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Jarvis’ eyes are wide. “Do I need to leave and come back?”
“No, of course not. Go sit in the lounge.” The tremolo in Max’s voice is painful to hear.
Then, his voice switches gears like a car engine at maximum revs. “Everyone else go home. Your coats are in the hall closet. Thanks for coming. Sorry to break things up this way.”
He moves forward, herding them like a sheepdog; his hand on Erik’s back, pushing him forward. Amy hurries alongside.
Micki comes over and offers me her hand. I grab it and she squeezes so hard I think she’ll break my fingers. Then she lets go and kisses my cheek. “Call me in the morning before you leave for the airport.”
“What makes you think I’ll go to the airport?”
Shehugs me. “I just know.”
JL grabs her arm and they are gone.
When everyone but Jarvis has left, I stand by the sink, staring at piles of dirty dishes, my arms crossed in a self-hug. Max walks back to the kitchen and starts toward me, but when he sees my lips drawn into a narrow line, he turns around and goes back to get Jarvis settled.
The door slams as they walk out to retrieve Jarvis’ stuff. Then, heavy footsteps stamp up to the second floor. Muffled voices sift through the air. Then silence.
Fighting through the tremors, I put away the food and start the dishwasher. Holding a wet paper towel to my inflamed eyes, my discarded glasses teeter precariously on the edge of the sink. Footsteps strike the tiled floor as Max comes back into the kitchen. He stands behind me, chest pressed into my back, arms imprisoning me. A hoarse murmur vibrates against my neck. “I’m an arse, again.”
I pull away. With a sigh, I explore his handsome face, now marred by deep lines bracketing his mouth. “What did you do with Jarvis?”
“He’s in the Piccadilly guest room. He loved the idea of all that British kitsch and wants to know where you found the phone box.”
When I moved in, Max asked me if I wanted to decorate two of the empty rooms. I thought it would be fun, so I did an English room and one for the south of France. Sighing, I say, “I’ll give him my list of suppliers.”
“Good,” he says. “Now come into the lounge and we’ll talk.”
By this time, I’m over the initial shock, but I’m not sure what the next move should be. We face each other. His hangdog expression should soften me, but I’ve seen it once too often and right now the effect is to stiffen my resolve.
“I haven’t forgiven you.” My voice grates.
“I know.”
“Promises to be better won’t cut it. There have been too many of those.”
“What about your promise to try to be more understanding?” he throws back at me.
That was a hit to the solar plexus. I know he’s right, but I’m not going to admit it. At least not yet.
My voice is shaky as I say, “I’ll fly to Paris and go to the awards ceremony with Micki, then travel on to Venice for my conference. You can go to your meetings in London and visit your parents. Come back to Chicago on your own.”
“No. That’s not acceptable. We need to resolve this tonight. And, if we’re traveling, it’s together.”
Suddenly my knees start to give way but I manage to sit down on a kitchen stool. I cry out, “Why didn’t you tell me that the threats were against you?”
“Would that have changed your mind about staying home?”
“No. But that’s not a good reason to keep it secret. We’re supposed to be partners in this relationship.”
“I can’t help believing that the less you know, the safer you’ll be.”
“That’s false logic, Max.”
He opens his hands and spreads out his fingers in supplication. “I wanted to tell you, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Metin and JL have been chivvying me to ‘fess up.”
“So everyone knows except me? Micki and your family too?”
