How Sweet It Is (17 page)

Before her aunts could say anything, Chloe hopped up. “Schrödinger and I are going to our room.”

The dog followed her more lazily, yawning.

“Goodnight, Chloe,” Rosalind called after her.

“Remember what I said,” Bea said.

“What did you say?” she heard Viola ask. She paused, waiting to make sure her aunts didn’t say anything.

“About the dog,” Beatrice said blithely. “Just some advice.”

Chloe exhaled in relief and went down the hall to her room. Inside, she locked the door, gave Schrödinger a treat, and then opened her laptop.

Fortunately Hunter was online.

Chloe Lloyd: Have you ever had a girlfriend?

Hunter Vicks: Mary Louise, in kindergarten. But she broke up with me after a day because John Bernstein had M&Ms and I only had gummy worms.

Chloe grinned as she typed her response.
Her loss.

Hunter Vicks: I think so. How about you?

Chloe Lloyd: Not even in kindergarten.

Hunter Vicks: Do you want a boyfriend?

Chloe Lloyd: Depends on the boy.

Hunter Vicks: I know the perfect one. You’ll like him.

Chloe Lloyd: You think he’ll like me?

Hunter Vicks: I think he already does.

She didn’t need to look in the mirror to know she was grinning like a fool.

***

The next morning, her mum was already in the kitchen sitting at the table where she had all her work.

Chloe went to the counter and poured herself a half-cup of coffee. She’d thought about it all night. She couldn’t expect her mum to be honest if she wasn’t. Grandmother Jacqueline was right: She needed to be honest with her mother.

She took the carafe to the table and refilled her mother’s cup.

Viola glanced up with a tentative smile, setting her pen down and picking up the cup. “Thank you, darling.”

Her mum was going to talk to her about her boyfriend—Chloe could tell. She wasn’t sure she was ready to hear any of that, though, so she sat down and said, “Mum, I was accepted into the Young Writers program at Stratford-upon-Avon.”

Her mother blinked in surprise, and then she smiled wide. “That’s wonderful, Chloe. Congratulations! When did you find out?”

“Last term.” She bit her lip, knowing her mum wasn’t going to be happy.

“And you’re telling me now?”

She winced, but before she could reply, her mother frowned and said, “I have no right to be upset with you, because I haven’t been honest with you about my life either.”

Leaning across the table, Viola took her hand. “Chloe, to start the gallery, I took a loan out on the house. I should have told you before. I want to tell myself I was protecting you, but I was really protecting myself, because I didn’t think I could take it if you didn’t approve.”

She shook her head. “Isn’t what you do with the house your decision?”

“It’s our house.”

Chloe shrugged. “It’s a moot point anyway, because your gallery is going to be successful. You’re good at art, Mum.”

Viola stared at her like she’d handed over the moon. “Thank you, darling.”

“There’s something else.” She played with the handle of her mug. Her mother wasn’t going to be as happy about this. “If I don’t pass science this term, I’ll be dropped from the writing program.”

“Is there a chance you’ll fail science?” Her mother frowned. “You always did so well in all your classes.”

“I fell behind, but I’m catching up,” she hurried to say.

Her mother squeezed her hand. “You’ll be fine. You’re smart, Chloe. If you want this, figure out how to make it happen.”

She looked at all the papers on the table, and then righted a small wooden mermaid that had toppled over. “You, too, Mum.”

Viola smiled. Then she stood up and hugged her. “I’m sorry I’ve been in a state. I should have been paying better attention to you, but I’m paying attention now. You can always come to me, Chloe, even if it’s uncool.”

She wound her arms around her mother’s waist, comforted by the familiar feel of her. In her mum’s embrace, it felt like everything would be all right, that she’d pass science and go to her writing program and become the greatest writer since Hemingway.

The feeling wore off on her way to school—until she saw Hunter waiting for her at the doorway of their class. “Are you ready for this?” he asked.

The butterflies fluttered in her stomach, but she nodded.

Hunter took her hand. “I have a good feeling,” he whispered as he led her into class.

Smiling at him, she let go reluctantly and went to take their seat.

Mrs. Watley spent the class lecturing. Chloe kept silently urging her to get to the part where she talked about their projects and handed them their grades. The suspense was killing her.

