by Lizzie Shane
“I understand the pressure to live up to a family name,” Max said, his voice dry enough to catch Parvati’s attention.
She lifted her gaze to meet his, seeming to really see him for the first time since she’d come in, and sank down onto his living room sofa—a giant, overstuffed brown sectional that faced his giant screen TV and fireplace.
“I’m sorry,” she groaned. “I came here to apologize and instead I ranted at you again. I just feel so alone sometimes. I know you probably don’t get that. You’re an island. But you know what’s the one reason I wish I’d gotten married at nineteen like my sisters? So I would have a partner. Someone who would be in this with me so I wouldn’t have to feel so freaking alone. I know it’s anti-feminist to want someone to take care of me, but I do. It was different when we were the three musketeers, but now everything is different. Sidney doesn’t need me anymore—and she seems to have forgotten that I might still need her.”
He sat down at the other corner of the sectional—and her face suddenly contorted. “Oh God, please don’t tell Sidney I said that.”
“I won’t. Cone of Silence.”
She nodded, a shadow of a smile touching her lips as she sank deeper into his couch, the last of the tension she’d ridden through the door dissipating. “Can we just erase the last two hours? I’m sorry I was a basket case.” She toed off her flip flops and lifted her bare feet to the ottoman. “Why did you come to the shop? It can’t have been to listen to me have a nervous breakdown.”
“Honestly, I just wanted to see you.” He took a drink of his own scotch, enjoying the way the smoky flavor lingered on his palate. “I had a weird day too. My parents are getting divorced.”
“Sidney told me. How are you doing with it?”
He frowned. No one had asked him that. His parents both told him what they wanted him to feel. Sidney assumed he was okay with everything, since he didn’t let on that he wasn’t. And no one asked.
Another sip of scotch. “It’s…odd.”
Parvati offered softly, “I can’t imagine my parents apart.”
“It isn’t that. They were never a traditional couple. I think what’s bothering me about the whole thing is not the divorce, it’s that I can’t figure out why it’s happening. They both care more about business than anything else and they’re going through backflips to ensure that the dissolution of their personal relationship doesn’t impact either of their businesses—when they could just be staying together. Why go to the trouble?”
“Maybe they weren’t happy.”
“And after thirty-four years they finally decided to do something about it? No. It’s something else. I keep feeling like they’re keeping it from me. The real reason. And it’s making me paranoid. Today at the settlement meeting, my father’s lawyers had vague language about his present and future children and I got it into my head that he’s had a secret family living in Switzerland this entire time.”
“Seriously?”
“I know it’s ridiculous. I know that. But it made a weird kind of sense. If he was trying to be with his other family, it would explain why all this was happening.”
“Maybe it’s an emotional decision. Not everyone in the world is as driven by logic as you are.”
“My parents are.” It was the one thing about which he was one hundred percent certain.
Parv shifted her bare feet on the ottoman and her long, loose skirt slid up, revealing the edge of the tattoo on her inner left ankle that he’d noticed for the first time on Saturday, when she was dressed up for her parents’ party.
Max nodded to the ink, eager to change the subject. “When did you get that?”
She turned her ankle, drawing the hem of her skirt up to show off the design. It was a bird in flight, just a simple black graphic—and when she continued to pull her skirt toward her knee he realized it had two friends, winging up her calf. There was something free about the tattoo. Unfettered. And he wondered when was the last time Parv had felt unfettered.
“About two years ago,” she said—and for a second he thought she was answering his unspoken question, until he remembered what he’d asked. “One of my employees—Anna—was going in to get her sleeve filled in and she talked me into going with her. I knew as soon as I saw this design that I wanted it—but the tattoo artist told me to go home and come back in a week if I was still sure.”
“Sounds like he wasn’t much a salesman.”
“She thought it was better to have good word of mouth from happy customers than bad reviews from impulse shoppers. And I have recommended her to half a dozen other people, so obviously it was a good practice.”
Max frowned, a stray thought rearing in his mind. “Does Sidney have tattoos?”
“Would it bother you if she did?”
It would bother me that I didn’t know. “Of course not.”
“She doesn’t. Or at least she didn’t last time I talked to her. For all I know she and Josh decided to get celebratory tattoos after they moved in together.” She drained the rest of her scotch. “Don’t mind me, I’m just bitter.”
“Have you talked to her about it?”
“About my bitterness and envy? Who has the time?” Her joking tone faded quickly. “I feel like a terrible friend. Like I’m incapable of being happy for her because things are taking off for her right when they’re falling apart for me.”
“You aren’t a terrible friend. And this, whatever it is that’s going on with you two, is temporary. You’ve been friends since you were six. This is nothing.”
“It doesn’t feel like nothing. But I’m sure you’re right.”
“Of course I am. The great Max Dewitt is never wrong.”
She snorted. “Even when he’s referring to himself in the third person?”
“Especially then.” He stood, levering himself off the couch. “Come on. I skipped dinner and I’m betting you did too.”
