Chapter 9

NINE

T he apartment was deadly quiet when Xavier came home sometime past two in the morning. I wasn’t in bed—I couldn’t have hoped to rest there, or anywhere. Not after what happened in the alley. After arriving home just in time to wish Sofia good night, I’d retreated first to the TV room for my four hundred and ninety-eighth viewing of Sense and Sensibility (the Ang Lee adaptation) before adjourning to the living room for a cup of tea and Wuthering Heights to calm my nerves.

It didn’t work. Hours later, Nelly had barely started telling her story at all, and I was still swimming in mine, trying to find some kind of reorientation.

Over the last month, I’d thought we’d found a sort of comfortable rhythm together, the three of us. It wasn’t a forever kind of thing—vacations never were—but it worked. We’d had the time and space at last to learn each other’s rhythms and moods. I’d thought I’d seen most of Xavier’s.

Until tonight.

With a gentle bing , the elevator doors opened. Xavier stepped into the apartment, looking more than a little worse for wear. His jeans and the chef’s coat he had worn at the restaurant were smudged with soot and other inscrutable substances, his hair was mussed on one side and flattened at the back, and his red sneakers were now scuffed beyond repair, laces half undone and filthy from being dragged on the ground. Even from fifteen feet away, I could smell the alcohol coming off him in waves. Bourbon, apparently. Maybe with a bit of wine laced through it. Whatever it was, it was a potent combination, and not one that suggested any more self-control than he had demonstrated earlier.

I tucked myself into the corner of the couch.

“Rough night?” I asked as he kicked off his shoes.

Xavier started, then swayed in place like he might fall over. Instead, he grabbed a prong of the coat rack and pushed himself upright. “Er—yeah. You could say that. We managed in the end.”

He rubbed his face wearily, like just recalling the rest of the night caused him a hangover on top of whatever he had consumed.

For a moment, I blinked and was brought right back to my childhood. Right back to the days after my father had died, when my mother would still at least try to show up for her children, albeit usually wasted and during the wee hours in the mornings. She’d wake us up from our slumbers—usually it was Matthew and me who slept the lightest and would creep down the stairs to find her arguing with Nonna at the front door.

Sometimes she’d look up through an alcohol haze and smile to where we peered through the rungs of the banister.

I never smiled back. I barely felt like I knew her at all.

But I wanted to. What child wouldn’t.

“Where the hell have you been?” I snapped before I could help myself. “The restaurant closes at eleven.”

I hated how I sounded. Harping and unforgiving. The very definition of a ball and chain, and we weren’t even married.

Xavier’s gaze held mine for an extra few seconds before he grunted and dropped his messenger bag next to his shoes. “The restaurant closes, but no one goes home until late. And then that bloody frog?—”

“You mean the French chef you were in the process of throttling when I got there?”

Another grunt. “He came back begging for his job. Then quit again when he wouldn’t cook the duck the way I like.” Xavier shook his head as he unbuttoned the chef’s jacket, revealing a tight white undershirt that put his muscled chest and biceps on display. “I don’t like babysitting my staff. And I really don’t like people playing games with me. He learned that the hard way.”

I curled farther into the couch. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what that meant.

Xavier looked up finally and found me sitting on the couch. At once, he stilled, that dark blue gaze tracking over all of me, taking in my bare legs, the short hem of my nightdress, the thin strap falling over one shoulder, the tousled hair I hadn’t yet braided back. By the time he reached my face, that blue flame was back. And I could see exactly what he wanted to do.

For the second time.

“Oh, no you don’t,” I said, plastering myself into the couch’s corner. “Not again.”

“No?” He padded his way across the carpet like a big cat tracking through the forest. “I’m not so sure about that, babe. If you don’t want to be chased, you shouldn’t look like you want to be caught so bad.”

By the time he reached me, I was shivering—out of fear or anticipation, I wasn’t sure. Xavier licked his full lips, eyes gleaming.

For a moment, I was back in that alley. Caught in the throes of pleasure, yes. But then in a wave of utter disappointment.

“Xavi, no,” I said fiercely, forcing myself to meet his gaze despite the fact that a part of me very much wanted to give him what he hunted. I loved him. I loved what he could do. But at moments like these, I had to love myself more. “You will not use me again like that.”

He paused, hovering over me, then blinked. The feral look disappeared. “I—yeah. No, I won’t.”

He sighed and collapsed on the couch next to me with such utter despondency, I couldn’t help wanting to crawl into his lap and hug him, even with the anger I was harboring. I’d never felt so torn between what was right for me and what was right for someone I loved.

