A Breath of Jasmine (The Merriams Book 6)

by Ava Miles

  A collective gasp of shock went through his family, who were pushing around the chocolate pudding Alice and Hargreaves had made for dessert, comfort food for the girls who were still mourning their grandmother.

  “Hello, everyone,” she said rather formally, the black traveling outfit making her pallor more stark. “Quinn, can I see you for a moment?”

  His heart resumed pounding, and part of him wanted to sit back in his chair and leer at her. See him? She’d fucking walked out on him.

  “Quinn,” Alice said, striding over to him. “Go listen to her. You won’t believe what she’s cooked up this time. Trust me. Give her a chance.”

  “She flew here after burying her father, Quinn,” Uncle Arthur said from the next table. “Least you could do is give the lady an audience.”

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” Clifton asked. “I’ve secured your bags in the Honeysuckle Cottage so you can quarantine yourself.”

  Quinn lurched to his feet. “You did what?”

  Hargreaves—Clifton, he mentally corrected—gave him one of his narrow-eyed looks. “Earl Grey, Francesca?”

  “That would be excellent,” Francesca said, cupping one wrist with another hand, a nervous pose if he’d ever seen one. “I can share the news with the whole family if you’d prefer, Quinn. We don’t need to do this alone. I was only suggesting it given your role as CEO and our history.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Aunt Clara said, crossing to her.

  Francesca held up a hand. “Maybe wait fourteen days before hugging me. I’ve been careful, but Clifton’s right. We should probably socially distance until it’s clear I’m Covid-free. My driver—thanks for arranging that, Trevor—and I wore masks in the car on the way here. And I had my airline crew do the same on the flight. I did too.”

  Her account made Quinn realize just how idiotic he was being. She’d traveled through a pandemic to reach him. Trevor had even helped her get here, although he hadn’t said a damn word.

  “How about we talk in Becca’s study?” he asked.

  “Fine,” she said, touching the bun she’d put her hair in. “Socially distanced, of course.”

  When he neared her, he muttered, “Don’t piss me off.”

  “Same goes for you,” she said, raising one of her elegant brows at him. “Until it’s clear I’m Covid-free, we’re keeping the proper distance.”

  He didn’t like that one bit. Even though he was mad as a hornet at her for leaving, she was back and planning to stay. The last thing he wanted to do was stay six feet away from her. “Fine.”

  Inside Becca’s office, he pointed to the couch and pulled the adjacent chair back six feet even though part of him thought it was ridiculous. She smoothed her pants, her hands pressing on the tops of her thighs. Again, her nerves were evident.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s hear this mastermind plan.”

  “After Clifton brings the tea,” she said.

  He growled. “You broke my heart a week ago and waltzed back in tonight like nothing happened, and now you think I’m waiting for fucking tea service? You’re crazy.”

  “Possibly,” she said, smoothing her hands up and down her thighs again. “Given what I’m planning, most assuredly. How have you been, Quinn?”

  Small talk?

  “How do you think?” he asked stonily.

  “I heard about the offers and the sale of the art.” Her usually luscious mouth went flat. “It didn’t dawn on me to consider those assets.”

  “Me either,” he said, wanting to growl again. “J.T. insisted, and after my dad and I talked it over, we agreed Grandpa Emmits wouldn’t want us to hold on to it when it could help more people. The offers—a polite term, trust me—would beggar our severance packages.”

  She nodded as a discreet knock sounded on the door. Clifton entered and set the tea tray on the coffee table in front of them, keeping his distance from Francesca. “I’ll pour,” she said, giving him a smile Quinn had dearly missed. “Thank you.”

  He watched as she poured each of them a cup. Like he could stomach anything at the moment.

  “All right, you have your tea. What’s your news?”

  She eyed him over the rim of her tea cup, those beautiful violet eyes sparkling. “I have the loan I need to purchase your company at pre-crash value—if you’re willing to entertain my unconventional offer. It involves you and I working together.”