* * * * *
He was right. She was more in the habit of grabbing a snack when she had five minutes of free time than anything else. “Regular mealtimes are overrated,” she argued, but she climbed off his couch and trailed him toward the kitchen, the hardwood floors smooth beneath her bare feet.
She’d been to Max’s house before, always for an event of some kind—a Super Bowl party, a Labor Day picnic, a Christmas mixer—and the events had always been catered. Which meant the kitchens were taken over by the catering companies and essentially off limits for the guests.
So for all the times she’d sprawled on the overstuffed sectional or admired the mountain views from the back deck, she’d never before clapped eyes on the sprawling chef’s kitchen.
She practically had a spontaneous orgasm on sight.
It was perfection. Vast expanses of cooking space. Double ovens—with a separate warming drawer. A professional grade cook top. And the refrigerator. Dear God, the refrigerator. It was large enough to hide the body of a WWE wrestler with room left over.
She could see the walk-in pantry through the open door—the poor thing only half full.
“You know, sometimes I hate you a little bit,” she commented as she ran a loving hand over the island, which was large enough to qualify as a continent. “It is an insult to this kitchen to be owned by a man who doesn’t cook.”
“I cook,” Max said defensively, opening the fridge and letting out a puff of cold air. “I’ve been told my French toast is an erotic experience.”
She groaned. “That’s your go-to morning-after breakfast, isn’t it? Let me give you a hint, honey. They weren’t talking about your cooking abilities. They were just trying to flatter you enough to get you to invite them to move in.”
“There isn’t enough flattery in the world for that.”
“Because you’re an island.”
He frowned. “I wish you’d stop saying that.”
She spread her arms on his continent, bending over to press her cheek to the marble. “I don’t blame your sleepover guests for wanting to stay. If I had this kitch
en, I could cater out of it and die happy. I wouldn’t need to worry about owning a fancy pants coffee shop or driving myself slowly into debt.”
“I’d like to think my kitchen isn’t the only reason they want to stay.”
She looked up at him. There was a dangerous little quirk to the left side of his mouth. Dangerous because it was almost suggestive and invited her to think things she definitely should not be thinking. He was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen with his dark hair, grey eyes, and muscular shoulders that made a girl wonder how it would feel to grab onto them when he was straining above her…or pinning her to a wall, because really muscles like those should be used for the greater good and she couldn’t imagine a greater good than pinning her to the nearest flat surface.
“You should do it.”
She blinked. What had they been talking about?
At her blank look, he explained, “Use my kitchen to cater out of. It is an insult that it doesn’t get more use.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
Because there would be no way to repay that. She would owe him so big—and not just financially. And she’d be dependent on him. No. She couldn’t.
But part of her loved the idea. It was seductive. The thought that she might not have to worry about anything for a while. That she could take a break to find her feet. After everything was over with Common Grounds.
“You could pay me in baked goods,” Max suggested, pulling deli meats and mustard out of the fridge. “I’m always trying to seduce my mother’s chefs away from her and you’re better than all of them.”
She got distracted watching his hands, the strong capable fingers going through the motions of slapping together a couple sandwiches. Seduce away…
When he looked up, their eyes met and she almost thought she saw a flash of heat kindle in the grey. But this was Max. She forced herself to respond normally. “At baking, maybe. I’m not a chef.”
He shrugged, the heat falling away like a mirage of wishful thinking. “The offer stands.”
“You’re making me a lot of offers today.” And none of them were the kind of propositions she’d fantasized about. The kind his eyes had seemed to promise for that all-too-brief moment.
He met her eyes, his own expression serious. “You deserve better than what you’re getting.”
If only he’d meant that romantically. If only he’d wanted to show her what she really deserved.
But Parv was too worn down by dating realities to pin any hopes on if onlys. So she just smiled. “I’ll think about it.”
Chapter Ten
“Parvati. Is that friend of yours still a wedding planner?”
Parv knew better than to expect pleasantries from Angie, so when her eldest sister’s name came up on the caller ID, she knew it was going to be a quick and businesslike conversation.
“Sidney and Tori still have their wedding planning business, though they’re pretty hard to get since they were featured on that Marrying Mister Perfect wedding special. Why?” she asked, though she had a sinking feeling she knew.
“How hard to get?” Angie demanded. “So hard that they wouldn’t do a favor for the niece of a friend? Kateri is talking about getting married at Christmas time and simply will not listen to me that it takes longer than that to plan a big wedding. I thought if a professional told her, she might hear it.”
“Christmas?” Parv squeaked. “How is she even thinking about that? Aren’t her classes starting this week?”
“Not until tomorrow. But if you think her classes are going to distract Kateri once she has an idea in her head, you don’t know my daughter.”
“I wonder where she got that pigheadedness,” Parv drawled.
“I’m not pigheaded. I’m focused. Can you get Kateri in with your friends or not?”
“They’re based out of Eden. I don’t think they do house calls to LA.”
“She’ll drive up for the weekend,” Angie said, as if it was already a fait accompli. “Week after next. Can you arrange it?”
“I don’t know, Angie. Tori and Sidney are overrun right now—”
Angie made an irritable tsking noise. “Will you at least ask them and get back to me? Is that so much to ask for your firstborn niece?”