“You going to tell me what happened this time?” I asked carefully.

“What do you mean?”

I sighed. “Xavi you were about to kill someone when I walked into that kitchen. And I know your chef pissed you off and everything, but it was a bit much, don’t you think? And then you dragged me outside, fuc—screwed me in the alley like some girl you picked up at a bar and proceeded to leave me there. Next to a dumpster. Like I was t-t-trash.”

By the time I was finished, my lip was trembling, and more than one fat tear had welled in my eyes. Viciously, I swiped at them. I didn’t want to be weak right now. But saying it out loud like that really drove it home. I’d felt a lot of things with Xavier in the past, but never like this. Never like I meant nothing to him.

He watched me for a long moment, seemingly waiting until I had gotten myself together. Then, all at once, he yanked me into his lap, cradling my shivering form against his big body while he stroked my hand and wrapped his other arm firmly about my waist.

“You,” he said, “are not trash. Never , Ces. Do you hear me?”

I swallowed thickly, but I was reminded of one of the bits of pop psychology I’d learned in teacher training—that telling a kid what not to do only reinforced the negative actions more.

He said “not.” He said “never.” But all I heard was “trash.” And it was a difficult word to unhear, even if I was the one to say it first.

“God, I’m so sorry.” He gathered me into him, guiding my head to his shoulder while stroking my hair. “So fucking sorry. I didn’t—fuck, I didn’t really think. I was just so upset when you walked in, Ces. And then I saw you, and I felt like a bull seeing red, you know? Rage was everywhere, and you were the one thing that could solve it for me. And then after…” He shook his head. “Fuck, I was so ashamed. I couldn’t face you. What a fucking coward.”

“And this was all because of the chef?”

I frowned. I’d heard more than one story by this point of Xavier’s tempestuous cooking staff. He employed artists—it was one of the reasons for his success. But they gave him more than his share of trouble, too. Still, manhandling an employee seemed like the definition of unprofessional. It sounded dangerous.

“Le Fray was just the cream atop a very sticky pudding.”

Xavier loosened his hold around me, though I kept my cheek to his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his body. I was finally starting to relax. I spent so much time holding my child that I often forgot the comfort of someone else holding me.

“My uncle,” he said in a voice so low I almost couldn’t hear him. “I got news earlier today. He had another stroke. They don’t think he has long.”

I sat up to look at him, and involuntarily, my hand rose to cover my mouth in shock. “Oh, God. Xavi, I’m so sorry.” Sorry, yes. But also, why didn’t he tell me?

He heaved another sigh that ballooned his broad chest, then shoved a hand into his disheveled black hair. The movement made the muscles in his forearm flex, causing its tattoos to dance in the low lighting.

“To make matters worse, the estate’s temporary steward quit today, too. So there’s no one to manage things, and it’ll all fall apart if I don’t step in.”

“Is it a lot to manage?” I asked. I imagined a country manor, perhaps with some animals, probably a garden, and a few staff members paid to guide tours or something like that.

Xavier offered a dry expression. “It’s nearly twelve hundred years of accumulated assets, Ces. Makes the Parker Group look like child’s play.”

I gulped. I didn’t know much about how the business of the gentry worked in the UK. They didn’t really cover that in Austen adaptations. This sounded like a lot more than some topiaries and barnyard animals. If Xavier, CEO of an international restaurant group, was intimidated, then it was more than I could possibly imagine.

Still, I sensed he was upset about more than just taking over his family’s affairs.

“He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?” I asked, reaching out to stroke Xavier’s hair. “Your uncle.”

With closed eyes, he leaned into my touch, and his sigh told me I was right. We hadn’t really talked a lot about the role Xavier’s uncle Henry had played in his life, but I gathered he’d always been around, particularly after Xavier’s mother died and he was finally welcomed into his father’s life. He said he wasn’t needed in Kendal, but when he thought I wasn’t listening, Xavier would call the estate a few times a week to check on the man.

It was clear Henry Parker was more than just a distant relative and someone to manage accounts.

“He was always nice to me,” he admitted. “Well, as nice as the Parkers get. Now I think he knew something was wrong with him. He started pestering me to come back to Kendal last year. Take my rightful place at the family’s head. Learn everything he does.” He nodded at a particularly ornate clock that had been mounted on the wall behind us. “Sent me that as a token a few months ago. Said I had to bring it back, ready to work. Just like me.”

I watched as a multitude of expressions crossed his beautiful face. Grief, yes. Maybe a bit of resentment. And a lot of guilty.

