How Sweet It Is (16 page)

She blinked. “That’s amazing, Sebastian. Thank you.”

“All part of the service,” he said, shrugging it off.

As far as she was concerned, it went above and beyond. “I—”

Her phone beeped, and they both glanced at it.

“It’s a text from Chloe,” she said. Charles was bringing her home early. Vi was happy to have her daughter home, but didn’t Charles see that every time he did this it demonstrated that he didn’t want Chloe?

“Your ex is a piece of work, huh?” Sebastian commented astutely.

“That’s putting it lightly.”

Fran snorted in agreement.

Vi stood up and kissed her. Then, feeling impulsive, she kissed Sebastian’s cheek, too. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

He put a hand against his face, like affection was something so rare he wanted to hold it close. She felt a pang of guilt.

Glancing up, she saw that his reaction didn’t escape Fran’s notice either. They exchanged a look, a silent vow to do better by him.

She arrived at her house before Chloe did. Knowing she wouldn’t get any work done later—Rosalind and Bea were coming over to fit the dresses for Rosalind’s wedding—she went into the kitchen to look at her artist chart again.

Since she’d returned from Paris, she’d converted the kitchen table into her office. Her mermaid sat there, as a reminder to be true to her vision of herself. She and Chloe usually sat at the countertop to eat, anyway.

Vi pulled out the visual chart she’d made of all the art pieces promised to her and where she was going to hang them. Something was missing, but she figured it was just a matter of switching the placement between a couple paintings.

The front door opened, and then there was the sound of scrambling puppy nails on the floor. Schrödinger skid into the kitchen and greeted her by jumping on her lap.

Chuckling, she scratched under his chin. “I missed you, too.”

He barked once and dropped down to run to make sure his bed was still in the corner.

Chloe walked in, clutching her bag, her expression tight.

Frowning, Vi stood up. “What’s wrong?”

Charles stepped into the kitchen.

She glanced at her daughter, who looked miserable and apologetic, as if she was responsible for her father being there. Which was absolute nonsense because Charles always did whatever he wanted.

Her frown twisted into a scowl. “What are you doing here, Charles?”

“I brought Chloe home,” he said.

“I see, but I didn’t invite you in.”

“Good Lord, Viola.” His nose wrinkled. “Can’t we be civilized?”

She wanted to point out that she wasn’t the wanker in this relationship, but Chloe was there, and it wasn’t right to disparage her father in front of her.

Charles’s gaze settled on the table and the mass of papers and drawings covering it. She could practically see him cringing at the mess.

She leaned over, resting her palm on the table in a way that a stack of papers shifted, making it all seem messier.

Chloe made a noise.

Vi glanced at her daughter, who was pressing her lips together to keep from laughing out loud.

So much for keeping her feelings about Charles to herself. She winked at her daughter and then faced Charles. “Thank you for bringing Chloe home. You can go now.”

He stepped forward. “I thought maybe we could go out to dinner, the three of us.”

“Louise doesn’t want to join us on a family jaunt?” she asked brightly. Surprisingly, she was more amused than annoyed—a first, for sure.

“Don’t be that way, Viola.”

She tipped her head. “What way?”

“Difficult.” He scowled at her.

“Now you really can leave.” She pointed the way out. “Unless you’d like to wait to say hello to Beatrice when she arrives shortly.”

He pouted at her. “Fine, we’ll have dinner another time. We need to talk.”

She didn’t need to do anything. Crossing her arms, she said, “Thanks again for bringing Chloe home.”

They both waited until they heard the door close, then they exhaled. Vi went to her daughter and hugged her. Chloe hesitated a moment and then embraced her the way she used to when she was younger: with abandon, like she loved her.

Tears flooded Vi’s eyes. Not surprising—she’d been so weepy this past week. She cleared the sentiment from her throat and held her daughter at arm’s length. “You know what we need?”

“What?” she asked with teenage suspicion.

“Music.” It’d clear the air like nothing else. She turned on the high tech sound system Charles had had installed before she’d kicked him out, and classical music came on. Making a face, she punched random buttons until the music changed.

“What is this?” Chloe asked with round eyes.

