Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

A t three thirty the following Friday, I kept my word to Xavier. I can’t lie. I thought about canceling. That’s what happens when the cute sweater dress you wear to work for once gets stained in three separate places with acrylic paints and coffee, so you have to change into your spare jeans and a Care Bears sweatshirt fished out of the lost and found. Xavier would be dressed like he walked out of Esquire , while I looked like I was made out of Play-Doh. Fantastic.

But this wasn’t about me, I kept reminding myself. And everything else about the day seemed to be lining up perfectly. Sofia was in great spirits when I picked her up from preschool, and New York was blessed with unseasonably warm weather for the end of January. Most of the snow had melted off the sidewalks, and the slides would actually be dry. I couldn’t begrudge Sofia an afternoon outdoors. Just like I couldn’t begrudge her a chance to meet her dad. Not anymore.

“The park is that way, Mama,” Sofia said as we walked past the entrance and continued back toward P.S. 058.

“I know, bean. But my friend is meeting us outside my school. We’ll pick him up and walk back.”

“Why do you keep calling him ‘my friend,’ Mommy?”

I squeezed Sofia’s little hand. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You call everyone else by their names. Aunt Kate is Aunt Kate. Zio is Uncle Mattie or just Mattie. Kim. Adam. Derek. Fatima.”

I had to chuckle as she continued to rattle off every friend, coworker, or acquaintance of mine she’d ever met. My girl never missed a beat.

“You’re too quick, kid,” I told her. “This friend’s name is Xavier.”

Her button nose wrinkled into a raisin. “He’s a boy? I don’t really like boys as much as girls.”

“You like Mattie.”

“That’s different. He’s family.”

My heart thrilled slightly at the word. She had no idea.

“Well, give him a chance, bean,” I told her. “You never know.”

“If you say so.”

We turned the corner back toward the school. The playground was empty but for a few stragglers left with their parents or nannies. But standing smack in the center of the foursquare courts stood Xavier, clad in his customary black suit along with a beautifully tailored wool coat that reached his knees. It occurred to me that he probably had most of his clothes custom made—otherwise, I couldn’t imagine how he fit into them.

“Xavi,” I called.

He turned immediately, clearly jerked out of a daze, but didn’t blink once as we approached, flattening one empty hand against the lapel of his coat while the other clenched a nosegay of pink camellias so hard his knuckles turned white.

He was nervous, I realized. Really nervous.

Somehow, that made him more attractive. For a moment, he reminded me of the budding chef standing on the precipice of launching a dynasty. A healthy dose of fear had been in his eyes then too. But I had also known then that he was the kind of man who could conquer it. And it had only made me want him more.

“Good, you’re here,” he said with relief as we stopped in front of him. “I was starting to feel like a paedo, strange man at a children’s playground all by himself.”

“What’s a paedo?” Sofia piped up.

Xavier’s eyes shot open. “Fuck. I mean, shit. I mean—ah, bollocks.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Those were bad words, Mama, not funny ones,” Sofia said, looking suspiciously at Xavier. “I remember you. You shouted the bad words at my mama at our house too.”

“I—uh—yes,” Xavier agreed awkwardly. “I did. Caught by surprise.”

Sofia was not impressed.

“Everyone makes mistakes, bean,” I reminded her. “Like when you kept taking home those Calico Critters from school, remember?”

Sofia nodded solemnly, looking like she might cry. The sticky fingers phase had been a particularly hard one.

“But I got better,” she whispered shakily. “I stopped.”

I squeezed her hand. “Yes, you did, babe. And Xavi will too if we help him. He’s just excited to meet you.”

I turned to Xavier with a warm smile. He seemed to relax. Slightly.

“Xavi,” I said. “This is Sofia, my daughter. Sof, this is my friend Xavi.”

Sofia drew her little gaze from Xavier’s shiny black shoes slowly up his long legs, then up his tall body until her neck was craned completely back. They stared at each other for a long time, reminding me somewhat of dogs of the same breed who instantly recognized each other at the park. Not always friendly, but somehow noting a kinship.

Terror washed through me. What if she knew? Sofia was at the age where she liked nothing better than to prance in front of the mirror in one of her princess costumes, cooing at her reflection. What if she looked at the face peering down at her and recognized the deep, sloping blue eyes, the full, broad lips, and onyx hair?

What if she never forgave me for it?

“You’re really tall,” she told him, then turned back to me, possibly just to rest her neck. “He’s really tall, Mommy. He looks like a skyscraper.”

Xavier’s black brows formed a deep frown, then slowly, he squatted down until he was closer to her level, only a few inches taller instead of several feet.

“Better?” he asked, one side of his mouth quirking, blue eyes twinkling. “These are for you. Camellias. My mum told me never to meet a new girl empty-handed.”

Sofia’s eyes popped open as she accepted the flowers. For a second, I could imagine myself in her shoes—a tall, handsome man, bending down almost to one knee, presenting flowers, speaking with a dashing accent. It was like one of her fairytales had come to life.

Lord, my daughter was a goner.

“What?” Xavier asked, clearly dumbfounded as he looked up at me. “Did I do something wrong again? I didn’t say ‘fuck,’ did I?”

I looked back at Sofia, who didn’t seem to have noticed the second curse.

“You sound like a prince,” she said, which came out solemnly as pwince while she accepted the flowers. Then to me, “Mommy, he sounds like a prince. He looks like one too.”

Xavier frowned up at me questioningly. But I understood immediately.

“It’s the accent,” I told him. “She watches a lot of Disney.”

