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Lucy waved a manicured hand. “I’m sorry, that was crass. I knew your stepmother Susan back in the day, and I think I attended one of the Labor Day parties your family used to throw at the end of the summer.”
At least Lucy wasn’t screaming or throwing things at her, so that was an improvement over what Alexandra had envisioned happening when she ran into someone from her past.
“I used to be, yes.”
Lucy leaned down and laid a comforting hand over hers.
“You don’t have to be nervous. The majority of the people who knew your father knew you and your stepbrother weren’t to blame.”
Alexandra’s eyes widened.
“What?”
“Your father had a reputation. Most people felt sorry for you and Finley. I’m glad to see you landed on your own feet and are doing so well.” She uttered another self-conscious laugh. “Well, aside from having to deal with a tipsy wife experiencing a marriage crisis. I’m going to clean up before anyone else sees me looking like a raccoon.”
Lucy disappeared out into the hall before Alexandra could respond and she sat back in her chair, floored by the exchange she’d just had. Her own fears and guilt over what had happened had haunted her for years, colored so many interactions. When the agent had denied her the storefront in Greenwich Village and made it so difficult to rent a quality property, she’d accepted that her worst suspicions had been true; people blamed her for what her father had done.
But now, with Lucy’s kind words lingering in the air, she didn’t know what to think.
“Miss Moss?”
Alexandra looked up to see a man in his early forties with thinning blond hair and a morose expression on his narrow face standing in the door.
“Yes?”
“I’m Harry Hill.”
Oh, Lord. How had she gotten sucked into the middle of a marriage mess?
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Hill.” She stood and held out her hand. “I think your wife stepped out to use the restroom.”
“I heard everything.” Harry shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m an idiot.”
“Not an idiot,” Alexandra hurried to reassure him. “Just...perhaps misguided?”
“A misguided idiot.” Harry blew out a harsh breath. Even though Alexandra wanted to escape as quickly as possible—she was a florist, not a marriage counselor—she couldn’t help but feel for the couple. Unlike her father and his parade of women, they seemed to truly care about each other. They just hadn’t communicated in what seemed like a very long time.
“I didn’t even remember that tonight’s our anniversary. Not just any anniversary, but our ten-year anniversary.” He grimaced. “How does someone forget something like that? I didn’t even buy her flowers.”
Alexandra started to smile.
“Mr. Hill, I might be able to help you. That is, if you—”
“Yes!” Harry cut her off. “Please, anything. I don’t want to lose my wife.”
“Follow me.”
As they stepped out into the hall, a floorboard creaked. Alexandra looked over her shoulder, expecting to see Lucy coming out of the bathroom. But the hall was thankfully empty. If Lucy could stay in the bathroom for just a few more minutes, she had the perfect solution to help Harry begin the journey of earning his wife’s forgiveness.
CHAPTER TEN
GRANTPAUSEDINthe doorway of the kitchen, his eyes raking over Alexandra as she tucked a flower into a bouquet. Her dark hair had been pulled up into a ponytail on top of her head. The style left her face bare to his appreciative gaze. She bit down on her lower lip as she turned the flower a fraction and stepped back. To him, the arrangement looked stunning, just like everything else she’d done over the past few days. But watching her work, her attention to detail, showed him that while his initial reasons for hiring her might have been for entirely personal and vengeful purposes, he’d done the right thing. Alexandra was truly a gifted florist.
It had been seeing her talent on display inside the library’s elegant Astor Hall and hearing from the guests how much they’d enjoyed the accompanying note cards explaining the meaning behind the flowers selected, complete with a handwritten note thanking them for coming, that had sent him to the Hamptons early. Like a moth to a flame, he hadn’t been able to stay away. Not when he’d seen the effort she had put into helping him achieve his desires.
And then there had been her passionate defense of him last night in the kitchen, a secret he had never intended to divulge but that had nonetheless broken free from the cage he’d kept it in all these years. He’d never even told his mother his darkest desire, to use his wealth to eradicate the cartel that had ripped so much from them. Finding out a rival group had taken care of the problem once and for all had been both a relief and a regret. Relief that he wouldn’t have to face a decision that would have most likely resulted in bribery, injury and perhaps even death. Regret that he hadn’t been able to deliver the ultimate revenge.
Revenge.