  He fell back against the chair. “A loan? No way! Who would give you a few billion for a loan? No one has that kind of money right now.”

  “Some of my father’s friends do, and as friends of his—”

  “They are friends of yours,” he finished, seeing where she was going with this. “My God, you’re not kidding!”

  “I can make good on my promise to you when we started all of this,” Francesca said, setting her teacup aside and fisting her hands in her lap. “I’ve asked for enough capital to weather the next few years, since we don’t know how long we’ll be dealing with this, and the payment plan doesn’t begin for some time. You’ll remember I’m a hell of a negotiator.”

  He needed some fresh air to clear his buzzing head, so he rose and opened the window. “I know you’re good, but this good? What did you promise? Your firstborn child?”

  “I would never promise our firstborn child. In my part of the world, long-term relationships yield the most amazing miracles sometimes. I made a five-minute call after I returned home from my father’s funeral. It was rather easy. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Well, I do, although you don’t want to hear it.”

  He leaned against the wall beside the window. “Your father told his friends to give you cart blanche.”

  “Yes, and it’s also in their interest to support Maroun Industries and its new CEO,” she said, her gaze assessing. “How do you feel about that? Some idiots in the market who refuse to give women their due will say it’s an emotional decision even though it will open up Maroun Industries to an entirely new field of play and profits. Including the skincare line, since the paperwork for the spin-off is still forthcoming.”

  “Others might say a woman saved my ass,” Quinn said, chuckling. “You think I’m still that proud? Do you know how many jobs this is going to save? Sure you do. You went over every name with me.”

  “It will save your job too. And Merriam Enterprises,” she said, reaching for her teacup again and then withdrawing, another nervous gesture. “I would like you to remain the CEO. I want you to know that I considered a merger for a second, but that would be an emotional choice.”

  “It would be stupid to merge with a company on the verge of declaring bankruptcy.” Quinn wanted to stride over to her and pull her off the couch. “I wouldn’t let you do that to Maroun Industries.”

  “Thank you.” She looked him directly in the eyes. “I would like to discuss our personal merger if that is acceptable to you.”

  “Pitch away.” He resumed his seat, crossing his ankle over his leg. “And make it good. I will negotiate hard if need be.”

  The right side of her mouth tipped up. “I look forward to hearing your counterdemands. First, I am sorry for leaving and dancing to my father’s tune, as you said. I would like to remind you that I only did so for a week.”

  She looked so defensive he almost laughed. “This week felt like an eternity. I won’t grant you too many points on that one.”

  Her brow crinkled. “Fine. It was a lifetime for me too. About our location… I thought we might move Merriam Enterprises and Maroun Industries to London as our permanent headquarters. Of course, you can keep regional operations intact, as will I. There are employees with lives and homes to consider. Is that acceptable?”

  “More than,” he said with a firm nod. He had hoped he wasn’t going to have to fight her on that point.

  “Wonderful,” she said, her voice tipping back into consultancy mode. “Next point. I would like Merriam’s Special Ventures Initiatives to come under my umbrella so I can add to it too.�
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  “Hence stopping the skincare spin-off. I’m more than happy to keep Caitlyn and Annie’s ventures in our company.”

  “As am I. I have also some ideas on permaculture, for example, that we could fund under that umbrella. Also, with this loan, I’m toying with reaching out to Evan Michaels to see if he might sell back Michaela and Boyd’s company. It would be nice to have all the Merriams under the same global umbrella, so to speak. Of course, it would be an emotional decision for him, but Evan has been known to make them for a good cause.”

  My God, he’d love that. “More agreement on this side.”

  “That flower is important to the world. We would continue to support scientific testing for a vaccine for COVID-19 based on the flower’s healing abilities.”

  “Of course we would. We need to stop this damn virus.”

  “Precisely,” she said, making a slashing motion with her hand for emphasis. “Switching to the personal—I’m not going to let world events come between us a second time, and again, I’m sorry I let it happen for a moment. I’m a work in progress, as Alice likes to say.”