No one could guilt trip like a Jai—even one who had married and changed her name. “Do you want them to plan the wedding or just tell Katie that it’s impossible on three months’ notice?”
“Definitely the latter, but I’m open to the former. I’d love to plan the whole thing myself, but it’s a lot of work and a smart woman knows when to delegate. You’ll get back to me?”
“I’ll ask. But don’t hold your breath.”
“Great. Thanks, Parv.”
The line was dead before she could reply—or change her mind.
Not giving herself time to overthink it, she immediately pulled up the main office number for Once Upon a Bride—because with the way things had been lately she figured her odds of getting through on Sidney’s private cell were slim to none. Which was a demoralizing commentary on the state of their friendship, but she wasn’t going to stress about it. She was turning over a new leaf since last night, trying out the radical new idea of not stressing herself out about every little thing. Maybe tomorrow she’d take up meditation.
A crisp, businesslike voice answered on the third ring. “Once Upon a Bride. How can we help you?”
“Hey, Tori. It’s Parv.”
Victoria Jackson, the other half of Once Upon a Bride, was efficiency given physical form. When Sidney had first started working with her, Parv had found Tori’s brisk, no-nonsense manner more than a little intimidating, but she was Sid’s other best friend and after you’d cried through The Notebook with someone half a dozen times it was hard to feel awkward. When Sidney had gone away to film Marrying Mister Perfect, she and Tori had gotten closer, but they’d never be besties without Sid there as their link.
“Hey, Parv. What’s up?”
Getting straight to the point was all Tori, so Parv didn’t mind the abrupt tone—which would have set her teeth on edge coming from Sidney—with whom she’d had long, rambling, pointless conversations about everything since they were six years old. Maybe she needed to stop expecting things to stay the same—but that was a concern for another day.
“I have a favor to ask, actually. A business one. My niece Katie just got engaged—”
“Little Katie? Dear God. I remember when she was Lorelei’s age.”
“She’s eighteen,” Parv said—trying to keep the she’s just a baby panic out of her voice. “And apparently she thinks she can plan a big wedding overnight. My sister was hoping you’d be willing to talk to her about how long it realistically takes to plan a big wedding.”
“How big?”
“I’m not sure, but even if it’s just our family we’re probably looking at over a hundred.”
“Indian ceremony? The whole multi-day event?”
“I don’t know.” She hadn’t even considered that part. Jonah was Jewish and Katie’s father was a blond-haired, blue-eyed Protestant, but who knew what Katie would want? Over the years the Jai family had developed an accepting amalgation of religions—only Devi was devoutly Hindi, though both she and Ranee had wanted traditional Indian ceremonies when they married. “Angie had a western wedding so I’m guessing that’s what Katie will want, but she could surprise me. I don’t know for sure if they’re looking to hire a wedding planner too, but could you make time the weekend after next to talk to them for a few minutes if Katie drives up from school?”
“For you? Absolutely.” She heard tapping and pictured Tori tabbing through her calendar. “How’s Sunday at eleven?”
“Perfect.” Especially because it meant she wouldn’t have to explain to Angie why she couldn’t have her way. “Thank you, Tori.”
“Anytime. And pass along my congratulations.”
“I will.” Just as soon as she got over feeling like Katie was jumping off a
bridge and everyone was standing around cheering when they should be putting her in a safety harness and advising her of the risks.
But what right did she have to give romantic advice? Waiting hadn’t exactly led to her own happily ever after. Not that she’d ever had someone tempt her not to wait. Maybe she should be cheering with everyone else. Katie had found her person—even if they were both babies. And Jonah was a sweetheart.
Everything would be great.
* * * * *
Max pulled into his mother’s driveway promptly at eleven-fifty-five on Saturday afternoon, but there was already another car waiting there. It wasn’t the old SUV Sidney usually drove, but his mother always kept her cars neatly tucked away in one of the garages, so unless her mother was springing a secret lover on her children Sidney must have bought the shiny new BMW Crossover. Apparently hosting reality wedding shows paid well.
As he walked past the silver Beemer toward the door, he wondered if Parv knew about Sid’s new purchase or if he was going to hear another edition of the Sid’s-cut-me-out-of-the-loop refrain. Not that he blamed Parv for feeling jilted. The two of them had been joined at the hip for over twenty years. It had to be jarring when that kind of connection just vanished.
Not that he would know. He didn’t have any friends he was that attached to. But that didn’t make him an island. He was independent. That was a virtue. He liked being known as a person who could stand on his own two feet. Not just some spoiled rich kid parasite who was only successful because Daddy got him a job. And if that independence spilled over into other areas of his life…well. That was fine. It wasn’t hurting anyone.
And now he sounded defensive even in his own mind.
He’d asked his parents for advice when he was making business decisions—because that was their specialty—or when he was buying a house—because it was a major investment. He’d always thought he had good relationships with them before the divorce stuff had blindsided him. So maybe they all kept one another at a distance—but was that so wrong? Not everyone was touchy feely all the time.