Finding Their Balance (27 page)

The clock in Emma’s office struck four before they’d finished giving statements. The board had a week to deliberate and assign reprimands or punishment, if any.

She dozed on the way home, warm and buttoned up in her navy overdress. When they reached the bedroom, Henry peeled her clothes off and tucked her against him beneath the sheet.

“Reward?” The question emerged in a yawn. She stretched her limbs, rubbing their legs together. If he needed release, she’d force herself awake. “You want?”

“When you wake.” Nestling close, he kissed her shoulder. “Sleep, my love. I’m pleased with you beyond passion tonight.”

* * * *

Henry let her sleep in after their late night, and between rewards and brunch and showering, the morning disappeared with unexpected speed. A text from her little sister rattled her phone just after one on Sunday afternoon.

Vid chat now?

She shot back a
yes
, booted up the battered laptop she’d gotten through her employer’s buying plan, and claimed her chair at the dining room table. With schedules at odds for weeks, they hadn’t exchanged more than texts in—God, two months. Not since Henry’s gallery opening. Lots to tell. “Remember those guys I was fucking? Yeah, so I kind of moved in with them, and it’s mostly fantastic.” Just like that.

Texting and social networks kept her updated on the graphically detailed medical procedures she didn’t want to hear about and Olivia’s near-daily pleas for more sleep. But neither matched talking to Ollie face to face in real time.

She had the apartment practically to herself for explaining. Henry had holed up in his studio for the afternoon, and Jay would be on his way back from his parents’ place. Unless his family suddenly needed him more than they did.

Ugh. Unkind. Letting the territorial resentment sail through, she clutched the important emotion, the anticipation of Jay’s return by dinnertime.

“You look like you’re having a good time.” Spoon dangling, Ollie waved as the connection clicked through. “Gonna fill me in?”

“Why are you always eating cereal when we talk?” The guy thing would be an ease-into-it discussion.

“Uhh, because it’s breakfast time in California, duh. And since I am awake—mostly—and functioning—mostly—at breakfast, and—most importantly—I am not working at breakfast, it’s about the only time we can gab.” Ollie slurped mushy colored marshmallows. Her garbled words following might have been, “and I like cereal.”

“I’m over cereal. Pancakes for me.” Especially the light, fluffy crepes Henry topped with fresh fruit and whipped cream. God, he spoiled them. Last time anyone had made breakfast for her every morning—fifteen years gone.

“Pancakes take too much time.”

“And obviously they don’t contain enough sugar for you.”

“Don’t knock the Charms, Allie. You used to pour me a bowl every morning.”

All those weeks of Mom rushing to work or the hospital to see Dad while Alice took charge of getting Ollie and herself off to school.

“I should apologize.” She kept her tone dryly amused. Ollie didn’t need to know about the sugar cabinet she shared with Jay, where a half-eaten box of Charms lived alongside the mountain of sugary goodness Henry eschewed. “I’ve scarred your taste buds for life.”

Ollie pointed her spoon at the screen. “What’s that behind you?”

“Like I’m falling for that.”

“Seriously. Pan your cam. That’s so not your apartment. Did you get a bigger place and not tell me?”

“No.” Shit. She’d intended to work up to this part. “Not exactly.”

“Oh my God. You’re there.” The spoon slipped from her fingers. “On Sunday? Holy shit. Is it a sex thing?” Ollie ducked, brown hair flying as she dug for her spoon. “It’s a sex thing and I’m interrupting. Jesus, Allie, I know we haven’t talked in forever, but tell me you didn’t check your messages in the middle of a sex thing.”

“I did not check my messages in the middle of a sex thing.” She nailed the blank-faced, deadpan delivery.

“Like I’m gonna believe you now.” Ollie waved her recovered spoon around. “You probably have a guy’s head between your legs.”

“Ollie!” Dropping her face into her hands, Alice knocked her elbows on the table. “Ouch. You want me to stand up to prove I don’t?”

“No, don’t ruin the moment. It’s good to have goals.” Crunching her cereal, Ollie delivered a Jay-worthy grin. “I can be happy you’re having a fulfilling-but-loveless sex life, even if I’m in Droughtsville, population: me.”

“I’m playing the world’s smallest violin for you.”

“I call bullshit. The world hasn’t invented a musical instrument you can play.”

“Funny, smartass.” Also true, but little sisters didn’t get to win sniping contests.

“If it’s not a sex thing, why are you at their place on Sunday?”