“I don’t know, but I like it.” Vi turned it up. A girl was singing about the sound in her heart, and the beat going on and on, and how he was the glitter in the darkness of her world.

She’d felt that way about Finn.

But she wasn’t going to think about Finn. This moment was for her and her daughter. She held her hands out. “Come dance with me.”

Chloe gawked. “Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?”

She laughed, taking Chloe’s hands and twirling her.

Schrödinger jumped up and began to prance with them, barking along to the song. Chloe looked at him and shook her head, but her lips curved with a smile.

A new song came on, and the woman began singing “One less problem without you” and Vi said, “
Yes.
”

Dancing over to the console, she turned it up. When she saw Chloe’s gobstruck expression, she said, “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Uh. No.” Though her daughter looked at her like her head had started spinning.

She held her hands out, and Chloe took them without hesitation.

A memory flared in her mind of doing this with Chloe when she was a toddler. She blinked away the tears that filled her eyes. They’d do it more often from now on, she promised herself.

A throat cleared from the archway. They looked up to find Bea watching them with a smile on her lips. “This looks like a party,” her older sister said.

Vi held her hands out. “Come dance.”

Smiling, Bea unwrapped her layers and came to join them on the kitchen floor. Chloe danced with the enthusiasm of the young, Vi danced with the abandon of someone who was reclaiming herself, but Bea danced with the confidence of a seductress.

Good thing Luca wasn’t there—if he saw her dancing, he’d probably poke his eyes out. He was already so in love with her sister. Though she had an idea that Bea wasn’t immune to the Italian either.

“No one told me there’d be dancing,” Rosalind said, carrying in garment bags. She grinned at them all. “I almost feel bad about interrupting and making you guys try on your bridesmaid’s dresses.”

“I’ll make cocktails and then it’ll all be fine,” Bea said, shimmying toward the cabinet where the alcohol was. “The usual, everyone?”

“I’ll just have sparkling water,” Vi said.

They all stared at her.

She shrugged. Her stomach had been a little upset today, and the thought of having tequila made it squirm.

“Come on, Chloe.” Rosalind slung an arm around the teenager’s shoulders. “Let’s take these upstairs while they’re getting our beverages.”

“Okay.” Chloe smiled. “I’ll have a martini, too, Aunt Bea.”

“Nice try, kid.” Bea winked at her and then went back to making her drink.

The doorbell rang, and they looked at each other. “Was Portia coming over, too?” Bea asked as she added ice to the drinks.

“Not that I know of. I’ll see who it is.” Vi headed for the door.

Halfway there she had a horrible thought: What if it was Charles again?

He wouldn’t come back, she reassured herself. She’d threatened him with Bea—her sister scared him to death. It had to be Portia or maybe her mother. Summer, Titania, and Gigi were all still away.

So she opened the door with a smile and said, “I hope you brought macarons with you.”

Finn stood there, his hands out, as if to show he was defenseless rather than without macarons. His eyes ate her up, from the tip of her bare feet to the top of her disheveled head.

Her heart caught, and she braced herself in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

“I accepted the commission,” he said.

Her heart lifted, understanding what he was saying: He wanted to be close to her.

He stepped into the threshold. “Do you mind that I came to see you?”

“I’m not sure.” She tried not to hope, but it was so difficult. “We decided we were hopeless. There wasn’t anything left for us.”

“Except this.” He took her by the arms and kissed her.

She melted into him. She couldn’t help it—it was just what happened when they touched. But she managed to draw back enough to ask, “And your art?”

He studied her as though he was starving for her. “I was hoping we could shelve that discussion for now.”

“What does that mean? That you’d be willing in the right instance?” she asked carefully.

“Just kiss me,” he said, reaching for her.

Every other time, he’d said no. This time, he knew how badly she wanted his artwork and he was still here on her doorstep, and he hadn’t pushed her away.

It might work out. He was going to help her.

Elation ran through her, and she flung her arms around him, her heart bursting with happiness. She kissed him with her whole being—her soul.

“Isn’t this cozy?”

Vi froze. Then she let go of Finn and turned around to face her big sister, conscious of her burning face. “I have a guest.”

