t really married, are you?”
“No,” I say simply. “There was a misunderstanding when she defended me and now this is where we are at.”
She thinks this over and I lean in. “Why did you ask a priest to come? Were you really going to have us get married here right now again for you if it were true?”
“Want to hear something funny?” she asks and I nod. “That’s just Patrick, the kid who washes dishes in the kitchen. I asked him to fill in and intimidate you into confession. Did it work?”
I chuckle at her proud antics. “I was scared.”
“Wonderful, then he’s done his job!” She dismisses Patrick to go back to his Thanksgiving kitchen duties and stands to address the room. “What’s the plan, Maxford and Nola? The Hutchings name is not what it used to be, but I still hold it to a very high standard. This needs to be fixed.”
Nola folds her arms and looks my way with uncertainty in her eyes. I make my way to her and throw my arm around her shoulder. “We talked about it last night and?—”
“I’m willing to make a statement that I spoke out of turn and embarrassed Max and the family with my claims. I’ve got nothing to lose by doing so and this can be swept under the rug,” she interrupts.
I whip my head around and study her pleading eyes. Leaning back, I whisper into her ear. “That’s not what we talked about.”
“It would be easier than your grandma staring me down,” she whispers back. I turn and sure enough, Stella has her contemptuous glare leveled right on Nola.
“I think that’s a perfectly wonderful idea. We can draft something up together right now,” she says to Nola.
“That’s enough, Stella.” My voice is firm and Stella bounces her stare to me. “We are getting married tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Stella asks, at the same time Madelyn bounces her brow and says, “Youdowant back in the Majors, don’t you?”
“This is how it happens. You’re right, Lynnie. I get married and I’m seen by the league as focused on the game and not myself anymore.”
Madelyn nods. “You and I have always been a little rough around the edges, haven’t we?”
“I don’t see rough. I raised you two to be passionate.” Stella jumps into the conversation, placing her glass on the table and outstretching her arms toward Madelyn and me. She places a hand on each of our arms and gives us a proud smile. “If only the world would appreciate, the same way I do, how you two approach your careers, life, and those around you.”
“Nola does, Stella.” I tighten my grip on the woman who came into my life like a tornado. “That’s why we’re getting married tomorrow.”
“You’re going to use each other?” I know Stella cares about the family name as much as she can appreciate a good alliance. She would’ve made a terrifying Mrs. Bennett fromPride and Prejudice. She twists her bracelet around and a small grin creeps up her lips. “You get baseball and she gets the art world back—thanks to the people I know and the beautiful masterpiece she will create ofmoi. That’s the plan, isn’t it?”