Just when she thought that it was too late, Mrs. Watley smiled and said, “And now for the moment you’ve all been impatiently waiting for, the grades on your projects. I’ve posted them on the bulletin next to the door so you can check on your way out.”

Chloe turned to look. The piece of paper seemed to glow with an unnatural light.

Mrs. Watley took her seat behind the desk. “Go ahead and look. I know you’re eager.”

Yes
. Both nervous and excited, Chloe smiled at Hunter, who’d turned around to grin at her. She gathered her things together, anxious to see their score.

“Chloe, will you see me before you leave?” Mrs. Watley said.

The bottom fell out of her stomach. She lifted her head and studied their teacher, looking for a clue as to what she was going to say. Then she glanced at Hunter.

The worry in his expression wasn’t reassuring.

Chloe stood and picked up her bag. Taking a deep breath, she went to the front and waited in front of her teacher’s desk.

Mrs. Watley smiled at her. “Chloe, the paper you wrote as your half of the project was brilliant. I might even go so far as to say that it was one of my favorite papers that I’ve ever read.”

“It was?” She blinked, holding her bag tight. “You aren’t joking, are you?”

Her teacher laughed. “Well done, you. Now, you should go, because Hunter’s waiting for you by the door.”

She looked over her shoulder. He was watching her with a worried look on his face.

“Chloe?” The older woman leaned in and lowered her voice. “I told you studying with him wouldn’t be a hardship. Was I right?”

Remembering the kisses and the way his lips felt, her cheeks began to burn.

“I thought so.” Mrs. Watley winked.

Chloe mumbled something and made her escape. She joined Hunter beside the grade sheet. “How did we do?” she asked, glancing at the paper.

Instead of taking her hand, Hunter grabbed her in a hug. “We aced it. Congratulations, partner.”

She closed her eyes, partly in relief, partly to savor Hunter.

Against her ear, he whispered, “I knew we’d make a great team.”

“So did I,” she whispered back.

Chapter Nineteen

Working in the bowels of Westminster was less glamorous than one would expect.

Finn sat in the nondescript vault-of-a-room, his sketchpad on his lap, planning the lion figure he needed to carve. He’d brought a speaker so at least he had music, but he missed his atelier and his own chair, which had conformed perfectly to his arse over the years. He missed Marcel, despite his badgering, and he missed painting.

He thought about the canvas that was still propped on his easel at home—the one of Viola. He ached to finish it, his fingers flexing with the need to pick up a brush and trace her face.

The same way his fingers ached to trace her face in person.

Tonight.

For now, he needed to focus on his top-secret project: repairing King Edward’s Chair.

Abigail Potter had given him clearance and basically instructed him not to speak to anyone. He was surprised there weren’t armed guards at the door. Likely because it’d attract too much attention.

Sighing at the drama behind this commission, he studied his sketch and then re-drew the curve of the lion’s head. “A Love Supreme” came on, and the only thing he was missing was Marcel’s improvisation in the background.

The door to his dungeon opened.

He glanced up quickly, even though he knew who it’d be.

Abigail Potter looked over her shoulders before she snuck in and closed the door quietly. She hurried over, her hands wringing. “How are you fairing? It seems like you haven’t made any progress.”

“Since you came in twenty minutes ago? No.” Maybe if he ignored her she’d go away. He lowered his head and continued drawing the section of the chair he needed to re-carve.

He felt the air change behind his back. Resisting the urge to growl, he turned and speared the curator with a stern look. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at your work.” She pointed to the sketchpad. “Is that how you normally start?”

“Yes.”

“Because it seems like it’d be faster if—”

“Would you like to repair the chair?” he asked, setting his pencil down.

She blinked at him, her eyes owlish behind her glasses. “You know I can’t.”

“Then maybe you should leave and let me get to work.”

“I—”

“You hired me because I’m the best,” he overrode her. “If I can’t do this, you’re bollocksed anyway.”

She paled. “But you can do it, can’t you?”

“Not if you stand over me.” He stared her down.

She backed up slowly, as if he were a wild animal that might attack at any moment. “Let me know if you need anything,” she said in a hushed voice as she hurriedly slipped through the door.