“Well—it’s not—” just their apartment or loveless anymore. “I kinda moved in.”

“No fucking way. With smoldering art guy and flirty bike boy? Ms. I Have a Plan for Everything and You Are Not on My List?”

“Smoldering?”

Oh God.

“Is that him? Can your boy-toys see me?” Ollie flailed with maniacal-toddler energy. “Hi, boy-toys! I want you to know that yes, these are my best pajamas, because obviously I knew we’d meet today, and no, it’s not uncool for a twenty-five-year-old med student to wear magic ponies to bed. Also, it’s unfair of Allie to keep your hotness to herself. If you’re there, I demand evidence.”

Standing beside the door to his studio, lips twitching, Henry raised one eyebrow.

“Thanks, Ollie.” God knew what torments he’d devise with a prompt like
smoldering
. “I’m so gonna pay for that.”

“What’d I say?”

“Nevermind.” Ah well. She’d enjoy whatever he did. “No, he can’t see you.”

“Did you really move in?” Wide eyes filling the screen, Ollie dropped to a whisper. “Did I get you in trouble?” Her teasing tone fled with the color in her face. “Will he hit you because of what I said?”

“Christ, no. I told you, it’s not like that.”

Henry stood remote and still as a lonely mountain peak. Fuck. He’d finally flogged her again, and two days later baby sister jammed her foot in her mouth.

“Henry, I’m sorry, it’s not—she didn’t mean—”

“You’re babbling, dearest,” he murmured. He approached the table and stopped just beyond the webcam’s range. “If I may?”

Vacating the chair, she waved. “Be my guest. Ollie, meet Henry, my smoldering art guy. Henry, meet Olivia, my nosy sister.”

Henry pushed the chair back and sat. “Good afternoon, Olivia. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Alice has mentioned you with fondness many times.”

“I hope not. If my name’s been coming up while you’re fucking my sister—”

“Ollie, cut it out.” She leaned in. Henry smelled of freshly cleaned floor, orange and woody. Murphy’s Oil Soap. He avoided using turpentine or mineral spirits to clean brushes in a closed room. Taking a deeper whiff, she resisted the urge to nuzzle. “I was trying to tell you I’m living with Henry and Jay. We have a relationship. A serious thing.”

“Like”—Ollie squinted—“a long-term thing? With”—who knew what her hand-waving represented—“both of them?”

“A very long-term thing, I hope.” Henry answered before Alice knew how to explain. “I’m deeply in love with your sister, Olivia, and I would like for us to be cordial at the least. Friends, preferably. Family, if you’ll extend the definition.”

“Mr. Sign on the Dotted Line for Sex is in love with my sister.” Flat disbelief emanated from Ollie in eyes and voice.

“I am, yes.” Henry ignored the disdain, as if Ollie were a truculent teenager and rudeness to be expected.

“Do you still hit her?”

“Ollie.”
Mortification walloped her ass harder than Henry ever did.

Laying his hand on hers, he tilted his head. “Alice herself has firmly corrected me on the semantics involved, Olivia. No. I do not hit your sister. I occasionally, with her consent and for her pleasure, flog her. Spank her. Tie her down and fuck her.” He spoke with calm precision, thoughtful truths leaping shamelessly from his tongue. “I also, it should be said, embrace her frequently. Kiss her softly. Make love to her tenderly. If you wish for more explicit descriptions of our activities, you would be better served to ask her—and to listen more closely to her answers.”

Mouth hanging open, Olivia sat utterly silent.

Henry pushed himself up and cupped Alice’s face. Rubbing her cheekbone, he kissed her opposite cheek. “Talk to your sister, dearest. I’m pleased you haven’t felt a need to hide our relationship.” As he drew back, he trailed his fingers down her neck. “I’ll just be smoldering in the kitchen.”

Alice giggled.

Henry tapped her nose with his index finger and headed around the table.

“Wait.” The shout came through the laptop speakers loud and squawky. “Wait, Henry, please.”

He halted.

Alice reclaimed her chair. “Stop bugging him, Ollie.”

“No, that’s not—” Ollie winced. “I want to tell him I’m sorry. Henry?” She scanned back and forth. “I’m sorry for being so—me. For thinking you were hurting Allie. I can see she’s happy.”

Eyelids fluttering, Henry drew a deep breath. “You speak the truth as you see it, and you’re quite protective of your sister, Olivia.” He stood beyond the camera’s sight, his voice light and crisp with an amused tang. “For which do you mean to apologize? Shall I apologize for the same? We’ll let it go, hmm? I believe we each understand the other’s concern properly now.”