“Mommy loves princes,” Sofia told him. “She watches movies about them all the time.”

“Sofia, I do not,” I scolded her a little too harshly. “You’re the one who loves all the Disney princess movies.”

She shook her head vigorously. “No, not those, Mama. Like the movies you watch when you think I’m asleep. Like Downtown Cabby and Sense and Spaghetti.”

“Ooh,” I said, managing not to laugh at Sof’s creative titles.

Xavier wasn’t quite so good at hiding his own dismay. But he didn’t laugh. In fact, he almost looked concerned.

“Those are period dramas,” I corrected her. “Most of the characters are gentry, not royalty. None of them are princes.”

“Well, they all look like princes,” Sofia assured herself. “And they sound just like him .”

Ergo, it was clear, Xavier was a prince.

“No wonder you like him, Mommy. I heard you tell Aunt Kate that you wanted to marry Mr. Darcy because of his voice.”

My cheeks immediately flushed.

“Is that so?” Xavier murmured warily.

“Oh my God,” I muttered, studiously avoiding his gaze.

“Are you going to marry Xavier because of his voice, Mommy? He sounds just like Mr. Darcy.” She turned to Xavier. “Are you a lord or a duke? Because that’s okay too.”

Xavier’s face flushed the color of the flowers in Sofia’s little hands, and he looked like he wanted to jump into his fancy black car and drive all the way back to England. I closed my eyes, willing the question away. So much for an easy meeting. This. Was. Mortifying.

“Er—” Xavier mumbled, pulling Sofia’s attention back his way. “I think your mummy can do better than me.”

“I don’t know…” Sofia was saying. “You’re pretty handsome.”

I looked down just in time to see the left side of Xavier’s mouth curl upward. He peeked up at me and allowed his gaze to drag down the rest of my body—my sweatshirt-clad, paint-stained, frump-fest of a body—before returning to Sofia.

“You’re very kind,” he told her. “Now, I have a secret. I’ve never been to this park your mum told me about. And I was wondering if you might show me the best places to play.”

He stood back up, and Sofia looked him over doubtfully.

“You’re kind of big for the park,” she told him.

“I am,” he confirmed. “But I’d love to see it anyway. I want to see how it’s different from the parks in England. Would you show me?”

There was a long pause. Then Sofia nodded. “Sure. The best is the swings. You can push me if you want.”

“Mama, what’s for dinner?”

Thirty minutes at the park turned into ninety, which turned into an invitation to dinner on Sofia’s part, which brought me back to my house sometime past five, trying to decide what the hell I was going to prepare for a world-famous chef with my own meager cooking skills.

So far, Xavier had been the perfect gentleman. A little awkward at first, maybe, with a tendency to drop the F-word when he made a mistake. But as long as he was willing to follow her around and “talk like a pwince,” Sofia happily allowed him to push her on the swings and merry-go-round for as long as they both wanted.

Now, as I watched him remove his coat in our foyer and allow her to take his hand and guide him down the hall to the living room for a quick tour of the house, I wasn’t sure how much of this I could take. I had expected that it would be difficult to see him try to melt Sofia’s heart, and maybe his own. I hadn’t expected the process to melt mine too.

“I’ll think about it upstairs,” I said. “You good with her? I just need to change.”

Xavier gave a brief nod, too busy listening to Sofia introduce him to her set of My Little Ponies to care about me.

I took the opportunity to race up to my little portion of the second floor and furiously yank through my clothes. The jeans could stay. They were old, but still made my ass look good. The Care Bears had to go, though.

Ten minutes later, I was flying back down the stairs wearing a cropped red sweater, my hair down, my favorite silver hoops dangling from my ears, and a swipe of red lipstick for good luck. What can I say? Single moms learn to work fast.

Xavier and Sofia were on their way up to her room for part two of the tour. Xavier looked up and stilled when he caught me coming down, then paused when our shoulders touched.

Sofia slithered out behind me, babbling about needing to set up her costumes or something. I honestly didn’t know. Xavier’s eyes had pinned me in place.

“I remember this shirt,” he murmured, touching the red knit material lightly with one finger. “You wore it the day we met.”

“D-did I?”

Oh lord, he was right. For a moment, I could see us both at that bar, a place in Morningside Heights where my grad school friends and I liked to pretend we went to Columbia. I’d ordered a cheap beer, which the bartender gave me before informing me that it had been paid for by the guy at the other end of the bar.

I’d turned, and there was Xavier, looking every inch the rogue in distressed jeans, combat boots, and a black T-shirt that showed every outline of his chest and the tattoos that slithered over his left arm and licked his neck.

He’d approached with a single boring line that came to life with the spark in his deep blue eyes: “I like your shirt.”

It had taken exactly ten seconds for me to like his too. Twenty more for us to make it to the dance floor. Another hour after that, he kissed me for the first time, and I didn’t leave his arms for a month.

Now he wore a suit and polished shoes, though he looked no less the rogue. But it was very clear he still liked my shirt.

I looked down at the sweater, then back at him. His blue eyes darkened as he took in the cropped hemline, revealing just a sliver of the stomach I had fought long and hard to get back after Sofia was born.

In direct response, my nipples tingled. I knew if he looked at them, he would see them clearly through the thin fabric. Remembering his deft touch. Dying for it, in fact.

“Xavi! Are you coming?”

Xavier jerked, then turned. “Er, on my way.” He cleared his throat and disappeared up the stairs without a second look toward me.

I remained where I was, taking a few more minutes to catch my breath after having it stolen by the intensity of his gaze.