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I shove that thought down. It’s just nerves. Maeve can hold her own with my family for an hour or so before dinner.

“I’ll find you when we’re done,” I tell her in a low voice. And then I let her go. For now.

15

MAEVE

An instinctive panic rises up inside of me as Ford, Hayden, and Gabriel leave the room. They move as one, a seamless unit of power and ambition, leaving a vacuum in their wake. They’re using one of the many other rooms as a sort of office home base while they’re here, apparently.

I know that there’s nothing for me to do, even if I joined them as their assistant. I’d just be sitting there. But I can’t help but wish that I could do something. Being left alone with Ford’s family has my stomach in knots. My three bosses might be complicated and demanding, but they are a known quantity. They are my anchor in this world of inherited riches and effortless glamour, a world where I decidedly do not fit in.

At least I successfully lied about Ford’s proposal. I was so busy with all the work in the office leading up to everyone taking time off for the holidays and going on this trip that I didn’t even think to ask him to hammer out a fake story for our relationship. Ford took care of the ring, he takes care of everything. I guess I just thought that he’d take care of this, too.

I can’t help but think about what it would’ve been like for Ford to actually propose to me. I think he still would’ve kept it private, even if he went with a romantic gesture like the flowers I made up. He’s a man who likes to keep things close to the chest.

And if the image in my head of Ford down on one knee surrounded by flowers, earnestly asking me to marry him for real, does strange things to my body… well, nobody has to know that. It’s just a silly momentary fantasy. Everybody has those.

The three men leave and I see Liam standing in the doorway. He’s leaning against it, trying to look debonair. It’s so funny, how that used to make my heart flutter, and now I feel nothing. He’s just some guy, standing there, watching me.

I’m actually surprised that he’s doing that. He’s paying more attention to me now than he ever did when we were dating.

Liam looks for a second like he might speak, actually, and I brace for some kind of jab, but then Lydia takes my hand.

“You must be starving,” she says. “Come on, let’s get you a snack so you don’t pass out from hunger before dinner.”

“Well, you know me, I can always eat.” I let her lead me through the various rooms to the massive kitchen.

I can feel my eyes go wide as I enter. Oh, this room is gorgeous. It’s bigger than my entire apartment, with loads of beautiful counter space, a prep station, state-of-the-art appliances, a huge fridge, a walk-in wine closet and a pantry… I almost want to start drooling.

What I wouldn’t give to have a kitchen like this. I would be having people over every night to entertain them and cook meals.

There’s a chef with a couple of assistants cooking, the three of them moving around the space comfortably in concert, a well-oiled machine. “Lydia,” the man admonishes as Lydia tugs me past them to the fridge and pantry. “What do you think you’re doing in here?”

“Spoiling my appetite, like always!” Lydia says playfully.

The chef shakes his head. “She’s been doing this since she was a girl. That and trying to eat the cookie dough and dessert batter!”

“I can still do that, you know.” Lydia opens the fridge. “Life is short and cookie dough is forever.”

“Life can get even shorter if you give yourself salmonella,” the chef points out.

“Worth it,” Lydia insists, still smiling.

It’s comfortable, and I love that they’ve had the same people cooking for them since Lydia and Ford were kids. The fridge is incredibly well stocked, and so is the pantry. Lydia starts digging in to get stuff for us, but I find myself drawn to what the chef and his two assistants are doing.

“Very classical French,” I note, watching him sear the duck.

“Yes.” He sounds surprised that I know the different regional cooking styles. “Mrs. Kingsley likes to be very traditional around the holidays. We’ll be doing French tonight. And she’s already picked out the menus for the big holiday dinners.”

“She must be a demanding employer.”

“She is, but we work well together.” The chef winks at me.

I watch as he butters a pan. “Wouldn’t be French if they didn’t add a lot of butter and cream.”

He laughs. “Indeed.”

“Are you going to use the au jus for anything?”