Maddox hands me a polystyrene tub full of chicken, pasta, and vegetables. “Is this alright? I can get you something else if you’d prefer.”
“This is great, thanks.” The day is spiralling me into overwhelm again, so it’s nice to have a simple pleasure to focus on. This morning I ate twice as much as I usually would but after the first bite, my stomach is happy to make room for more.
The conversation lulls as everyone eats. As I finish, I turn back to Dahlia. “What’s the Easter Ball?”
“An excuse for rich folks to throw a party under the guise of raising money for charity.”
“Aren’t you a rich folk?”
She glances up in surprise, then bursts into giggles. “God, no. But I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Play your cards right and you could be the first Mrs Parry,” Wilder says with a wink, leaning back in his seat and rubbing his hand across his sculpted abdomen.
“Better still, I’ll be the firstexMrs Parry,” she jibes back. “I’m not greedy. Half your estate in the divorce settlement is enough for me.”
She grins at me, and I can’t help but grin back. Her entire manner is disarmingly funny. I relax, truly delighted by the food, the location, and the company.
Despite Maddox’s claim that today’s largesse isn’t tied to his request, I’m certain there’ll be a bill of some sort coming due.Until that point, I intend to wring every bit of joy from the moment.
CHAPTER NINE
MADDOX
No matterhow many times I steal sideways glances at Evie, her appearance continues to take me by surprise. Familiarity has already muted the resemblance I saw on Sunday. Now, she’s a pretty stranger, so delicate it makes my heart hurt.
Our calculus teacher projects an equation onto the whiteboard. Evie stares at it, nibbling at her bottom lip with her neat white teeth.
“What’s that symbol?” she asks as I copy the problem into my exercise book, pointing to the elevated two next to the number.
“It means it’s a square. The same number multiplied by itself.” When were we taught that? Primary school probably. Intermediate at the latest. Her eyes stay fixed to the equation, so I explain the rest to her. “You need to take away the integer—that’s this number—from the amount, then work out the square root of a number that when it’s added to this, also has a square root.”
“That’s the number divided by itself?”
“Yeah. So, if you—”
“Like eighteen? And added on would be twenty? And if you took it away, that would be one hundred and thirty-four?”
I turn to face the whiteboard, then shrug, repeating it aloud for the teacher. “One hundred and thirty-four?”
Ms Kaihe frowns at me, then nods. “That’s right.” She clicks forward to the next problem. A variation of the same.
“Seven hundred and forty-four?”
Two seconds. Swear to god, it took nearly as long for Evie to say as it took her to solve. I’m caught between astonishment and pride, like me bringing her to class somehow unlocked this latent talent, exhilarated at exposing yet another side.
Everyone in class turns to stare. Even the ones not paying attention to the lesson feel the vibe.
She shrinks into her chair, hand to her mouth, nibbling at her nails. Her eyes drop to her desk, staring fixedly at a scored line in the wood, cheeks flaring into a delicious shade of pink.
And Ms Kaihe’s frown deepens. I see the confusion flare in her eyes.
So does Evie. She’s so low in her chair, another inch and she’ll slip off the seat onto the floor.
I put a steadying hand on her back and feel her heart thumping at a million miles an hour. Her gaze locks with mine, pleading. “Now’s the time when you advertise your tutoring service,” I tease. “A hundred bucks a session.”
There’s a light titter from some of the class, everyone disengaging when Ms Kaihe clears her throat, drawing attention to the latest equation on display before she moves to stand beside us.
“Evelyn Mansen?”