My heart twisted on his behalf. Family was complicated. I knew that better than most.

“But now…” I urged him on.

“Now I don’t really have a choice, do I?” he replied. “ Now I have to go. Or else I’m the fuckup bastard they always thought I was, title or not.”

“But…you’re not a bastard,” I said. “You keep saying that, but you’re not.”

There was a loud snort. “Christ, Ces, you think because someone corrected a mistake that the first twenty years of my life don’t exist? You don’t forget two decades of being called the Parker bastard just because someone finds a piece of paper.” He groaned. “It was Henry who found it, you know. After my father’s accident—the one that kept him from having more children. Georgina, my stepmum, she left him for a bit, threatened divorce unless he passed the estate to Frederick—that’s my stepbrother, see. But then Henry discovered my parents’ marriage certificate and dissolution papers. He’s the reason why the people in this life were forced to accept me. He’s the reason I became a duke. The only one who ever believed I could.”

A few more pieces of the puzzle began to click together. The first time Xavier had told me the story of how he reunited with his father, it had sounded like Rupert Parker had had a sudden change of heart regarding his long-lost son. But now it was apparent that relationship was engineered more by his uncle Henry. A person who probably cared for Xavier more than he let on. And someone who, despite his attempts at distance, Xavier cared for too.

A man who, at this point, was the last remnant of family Xavier had.

I turned fully toward him so that I was straddling his waist. His hands rested comfortably on my bare thighs, though without any lascivious intent as his hands stroked my skin. The flame was gone. Now it was just bright blue sadness. The color of new tears.

“Come here,” I told him, wrapping my arms around Xavier’s neck and guiding his head to my shoulder this time. To my surprise, he allowed me to comfort him. He buried his nose in my neck and inhaled deeply.

“God, you smell good,” he said. “Like fresh milk. And that soap you bought at the Portobello Market last week. What was it?”

“Sweet milk,” I admitted. “Good nose.”

His lips found my shoulder. “You smell a fuck lot better than me.”

I chuckled while I massaged the back of his neck. “You do have the air of a distillery about you.”

He inhaled and exhaled several more times until his shoulders started to relax. “I don’t like who I am in Kendal. And the people there don’t like me either, Ces. I’m an intruder. I always have been.”

“That might have been true when you were younger,” I said, despite not really knowing who “these people” were. “But you’re the duke. They have to respect that, don’t they?”

Another grunt, which told me he was nearly done talking. That and the heaviness of his palms on my legs indicated my man was relaxing at least, and with that, perilously close to sleep. Well, it was beyond late. At this rate, we’d have maybe three hours of sleep before Sofia crawled into bed with us, intent on telling us all about her dreams.

“I have to go up there,” Xavier mumbled into my skin. “Tomorrow.”

My heart sank as I threaded my fingers through his soft, shiny hair. “Well, then. I suppose that’s how it has to be. Don’t worry. We’ll manage without you.”

I waited for him to correct me. To tell me that obviously he meant all of us together. That he wouldn’t let this event stop us from doing what we had come here to do—keep our tenuous little family together.

But Xavier didn’t answer. He was already asleep.

“I still don’t understand why you have to leave this early.”

The sky was barely starting to change colors when I sat at the enormous kitchen counter the next morning, watching Xavier go through a smart, efficient routine. We had probably gotten all of two hours of sleep before he woke me just before four to make up “properly,” he said. I wasn’t about to argue. But after that, there was really no point in going back to sleep, knowing that a certain black-haired sprite would be up anyway within minutes.

Now the sky was just starting to glimmer with a suggestion of dawn while I stirred a cup of coffee and Xavier prepared the strangest breakfast I’d ever seen.

“You don’t understand,” he said as he scooped a double serving of rice out of the cooker on the counter and into a large cereal bowl. “The stroke was quite severe. I have to get up there and see to things today.”

I knew it was selfish to resent a man who had just had a stroke, but I couldn’t help it. We’d been here a month, but Xavier had been working like crazy. Sofia was still desperate to spend time with her dad. And so was I.

“You won’t enjoy it in Kendal,” Xavier said before I could even suggest it.

He plucked an egg from the basket stored in a sleek box next to the fridge. With the brisk, practiced movements of a professional, he cracked it with one hand into the rice, added some soy sauce, and started mixing it all together vigorously with a pair of chopsticks. I loved watching him cook. It was a bit like watching an artist paint.

