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“And you didn’t think to tell the only medically qualified person in this family?” Maryanne spits.
“I didn’t want to worry you. I know you’re busy.”
“Maxim! You are such an arse sometimes. What exactly did your mother say?”
“Basically, your mother said it’s none of my business.”
“That’s weird.”
“Exactly.”
“Oh,” Maryanne whispers as if she’s just had a rather unappealing thought.
“What?”
“I’ll call you back.”
“Maryanne—”
She’s hung up.
What the hell?
The female members of my family are driving me crazy.
* * *
Alessia tries to quell her anxiety but it expands in her chest, causing her heart to race. What’s happened? Why is Maxim taking a call from his mother in private? He’s not a secretive man generally. Is he? But what does he not want her to hear? What does he have to hide?
She heads into the kitchen so she’s not tempted to press her ear to the door and listen. To divert her thoughts, she busies herself with final preparations for dinner. But her mind turns to how preoccupied Maxim has been over the last couple of days.
Except in bed.
She frowns at the thought. She figured his absentmindedness was due to the surprise meeting with Ticia Cavanagh and Alessia’s subsequent reaction. But maybe not. While they explored music colleges last night on the internet, he’d been distracted by something, so much so that she’d asked him if he wanted to continue. He’d reassured her that he did, but something was bugging him. It still is. She can feel it.
Maxim is leaning against the doorjamb, watching her, when she looks up from grating parmesan. He looks anxious. Bewildered even.
Oh no.
“What is it?” Alessia asks.
Maxim moves into the room and rakes a hand through his hair, leaving it tousled and unkempt, just the way Alessia likes it. But his eyes are wide with disbelief and confusion as if he’s wrestling with some inner turmoil.
“What did your mother say?” Alessia prompts.
“She hung up on me.” He raises his hands in dismay. “And I need answers from her…” His voice tails off, but he steps forward and brushes his knuckles over her cheek, the contact reverberating enticingly through her body. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“But you’re worried,” she murmurs.
His stance changes, his jaw tensing, and he rakes a hand through his hair again, his frustration apparent.
“Do you want to go and see her?”
“It’s tempting. Rowena lives with Maryanne when she’s in London. They share a townhouse in Mayfair. She bounces between there and an apartment in Manhattan. She’s here at the moment.” He glances at his watch. “Perhaps I could go and confront her.” But his mouth turns down and he shakes his head.
“What answers do you need?”
He blows out a breath. “Honestly, don’t worry about it. It’s something Caroline showed me on Monday—”
“Caroline?” Alessia’s immediately on high alert.
Maxim frowns, and his eyes widen—as if caught in headlights. “Yes. She came to the office with some letters concerning Kit.”
“Oh.”
Caroline.
Why is she going to see Maxim at his office when Alessia’s never been to his office? And Alessia knows it isn’t jealousy that’s bothering her—she doesn’t want her husband alone with his sister-in-law.
His ex-lover.
Because, deep down, she doesn’t trust Caroline.
Does she trust her husband? Well, she’s only hearing about this visit that took place yesterday.
Alessia ignores the nagging voice in her head while Maxim’s lips press together in an angry line and he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he looks irritated.
“Alessia,” he says. “This is nothing for you to worry about. Let’s go out. I need a change of scenery. We’ll eat out.” He sounds exasperated.
“Okay,” Alessia capitulates immediately. She can cook the lasagna tomorrow. Or freeze it.
Maxim narrows his eyes. “We can stay in if you want to. You need to tell me what you want to do. This is a partnership.” He waves a hand between them, his tone terse.
Is he angry with her?
Alessia suddenly feels they’re on the edge of some precipice, and she doesn’t know what to say or do.
Why is he so agitated? He didn’t tell her about Caroline. Or letters concerning Kit.
How is she supposed to feel about that?
But she can tell he’s distraught about something, and she doesn’t think it has to do with Caroline, and Alessia doesn’t want to add to his worries.
“We can discuss the house,” he adds in a gentler tone.
She nods and instinctively reaches out and grabs his hand. “Whatever’s going on, you’ll figure it out. You always do.” She steps into his arms and holds him close.
* * *
I’m touched by Alessia’s faith in me, though I think it’s misplaced. Yet her caress and her words are soothing—the warmth of them spreading through my chest as I gradually relax in her embrace. Holding her close, I kiss her hair, grateful she’s with me. “Both my mother and my sister are behaving strangely.”
“That sounds…um…frustrating,” Alessia says. “We can go out. I’ll go and change my clothes.”
