by Ava Miles
“Quinn’s going to lose Francesca a second time.” Arthur cursed uncharacteristically.
“And she him.” Because it was a loss. Clara had seen the woman’s face before dinner. She’d sat with a somber Alice and with Clifton, who hadn’t spoken a single word. There’d been no sign of Quinn.
“I want to bash their heads together, but I understand the untenable position her father put her in. She can help a lot of people experiencing horrible times. Even before the pandemic, Lebanon’s economy was in shambles. Women were trading dresses for baby formula and diapers, for heaven’s sake.”
“Women need formula and diapers in the U.S. too.” The online stories she came across daily were heartrending. She fingered her diamond bracelet absently and then looked down at the gems sparkling like Irish rainbows after a storm. God, who was she to be wearing diamonds with the kind of economic suffering in the world? When she started to take them off, Arthur stilled her hand.
“You don’t stop being who you are or living your life,” he told her, his blue-jean eyes steady on her face. “You like to wear diamonds and you can. Besides, what are you going to do? Give all your money away? You’ve given half to bail out more Merriam employees.”
Even with everyone donating from their personal fortunes, they were only going to be able to give everyone a one-thousand-dollar bonus, plus whatever severance they were due. “It isn’t enough. What will become of them?”
He touched her cheek. “Clara, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from covering tragedy, it’s this. It’s important to have compassion—empathy even when it’s possible—but the world isn’t better for anyone if we choose suffering. Wearing diamonds brings you pleasure, and selling them won’t do much to someone who’s lost a job, a company, or a loved one. Your guilt won’t help either. So maybe you don’t buy any more diamonds. Fine. But instead of focusing on what you perceive as your flaws, try thinking about all the good you’ve done. All the good you’re doing. I’m proud of you, love.”
She closed her eyes, feeling a little weepy. Not her normal. Arthur pulled her onto his lap and held her. She inhaled his cologne, a mix of bergamot, leather, and orange, crafted by Caitlyn’s perfume maker, Ibrahim. Something was missing. “You haven’t been chewing red hots much or handing them out.”
His sigh gusted out. “Maybe it’s my version of diamonds. I usually hand them out to comfort people, but candy seems like such an insignificant gesture right now. It can’t make hurts this deep better.”
She felt something inside of her shift as she smoothed his hair. “You bring those red hots back, Arthur Hale. I miss them, and I’m sure I’m not alone. They not only inspire connection; they inspire comfort and normalcy.”
“Well said, my dear.” He kissed her softly.
“Where do you have them tucked away?” she asked.
“In my sock drawer, where I put everything else,” he said, patting her backside as she rose.
His handprint was warm on her fanny, a touch which had her mouth curling. Oh, how she loved this man. She found a bag of red hots in his sock drawer. She grabbed a handful and returned to the sitting room. “You put these in your sweater pockets and start handing them out again. But I would like to have one first.”
“You would, eh?” He extended one to her and shoved the rest in his pocket, secreting one for himself.
They unwrapped their candies and popped them in their mouths. She sat back on his lap, the cinnamon firing her every taste bud, ones that had been dead lately even amidst the nonstop onslaught of delicious food and drink from Clifton and Alice and the others.
“Are we really going to do nothing to help Quinn and Francesca?” she asked after silently musing. “Are you not the Matchmaking Jedi?”
“I don’t know how to help there,” he said, the candy clacking against his teeth. “Their problems are beyond anything we’ve faced.”
“Except when Michaela fell ill, we hiked into the bush to find a healing flower to save her.”
He crunched his candy angrily. “The path seemed clear. This one doesn’t.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she answered, biting into the red hot herself in frustration. “Do you think Clifton might have an answer? He’s been ever so helpful in these matters.”
“We can ask him. None of the Merriams know what to say either—not even Assumpta.”
And her sister-in-law usually saw matters of the heart in black and white.
They were doomed.
Chapter 33
Francesca braced herself to have the second hardest conversation of her life.
Her bags were packed and stored in Becca’s office, thanks to Clifton’s stealth. He set down a tea tray on the small burnished rosewood coffee table in front of the couch she was sitting on.
“I’ll go for Alice,” he said, his face somber and a touch gray.
“It’s for the best,” she told him, her bones already aching with her choice. “I’m trusting you to help her understand that after I leave.”
“I’ll do my best.” He folded his hands in front of his body and regarded her. “It seems a great tragedy, however. I wonder if your father truly intended for you to lose both the man you love and your best friend and sister.”
His face in the hospital rose in her mind. He’d said nothing about Quinn even though he knew they were together again. She might try and lie to herself, but he hadn’t thought about her happiness. To a Maroun, family and duty were more important. “I agree, but right now, it doesn’t seem like I have another choice. People are counting on me, Clifton.”
“Quite.” He pursed his lips before saying, “I had a complicated relationship with my father as well. I followed his footsteps into service without another thought. Reflecting back, I realize it didn’t occur to me to do anything else. Our family had served in this field for hundreds of years. A wise man doesn’t look back on his life with regret, but… Perhaps I am not so wise in these turbulent days.”
