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I kiss her again, longer and deeper. If I’m not careful, we’ll miss dessert. “Yes. Very much. But first, let’s get the room back to rights and have dessert, so we might talk about this over some champagne at my place.”
“That sounds like a good plan.”
As we put the furniture and blankets back, I keep thinking I’m going to wake up. That I must have hit my head and I’m concussed in a hospital some place. That there is no way this is actually happening. “June?”
“Yes?”
“You really stopped hating me?”
She laughs. “I would have thought that was pretty clear by now. Yes, I stopped hating you.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Thank you for that. I don’t deserve it, and I know it.”
“Shut up.”
“What? I’m serious. I remember how I was to you, and I hate that?—"
“No more self-flagellation, okay? I’m not ready to chalk it up to a, ‘Boys will be boys,’ bullshit thing, because as far as I’m concerned, boys should be held accountable, just like girls. And, Anderson, you have been accountable. You got me out of a questionable situation. You took care of me that night, and you’ve been trying to take care of things ever since. There’s been apologies and penance, and I don’t see the need to keep beating you up over everything.” She takes my hands in hers and looks up at me with such sweetness in her eyes. “It’s in the past. I’d like to think about the future.”
For a brief moment, I let myself think about her like this in a wedding dress, and my heart stops. It’s impossible not to think of it—she’s wearing my ring. June Devlin would be the most beautiful bride there ever was. Now, I have to make that happen.
“Anderson?”
I blink myself back to reality and clear my throat. “Right. The future. I’d like that, too, June.”
She gives my hands a squeeze. “Then we should get to dessert.”
“Sounds good.” I run my knuckles down her low back before settling my hand there. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Thirty-Five-June
The family dining room is a sight to behold. More of a dining hall, really. I’m not sure when night fell—sometime when we were in the library, but now, the dining hall’s city view is lit up in the darkness. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase Boston the way it was meant to be seen. It’s gorgeous, but not as pretty as the chandelier over the table.
I can’t tell if it’s supposed to be nautical or not, but it’s glass and kind of looks like some sort of deep sea creature, with blue and gray streaks in the glass itself. A marvel of balance and light—I’m not entirely certain how it’s perched over the table. Looks like it might fall at any moment.
The table is long enough to host the entire extended family, which means there are empty chairs in a few directions. Even some that are paired. Thankfully, none of them are near his father. He doesn’t even glance at us when we walk in, and I am grateful. We take a spot a good distance from the man, and Anderson chats up his cousin on the other side of himself, pretending we got lost in the library.
His mother, sitting at the opposite end from his father, smiles conspiratorially at me and says, “The library can be such a distraction. Don’t worry, June, I won’t hold it against you. I’ve spent days in that room myself.”
I doubt she was doing anything in there like what we were up to. But given what Callie told me about her society’s thoughts on affairs, maybe his mom was doing exactly that. All the same, I smile at her. “Thank you for the grace, Kitty.”
She smiles warmly and motions toward someone, and before I know it, a group of servers come into the dining hall to deliver trays. One is placed before me on the place setting, and the server pulls the silver lid from it. On a small white plate is a ball-shaped chocolate sculpture, with dark chocolate ribbons on top and a white chocolate bowl base. Beneath the ribbons, is what appears to be a crème brule. It smells like Heaven itself.
Coffees are delivered afterward, and with no fanfare for such a sumptuous dessert, the family digs in, continuing their conversations. I’m in awe of the intricate thing on my plate, while everyone else acts like it’s just another food. Everyone except Anderson, who beams at his mother.
Kitty smiles at him. “Thought you might enjoy a trip down memory lane.”
He chuckles. “Thank you for this, Mom.”
“Memory lane?” I ask, trying to figure out where to begin.
She explains, “I took Anderson to Paris after he missed out on his graduation trip, and he took ill with food poisoning the first day. Poor thing. We were scheduled to be there for a week, and he didn’t feel well enough to do anything until the final day, when I took him to a patisserie. Ever since then, I’ve tried to recreate it, because he always says it was the best thing he’s ever eaten. I think this is a fair approximation of what you ordered?—“
“Looks just like it. You did well.”
“Try it.”
He lifts the dark chocolate ribbons and scoops the crème brule first. His eyes close when he tastes it. “This is it exactly, Mom. How did you do it?”