  “You look pretty good from this end,” he said, gazing at her loveliness from head to foot. Savoring the fact that she was here, that she’d come back to him. “Are you finished with your points?”

  She nodded. “I believe so. Except that I love you. I want to be with you. I never plan on leaving you again. I’m also going to hire the best vice presidents ever so I can delegate responsibilities and have a real life with you and our children.”

  Well, hot damn. “Let’s make that official.” He stalked to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  He almost ran into Alice in the hallway, and she bit her lip, seeing him. “Oops. I thought I’d be within earshot in case Francesca needed me.”

  “Did you think I would chew her out or something?” he asked, putting his hands on his hips.

  She lifted her right shoulder and pulled something out of her pocket. “No, I thought you might want the engagement ring.”

  She’d guessed right. He grabbed it from her hand. “Did you look through my room?”

  “Trevor did,” Alice said, crossing her ankles and swaying in place. “He said he legally has the right to search any guest’s room in the Wild Irish Rose as one of its proprietors. If it makes you feel any better, Becca helped.”

  Laughing, he gave into the impulse to hug her. “Thank you.”

  He was opening the door when she smacked his butt. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

  Glaring at her over his shoulder, he watched as she pressed a hand to her mouth to cover her laughter. As he closed the door, he heard her whisper loudly to someone, “He took the ring!”

  Shaking his head, he came into the room. “I don’t want to do this next part socially distanced.”

  Her smile flitted across her face before it faltered. “Me either, but we have to. I won’t risk you, Quinn.”

  He flashed back to the first time he’d proposed, when she’d turned him down for that very reason. Not today. “Yeah, that’s how all this started.” So he sank to his knee six feet away from the woman he loved. “This is the third time I’ve done this. I don’t plan on doing it again.”

  “I told you that the third time might be the charm.” She bit her lip. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I’m nervous.”

  He realized he wasn’t. After everything that had happened, he knew she wasn’t leaving again. Nothing could tear them apart now. “I love you, Francesca. I’m glad you came back to be with me. I’ll never forget that.”

  His throat tightened, and so did his grip on the ring. God, he was getting way too emotional. When had he ever felt like this?

  “Take your time,” she said, and he noticed tears were streaking down her face.

  Jesus, that almost destroyed him. “Will you marry me?”

  Her head moved slowly in assent, her tears making her even more beautiful. “Yes. I will marry you and love you forever.”

  Forever was so messed up right now—a concept he couldn’t begin to wrap his head around—but instead of letting that thought mess him up, he extended the ring to her.

  “Put it on the table and back up,” she said, dashing at her face.

  Put it on the table? “Dammit! I want to put it on your finger and kiss you senseless. I hate this!”

  “I hate it too,” she said, waiting until he’d done as she’d asked. She slid the ring on herself, sighing a little as she did. “But I would rather know we’re taking every precaution. It’s only for fourteen days. We made it fifteen years. This will go fast.”

  ***

  It didn’t.

  On the eighth day of her quarantine, Quinn paced outside Francesca’s cottage, going out of his mind.

  Which was how Alice found him. “You might serenade her,” she suggested. “Beau could play the guitar. Do you know any love songs? I’ll bet Flynn has a karaoke playlist we can check out.”

  His brother hadn’t done much singing lately, what with his family’s grieving over June. Of course, news of their engagement and the loan Francesca had secured to buy the company had lifted everyone’s spirits, as had the news of the healthy arrival of Jill and Brian’s baby boy born at home. Uncle Arthur and Aunt Clara had cried tears of joy over FaceTime. Even Quinn had to admit how sweet the baby looked cuddled up against his beaming mother’s side.

  The scene had made him think of Francesca and the babies they were going to have. But being six feet apart and then some from his own fiancée wasn’t going to get that job done any time soon.

  “Find Beau. I’ll do anything to romance Francesca.”