She poured two cups of tea and handed one to him, knowing what an honor it was for him to disclose his personal thoughts. “Please have a final cup with me. Alice and I won’t be able to drink any.”
His skin turned a shade grayer, but he sat next to her on the couch and took the teacup, sipping quietly with her. She thought again about her decision not to say goodbye to the Merriams. How could she put herself or them through it? Especially with June’s death still so fresh? “I have a letter I’d like you to read at dinner tonight. The one for Quinn… I’d appreciate it if you would deliver it after my car leaves.”
They hadn’t spoken since he’d left this very office, leaving the ring on the desk where she’d put it. She withdrew both letters from her bag with a trembling hand. The beautiful ring Quinn had given her had already perforated the envelope she’d sealed his letter in. She couldn’t take the ring. It was a promise. A promise she no longer knew if she could keep.
“Of course.” He set his half-empty cup down and stood, smoothing down his black jacket. “I will go find Alice now. It has been a pleasure and an honor, Francesca. If there is ever anything I can do to help you, I would gladly do so—as a friend.”
Fiery tears burned her eyes, and she stood as well, embracing him warmly. “It was good to make a new friend in you, Clifton. You and Alice look after each other and this family. Open that chocolate shop she sees in her meditations.”
He withdrew from her, his mouth tipping up. “I see them in mine as well. We will take good care of each other, like family does. Be well, Francesca.”
“You too, my friend.”
When he left, she brushed the edges of her eyes and attempted to steel herself for what would come next. She could get through this next part. She had to.
When Alice came in, her face crumpled immediately, and fat tears spilled from her large brown eyes. “I knew it when I saw Clifton. You think you’re leaving without me? Like hell.”
Francesca laid her hand on her friend’s rigid arm. “You know it’s for the best. How can I
take you to Beirut with me? Our arrangement was for short-term consultancies around the world in places of stability. My new job as a CEO in Beirut meets neither of those conditions. You have a new life ahead of you. Clifton is part of it. You see it yourself. I can’t take you with me simply because I love you. Alice, I’m not even doing that with Quinn.”
“You’re both being idiots!” Alice stomped her foot in a rare fit of anger. “I know you inside and out. I’ve seen you pull off brilliant turnarounds for other people. Why aren’t you trying to work out a solution for yourself? For the Merriams’ entire company? Why have you given up?”
Her heated words knocked Francesca back. “I’m giving up everything I want to make a difference the only way I can. Do you think I don’t want to help the Merriams keep everything? It’s not easy for me to admit, but I failed, Alice, and I’m losing the man I love.”
“Maybe I’ve been stewing too long over this, but I agree with Quinn. You need to stop letting your father call the shots. Look at how he played you. He didn’t even ask you about taking over.”
“He was dying of the virus!”
“If he’d died before the pandemic, do you think he would have set things up any differently?”
She rolled her neck, which had stiffened with tension. “No, probably not. In that case, I might have made a different choice. But in this pandemic—”
“This pandemic sucks, and it hurts. Every day more people are getting sick or getting screwed. I get it. But you don’t have to be one of the casualties. I love you too much not to say it. I don’t want to see you taking this path. I know you. All you’ll do is work for others and sacrifice yourself. That’s how you were when you left your father and Maroun Industries last time. You’ll be a burned out shell in a couple years. Wait!”
Francesca watched helplessly as her friend dug her phone out of her pocket and started swiping angrily at the screen. When she held it back up, Francesca found herself peering at an old photograph.
“That’s you a month after I started working for you.” She waved the screen. “Do you see how drawn your face was? Your cheekbones looked like they were going to split your face. Your eyes were too big because you were practically starving. Don’t go back to that.”
Her lips started to tremble. Was that thin, sallow-faced woman truly her? Was that going to be her life now? “I won’t let it become like that this time,” she said to Alice, and to herself.
Alice shook her head and shoved her phone away. “You’ve already started looking like her. It happened the moment your father died and named you CEO without your consent, and it’s only worsened since you broke your engagement off with Quinn.”
She remembered how she’d looked when she’d applied her makeup this morning. She’d had to pad on more foundation to cover up the dark circles under her eyes. “I hear you, okay? And I know you’re saying this from a place of love, but Alice… I need you to have my back here. I need my friend to support me.”
Tears streamed down Alice’s face. “I love you too, which is why this hurts so much. I will always support you. I just can’t support your choice. I wouldn’t be your friend if I did.”
Something wet tracked down her face, and she realized she was crying too. “Will you at least hug me and wish me well? My car should be here.”
Alice dashed at her and pulled her into a tight hug. “You figure something out, dammit. Don’t make me fly to Beirut after you, because you know I will. You have three months to figure this out. After that, all bets are off. I mean, if you can sacrifice yourself for the greater good, why can’t I? Working for you in Beirut would mean I get to help a lot of people through you. How could I not come?”
Her friend’s uncanny argument pinged her vulnerable heart. She tightened her grip and inhaled the scent of chocolate clinging to her friend, a scent that had become as redolent of home as jasmine. “I love you. I’ll call you. Every chance I get.”