He didn’t relax until he heard the lock clasp again. Rolling his shoulders, he tried to dislodge his tension. To be fair, Potter wasn’t the cause of all of his stress. He was having dinner with Viola, and her daughter was joining them.

He remembered the strange creature staring at him out of black-rimmed eyes that looked eerily like Viola’s. He didn’t have experience with children—he’d never been interested in them. Fortunately, Chloe was mostly an adult as far as he could tell.

Honestly, she fascinated him. He could already see how he’d paint her—in a sea of black with the eyes stark and glowing.

Shaking his hand out, he continued to work, oddly eager for the evening.

***

“Come in.” Taking his hand, Viola drew him into her home. She glanced behind her shoulder, and then kissed him quickly.

Keeping an eye on the hallway, he caught Viola’s arm before she could withdraw and kissed her properly. Hunger for her welled in his groin.

She sighed with pleasure and melted into him. “That’s lovely,” she murmured against his lips.

“There’s more where that came from.” He smoothed her hair back. “I don’t know what the protocol is.”

“Chloe’s in the kitchen.” She withdrew from his embrace. “I’m not sure what the protocol is either. I’ve never brought a man home. I don’t want to set a bad example for her.”

“I understand.” He took her hand, running his thumb along her knuckles. “I can behave.”

She smiled wryly. “Can you?”

“Given the right incentive.” He ran a finger down her neck into the softness of her cleavage. Under the blouse, her nipples peaked, and he smiled as she shivered.

“A drink,” she said, pulling away from him. “Come into the kitchen and say hello to Chloe.”

Her daughter sat in on a barstool, reading off a device. She wore a school uniform, which contrasted with the dark makeup ringing her eyes. She looked up when he entered, her expression guarded.

At least that was better than resentment. He held her gaze steadily until the dog lying at her feet jumped up and bounded for him.

Finn looked at it and said, “Stop.”

The mutt skidded to a standstill several feet away, his ears perked as though he were waiting for instruction.

So Finn said, “Sit.”

He dropped his hind down and panted excitedly.

“Good boy.” Finn scratched behind the dog’s ears and under his jowls. When he glanced up, he found Viola and Chloe gaping at him. “What?”

Viola shook her head and turned to her daughter. “I didn’t know Schrödinger knew how to do that.”

“I didn’t either.” Chloe blinked at the dog as if she didn’t recognize him. “I thought it was a major win getting him to stop chewing on his leash.”

Finn looked at the dog, who stared up at him with adoring eyes. The poor guy probably just appreciated having another man around.

“So you’ve met Schrödinger,” Viola said, “this is my daughter, Chloe. Chloe, Finn Buchanan is an artist I met in Paris.”

Pursing her lips, the teenager studied him like she wasn’t impressed. “Are you in the gallery opening?” she asked finally.

“No.” Finn glanced at Viola, whose brow furrowed. She hadn’t told her daughter he was going to be in the show, had she?

“Why not?” the girl asked, setting her device down.

“We’re negotiating that,” Viola said tactfully as her mobile rang. She picked it up and looked at the screen. “I need to take this. Will you two be all right on your own for a moment?”

Chloe rolled her eyes. Finn was tempted to join her, but he just murmured, “Go ahead.”

Smiling brilliantly, Viola answered the call as she strode from the kitchen. “Sebastian?” he heard her say.

He frowned. Who was Sebastian, and why was he calling in the evening?

“Sebastian’s our cousin,” Chloe said as if reading his mind. “He’s helping Mum with her gallery. Are you in her show?”

“No.”

“Why not? Didn’t she ask you to be part of it?”

“She did, but I couldn’t commit to her show.”

The dog lifted his head, looking at him with canine disbelief.

Chloe, too. Only mixed with the disbelief was a heavy measure of distrust. “Mum likes you,” the teenager finally said.

This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to get into, but he knew he couldn’t avoid it either. He pulled a stool across from her and looked her in the eye. “I like her, too.”

Chloe frowned. “Why?”

Because when he held her, he felt as if the world was right. Not that he could tell the teenager that. “Because your mother is worthy of being liked.”

The girl wrinkled her forehead as if the thought boggled her mind. “But if you like her, why wouldn’t you want to be in her gallery opening? Shouldn’t you support the people you like?”