  And that’s how he ended up singing Chicago’s “You’re The Inspiration”—Alice’s suggestion—outside of her cottage after a few good rounds of Irish whiskey. Beau played guitar, and J.T. and Trevor served as his backup singers.

  Francesca kept the light on all night after their serenade, which, according to Alice, was a Spanish custom acknowledging the one who’d serenaded her was her man. Of course, the way she’d called out to him and said she loved him amid her laughter and tears earlier had been enough.

  He was waiting outside the cottage when Francesca finally emerged on the fourteenth day, and he grabbed her to him tightly.

  “I’m never letting you go,” he whispered right before he claimed her mouth.

  She wrapped her arms around him, kissing him back fully and freely. “You better not. I love you so much!”

  He framed her beloved face in his hands. “And I you. We have the rest of our lives ahead of us. I’m trusting it’s going to be a long and fruitful one.”

  “Me too.”

  Cheers sounded above them, and they looked over to see his family waving from the windows.

  “Come inside!” Aunt Clara yelled. “I want to hug you, Francesca.”

  “Me too,” a whole chorus of people cried in unison.

  “Oh, let them kiss each other a little more,” Uncle Arthur said. “Plenty of time for us later. Go take a nap, you two!”

  “Yes!” Alice cried. “A nap!”

  “A capital idea,” Clifton called out. “I’ll refrain from bringing you afternoon tea, Francesca.”

  “Make it champagne,” she said, gesturing grandly. “I’m in the mood to celebrate.”

  So was he. Quinn grabbed his beloved’s hand and they rushed back to the cottage.

  Shutting the door, he watched as the inside of Honeysuckle Cottage lit with golden rays of sunshine. Quinn had been in Ireland for long enough to start believing in magic. And as he was learning, much to his newly discovered delight, love and magic worked together.

  After all, hadn’t he and Francesca finally found their happily ever after?

  Chapter 37

  The pandemic had been no matchmaker’s idea of a good time.

  But they’d gotten through it, Arthur reflected. Quinn and Francesca had walked down the aisle an hour ago, married in a service officiated by Clara.

  That meant their mission as ma
tchmakers was complete.

  The first dance between the couple began in the front yard of the Wild Irish Rose Inn in the center of the circle of tables he and the rest of the family were occupying. Champagne was bubbling in the glasses in anticipation of the first toast to the couple. Swathed in a lace gown designed and made by Becca—an act that had prompted the couple to suggest that Becca design a fashion line for the company—Francesca was a showstopper as the couple whirled around in their first dance. Quinn’s complete, intense focus was on his bride, his eyes glued to her face as surely as his hands were to her waist. She was laughing at something, and when he threw his head back and laughed with her, Arthur couldn’t help but smile. He knew they were going to be happy together.

  All of the Merriam children had been well matched, and that delighted his heart, a feeling he treasured even more in these troubling times. Much like he had at the other Merriam wedding yesterday.

  Beau and Caitlyn’s ceremony hadn’t been what they’d planned, but it had been no less joyous for it. They’d been married at the Wild Irish Rose Inn as well, also with Clara presiding. Like today, that beautiful late June day on the cliffs had been awash in Irish green, ocean blue, and sunlight. Ibrahim had been able to come from France now that travel to Ireland was open to tourists, and Michaela and Boyd and Connor and Louisa had joined them too—after observing quarantine, of course.

  When Cole Porter’s “Night and Day” ended, Quinn wouldn’t let Francesca go, and she tipped her head up and kissed him lovingly, causing the crowd to cheer and whistle. He had to give them both points. They hadn’t once broken quarantine in the two weeks after Francesca’s return from Beirut.

  He put his hand on Clara, who sat next to him at the white-clad table, because he could. Touching her wasn’t something he’d ever take for granted again.

  She laid her hand over his and continued talking to Alice, who was sitting beside her with Clifton on the other side. He shared a smile with his friend. Arthur even thought about making a joke about looking forward to their next feast of Indian food, but that was taking the whole wedding euphoria way too far.