Ollie hung her head. “Thanks, Henry.” Her baby sister’s grin peeked out. “I’ll try to be less offensive next time we talk. I can share tons of dirt.”

Henry snorted, shook his head, and proceeded to the kitchen.

“Ollie, you have no idea.” Tracking his swagger, Alice revisited the decadent luxury of her morning wake-up call. “My smoldering art guy knows more about me than I do.”

“A challenge. I’ll think up good stuff to share when I visit.” Tongue wagging, Ollie sassed the camera.

“You do and I’ll— You’re coming to Boston?”

Ollie nodded with jack-in-the-box vigor. “Presenting a paper. I assisted on a big case, and now I get to attend the conference. Okay, I’m not the main person, but I’m going!”

“That’s fantastic.” Three years since she’d gone out for Ollie’s college graduation. Lots of missed hugs to make up for. “When are you coming? For how long? Where are you staying?”

“August seventh, three days, and, uhh—” A guilty grimace crept over Ollie’s face. “I kinda hoped with you. Before I knew about your move.” She shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.”

Shit. Mr. Nagel had rented her old apartment. The new tenant would take possession in July, which started tomorrow, and she hadn’t written Henry a rent check or even raised the money issue again. The spare room wasn’t hers to give away. If she paid for Ollie’s hotel and spent the evenings—

Steady tapping drilled into her head. Henry, rapping his forefinger on the breakfast bar. “You’re over-thinking, my dear. You need only ask.”

“But it’s not—” Keenly aware of Ollie’s stare, she refused to initiate a discussion of how they handled sexual requests and whether the rules applied to non-sexual ones. Ollie had heard enough.

“This is something you want. Ask.”

She licked her lips and took a breath. “Henry, would it be all right if Ollie stayed with us while she’s in town?”

“Certainly, Alice.” His smile, combined with his direct gaze, warmed her. “It’s no trouble. You’ll have to make sure Jay is aware and able to meet your standards for hosting a guest in your room. I’m sure he’ll enjoy that as well.”

He would. Hell, Jay and Ollie would get on like a house on fire. Prankster babies. She grinned at her sister. “Done deal. You’ll stay with us.”

“Thanks, Allie.” Ollie tipped her head back. “Thanks, Henry.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me regret having you here.”

Ollie stuck out her tongue. “Better hide your kinky stuff from my poor virgin eyes.”

“You really wanna play the virgin card? Because now I think about it, I haven’t told Henry about your adventures with Bobby Sa—”

“Allie!” Olivia’s screech shoved Alice back. “You wouldn’t.”

“You thought I wouldn’t get into a sexual relationship with two guys, either. You definitely thought I wouldn’t move in with them.” Alice flicked imaginary lint from her shoulders. “Who’s to say what I might do?”

“Oh, you’re gonna get it now. First thing when I get there, I’m gonna tell—” An emergency siren blared. “Shit. Hospital ringtone. Gotta go. Love you.”

She called out her love as the connection blipped closed. At the breakfast bar, Henry gathered items from the fridge and cupboards. Her rent money waited in her bank account.
You need only ask.
He’d asked her, with a straightforward plea, to allow him to provide a home for her and Jay. “If I wrote you a check for July’s rent, right now, would you use the money to pay the rent?”

Henry halted his prep work. Mise en place, he called it. Functional design. His face softened from concentration lines to a slight smile. “No, Alice.”

About what she’d expected, but if her checks sat uncashed in a drawer—in her folder, even—she’d notice the imbalance on her bank statement. “What would you do with it?”

“A trust, in your name. I’d ask Will or my brother to investigate high-yield opportunities while protecting the principal.”

His overprotection wavered between attractive and aggravating. At least he hadn’t lied to her face. “If I hadn’t asked—if I’d just given you a check—would you have told me?”

“No, Alice.” He cradled her name in gentle tones, but he watched her with a heavy, assessing stare.

“Because you wouldn’t trust me with the truth?” No, he trusted her with Jay, his most precious possession. “Because I wouldn’t have wanted the answer.”

“That you’ve asked suggests you knew the answer you’d receive. You are—” He flattened his hands on the counter. “You are conflicted but open to negotiation, perhaps?”

The tremor in his fingers came from her imagination. Nothing made Henry nervous. Except—maybe—the moments when he feared she’d choose some other life. “So this hypothetical rainy day fund. What if I wanted to use it to surprise you with a vacation? Or a new car?”