Bea tipped her head and surveyed Finn with the cool calculation of a mother whose child was approached too closely. “Indeed you do. Was he expected?”

Finn rolled his eyes. “
He’s
standing right in front of you.”

“Yes, but his hands were on my baby sister,” Bea said with a smooth smile, “so his life might be in danger.”

Finn faced Vi.

She shrugged. “I’ll try to protect you, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

Chapter Eighteen

Her mum had a boyfriend.

Chloe sat on the floor in her mother’s room, still in the blue dress her aunt Rosalind made for her to wear to her wedding, trying to make sense of the past half hour. It was impossible, because Bea, Rosalind, and her mum were all talking over each other. From what Chloe understood, Aunt Bea had caught Viola kissing some guy, who’d come all the way from Paris to see her. He’d left as Chloe had come downstairs, so even though she hadn’t met him, she’d caught a glimpse of him. She supposed for an old guy, he was cute.

Her mum had been kissing a guy
.

She was in a bad enough state as it was. She and Hunter were getting their project grades tomorrow, and she’d been nervous all day. Now this.

Schrödinger licked her fingers. She patted his head, grateful for the attention. She wanted to think he could sense that she needed moral support, but likely he was just eating the residual shortbread on her skin.

“This is tight,” her mother complained, tugging at the dress Aunt Rosalind had made for her to wear to the wedding in March. “If I sit, it might rip.”

“Don’t worry,” Rosalind said calmly. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll let it out.”

Her mother frowned at herself in the mirror. “I was doing so well with the weight I’d lost. I didn’t want to gain it back. I’ll stop eating macarons.”

“You’re too thin as it is, Vi,” Bea said, not looking up from her mobile. She wore her bridesmaid dress, too, and it was perfect: a long strapless sheath that showed off her legs.

Chloe might have wished that her dress was shorter, except she was too distracted by the fact that her mother had a boyfriend.

Why hadn’t she said anything?

But then she didn’t tell her mum anything about Hunter either, so maybe she didn’t have the right to feel hurt.

Bea somehow managed to get down on the floor next to her gracefully, despite the dress. Winking, she handed Chloe a glass. “Just a wee drink.”

“Thanks.” She took a sip. It was fruity and sweet. “Is there alcohol in this?”

“Yes, so go easy on it.” Bea scratched Schrödinger between his ears when he popped his head up. “You okay?” she asked quietly.

“Just weirded out.” She pursed her lips. “How do you know if a boy is more than just a friend?”

Bea arched her brows. “Are you wondering in general or specifically?”

She pictured Hunter. “Specifically.”

“I need to get out of this so I can breathe,” Viola said, drawing their attention. She turned, reaching over her back. “Unzip me so I can go change?”

“Hold on.” Rosalind undid her, and they watched her hurry out of the room to her bathroom.

“Okay, quick,” her aunt Bea said, taking out her mobile. “What’s his name and birthdate?”

“Whose birthdate?” Rosalind asked in a conspiratorial voice.

“The boy who might be Chloe’s boyfriend.” Her aunt stared her down. “Chloe.”

Chloe shook her head. “I don’t know why you need that.”

“So I can see if he has a criminal record.”

She gasped, horrified.
“He doesn’t.”

Bea’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know for sure?”

“He’s the smartest boy in school. He’s good,” she said as convincingly as she could.

“That’s not a guarantee,” Rosalind said, joining them on the floor. “Bea was the smartest in school and look how she turned out.”

Bea smiled indulgently, obviously not bothered. She faced Chloe again, her gaze sharp. “Tell us about him.”

He was totally hot and his lips tasted like ice cream and firecrackers, and when he looked at her she felt like she could do anything. “He’s nice.”

“I think you can do better than that,” her scariest aunt said.

“He’s my science partner,” she muttered.

Rosalind put her hand on Chloe’s arm. “Does he like you?”

She thought about the way he looked at her, like he was interested, and nodded. “Yes.”

Bea narrowed her eyes. “You sound certain of that.”

She shrugged. “He told me.”

“A boy that communicates.” Bea tossed her mobile aside. “What a revelation.”

Her mother came back right then, in her pajamas with the dress slung over her arm. She frowned at all of them on the floor. “What are we doing?”