Alice leaned back and cupped her cheek, bringing fresh tears to Francesca’s eyes. “You’d better. And eat, dammit. Eggs every morning. Okay? You skip lunch when you get going, and you need something in your stomach to last you until a late dinner.”
She might have chuckled, but her chest was too tight. “I’ll have a bowl of almonds on my desk at all times.”
“And fruit! You have to take care of yourself. I won’t have you chuck all the progress we’ve made out the window. I’m texting you that photo. Don’t you ever go back to looking that miserable or starved again.”
“I have to go.”
Alice nodded. They left the room. Clifton was standing in the hallway.
“The car is here and your bags are loaded. Quinn is in the main hall waiting for you.”
Her knees knocked. He was working, and she’d hoped her escape would go unnoticed. “Fine. Thank you, Clifton.”
She embraced him again, the scent of chocolate and bergamot engulfing her. Then she embraced Alice again, her heart breaking a second time. Wrenching herself away, she walked to the main hall, dashing at tears she couldn’t seem to stop. God, where was her control? Her usual comportment?
“Well, at least you’re crying,” Quinn said, his jaw granite hard as she entered. “Where’s Alice?”
“She’s staying, of course. Did you imagine I would take her?”
He looked away, his face darkening. “Honestly, I don’t know what you’ll do right now. Part of me feels a little better knowing you’re leaving her behind, but the other part of me wants to smash something. God, I wasn’t going to do this, but then I saw your bags being loaded in the car from the upstairs windows. Are you really going to allow your father to separate you from everything and everyone you love?”
She quivered in place. “This talk isn’t helpful to me,” she said, needing to cut him off. “I’ve left you a letter with Clifton. I didn’t expect to see you before I left.”
He stormed over to her and took her by the shoulders. “Didn’t want to, surely. Well, too bad. I’ve seen you, and I’m going to remind you of everything you’re throwing away.”
Then his mouth was on hers, moving in heated desperation. It was a kiss she imagined would only be possible in wars or pandemics, the ache was so strong, the longing so great. It was the kind of kiss a person knew might be their last. She gave herself over to it completely. By the time he wrenched his mouth back, they were both breathing hard.
He took her face in his big hands. But anger glimmered in his eyes when he saw the look of devastation in hers. “You can kiss me like that and still leave? Damn you.”
Then he was striding off toward the back of the inn. She brushed her tingling mouth. Drew her shoulders back. A cough sounded at the top of the stairs and she spotted Arthur.
“Don’t make these old bones come down and say goodbye to you.”
She dashed up the stairs, and he wrapped his arms around her the moment she reached him. “You stay safe. I won’t tell you to do a good job and take care of your people because you will, of course. I have something for you to remember us by.”
He released her and moments later pressed something into her hand. A red-colored candy enclosed in plastic.
“This my version of the sweetness of life,” he said, his blue eyes swimming as he regarded her. “I remember you bringing that symbol the first day we met you at Shawn and Assumpta’s home.”
That morning seemed so long ago. My God, how the world, and hers with it, had changed since then.
“You don’t forget what’s important to you, or that this family loves you. Okay?”
She clutched the candy in her hand. “Okay. Goodbye, Arthur. Tell Clara and everyone…”
Her voice broke so she couldn’t continue, and he crisply nodded, clearing his throat.
She descended the stairs, fresh tears filling her eyes.
She walked out of the Wild Irish Rose Inn, the whole world around her a blur.
Chapter 34
Offers were coming in to buy the oil and gas divisions of Merriam Enterpri
ses—the bulk of what had been their company.
Under different circumstances, Quinn might have popped a bottle of champagne in Becca’s office, but the offers were for the current value of that section, since they still intended to spin off the skincare line. So instead he paced the small space, sucking on one of the red hots Uncle Arthur had started handing out as frequently as other people doled out hand sanitizer. Trevor and J.T. were with him, presiding over yet another dark moment in Merriam Enterprises’ recent history.
He supposed he couldn’t blame the opportunistic behavior by his competitors. The price for a barrel of crude oil, set by West Texas Intermediate (WTI), the benchmark for U.S. oil, had fallen below zero for the first time ever, and the vultures were circling.
Who could have imagined a moment like this? Their oil was officially worthless, and their gas claims hadn’t fared much better. In addition to the Saudis’ power move, oil demand had evaporated. Unused barrels were backing up and killing an already dead market. They’d lost four hundred million in the second quarter alone due to the virus.
If they sold, they’d have money to pay most of their debts but not employees’ severance. Layoffs would still happen. The companies offering didn’t need all of their personnel.
He wished he could call Francesca and ask her what she thought of this possibility. She’d only been gone a week, but it might as well have been five years. “Trevor, do you think you can work your magic and get us more?”
His brother threw aside the most recent offer. “When they have us over the barrel, unlikely.”
J.T. gathered up the papers. “We could sell some of Grandpa Emmits’ art. I haven’t wanted to go there, but maybe—”
“The art?” Quinn’s voice, which had remained steady throughout their discussion of the dismal offers, went hoarse. “But that’s for the museum. It’s your dream, J.T.”