“Stay in London,” he continued. “See the sights. Take Sof to Big Ben and London Bridge and another palace and enjoy yourselves. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

By the time he was finished stirring, the egg, rice, and soy concoction had taken on a slightly frothy texture. He sprinkled a mixture of sesame, salt, and seaweed crumbles called furikake on top. It still looked like something that had been washed up from the sea, but the garnish was a bit more appetizing.

I shrank around my latte, which had been thoughtfully prepared from a surgical-looking contraption at the end of the counter. Xavier had made do with a double espresso, already consumed. I had a few moments to dredge up the guts to say what I really wanted. I didn’t want to put any more pressure on him, given the circumstances, but I also knew that if I didn’t say what I really wanted, I’d regret it.

“Sofia and I have already seen those things a million times at this point,” I pointed out. “If your driver can come with us, we can explore Cumbria while you work, can’t we? Isn’t it a major tourist area too?”

“It’s not as great as everyone says. Just a lot of water and hills, really.”

I frowned. I had seen enough pictures of the famous Lake District to know that was a total lie. “Do you—you really want us to stay away, don’t you?”

The idea made my stomach drop. There was a part of me that thought back to Lea’s question: what was he waiting for? His family relations were obviously a much more important part of his life than he had led me to believe, but even after a month, there had been no mention of meeting any of them. Nothing about visiting any of his family’s properties or engaging with them in any way.

Was it them he wanted to keep from us? Or I wondered as I picked at a thread from the faded black robe I’d brought from home, the other way around?

Xavier turned from the fridge, set several glass containers on the counter, and frowned. “I don’t understand the question.”

I sighed and stared into my coffee, imagining it would be more articulate than I was right now. Why was this so hard to say? “Never mind.” I wasn’t going to beg.

But he was done examining his food. Now his piercing blue attention was fully on me. “Are you telling me you want to come to the estate? Deal with these stuffy people who hate me and likely will not be particularly welcoming to you or Sof? Just for me?”

I worried my jaw for a moment. I wasn’t used to telling someone what I wanted or how I felt. I was used to teaching children how to do it, waiting for my siblings to take what they wanted, making do with whatever was left over for me. And yet, here was Xavier, asking me point blank for the opposite.

Well. Why not?

I stuck my chin out. “We didn’t come here for Big Ben or Buckingham Palace, Xavi. We came here for you. We came here to be a family. And the way I learned it, you’re supposed to be there for each other when it’s hard too, not just when it’s easy.” I swallowed. “Not every day can be summer and sunshine. Winter has to come eventually. But that won’t make us love you any less.”

His dark blue eyes skipped over me as if looking for something else. A joke, maybe. Or some kind of tell that I was lying.

I wasn’t.

Then he was moving suddenly around the counter until he had picked me clear off my stool and set me on the marble so he could step between my legs and capture my face with both hands. His kiss was brief but thorough, a quick swirl of tongue and promise for much more.

“I love you for that,” he told me when he pulled away. “More than you could possibly know.”

I gazed up at him, basking in his open adoration as I waited for an answer to my question. He opened his mouth, then let his hands drop so he could take my left hand and look at it for a long time. His mouth opened, like he wanted to say something.

I swallowed. This…he wasn’t…was he going to ask what I thought, maybe even hoped he would? Right here in his kitchen, with no warning, no pomp or circumstance of any kind?

“Francesca,” he said softly. “I…will you…”

I stiffened, practically slipping off the counter in my agitation. In a way, it would be the most perfect way to declare his intentions, in the space he loved the best.

Ask me, Xavi , I begged internally. Please, just ask .

But Xavier just offered a lopsided smile, then stamped another kiss to my forehead and left me on the counter. He returned to the other side, back to his bowl of rice and egg, which he topped with a variety of vegetables, something pickled, and another egg yolk cracked into the middle before he covered the bowl with a plastic lid and set a pair of disposable chopsticks on the top.

“ Tamago gohan ,” he said before I could ask. “My favorite breakfast, in case you were wondering. I’ll eat it on the way.”

I twisted around, unsure of what to do here. Was that whole interaction a figment of my imagination? Or had he really just been about to ask me to marry him?

I got no indication either way.

“Should I get Sof up?” I prodded, returning to my original request. He still hadn’t answered one way or another. Were we going with him? Did he want us to stay?

“Don’t bother.” My heart fell as Xavier swept toward the door. “I’ll have Elsie arrange everything. Go back to bed and get some more rest, babe. I’ll see you in Kendal.”

Kendal? We were going after all?

But before I could ask exactly when that would be, he was gone, leaving me with the inexorable feeling that despite very little happening at this moment, everything was once again about to change.