“But I don’t even know how to begin. It’s like we had a certain contract and now I want to break it and start something he never signed on for, something he’s made it clear from the first he’s never wanted.”
“I told you—”
“I know. I remember. Lead with ‘I love you.’”
“Just do it.”
“Oh, Syd. Look, I’m sorry. I know I’m disappointing you. I’m disappointing myself, but I’m just not ready to go there yet.”
Chapter Eleven
The next day, Saturday, Max had the main kitchen pack them a picnic lunch. Then he took the children and Lani to the family’s private beach in the northeastern ward of Lardeaux. They parked on the point above the beach and took the steep, narrow trail down to the water’s edge.
It was still chilly for swimming, but the children wore shirts and shorts over their swimsuits. They ran barefoot at the water’s edge, hunted for shells and built a cockeyed sand castle with a leaky moat.
Max loved watching them with Lani. She had such a way with them. Connie liked to whisper to her. Girl things, both Connie and Lani called whatever they whispered to each other. They refused to tell Max exactly what those girl things were. But whatever they said to each other made Connie smile and put a certain confident look in her eyes. That was enough for Max. He refrained from pushing to find out the secrets the two of them shared.
Nicky was a whole other story. He could be difficult and moody. You never knew what he might say or do. Lani always managed to take whatever he tried in stride.
That day, while all four of them labored over the lopsided sand castle, Nick grew impatient with Connie’s effort to construct her own separate tower.
“It’s crookeder than the big tower,” he whined. “And you keep making the moat leak.”
“I want my own tower,” Connie insisted and patiently continued patting wet sand along the base of her wobbly tower, denting the sides of the moat as she worked.
Nick jumped up. “This is dumb. I am not going to build this castle if she gets to just mess it all up.”
Max started to say something about how they all should work together.
But Lani spoke first. “Maybe you could give her a little help repairing the moat.”
“But Miss Lani, she broke it.”
“I did not break it,” argued Connie. “I only just mooshed it a little tiny bit.”
“You broke it.”
“Did not.”
“Did so.”
“Did not.”
Nick started to lift one sandy foot, his narrowed eyes on Connie’s leaning tower.
Max spoke up then. “Nicky.”
Nick put down his foot, stuck out his chin and swung his gaze to Max. A stare-down ensued. Luckily, Nicky looked away first. “I don’t want to build this castle anymore.” He dropped his toy shovel, whirled and took off at a run.
No one else moved, except Connie, who went on patting at her tower. Max watched his son race toward the cliffs at the far end of the beach.
Lani said what he was thinking. “Good. Let him work off his frustrations with action. Nicky’s an action kind of guy.”
“He’s also a big butthead,” Connie mumbled, patting her tower.
Max almost called her on the questionable word, but Lani caught his eye and shook her head, mouthing soundlessly, “Leave it.”
He didn’t argue. She somehow always knew when to step in and when to wait it out and let the children work through a conflict on their own.
Connie sat back on her knees and stared at her handiwork. “I did kind of mess up the moat. But if I go say sorry to Nicky, he’ll only be mean to me.”
“Wait till he comes back,” Lani suggested. “Then the two of you can fix it together.”
“He’ll still be mean to me.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Connie admitted, “Not completely sure.”
“So then, how about if we just wait and see what happens?”
“Miss Lani, I hate waiting.”
Lani got up and dusted off her knees. “What, you hate wading? Well, I was just going to go wading.” She held down her hand.
Connie frowned. “Waiting, not wading.”
“But do you want to go wading or not?”
“I do!” Connie took her hand and jumped up and the two of them ran down the sandy slope to the water’s edge, laughing together.
Max watched them as they played in the foamy edges of the lazy waves, giggling and rushing backward before they got in too deep. Lani’s black hair was a wild halo of curls tangled by the wind and Connie’s blond mop had gone straight and stringy. The sun caught the iridescent grains of sand on their arms and legs, making nature’s own glitter on smooth, healthy skin.
They were beautiful, his little girl and Lani. They were beautiful and he was happy as he’d never thought to be. Everything made sense now. His life not only had purpose, there was real pleasure now, deep and good and satisfying. Pleasure and someone to talk to, someone who loved the same things he did.
Nicky dropped down beside him. “So when are we going to eat?” He flopped flat onto his back and squinted up at the sky. “I’m starving.” Nick was never merely hungry. “Papa?”
“We’ll eat in a few minutes.”
“But how many minutes?”
“I don’t have an exact time for you. But soon.”
For about thirty seconds, Nick lay quietly, panting a little from his run along the beach. Max went back to admiring the girl and the woman playing in the waves.
But Nick could never stay silent for long. He wiggled back up to a sitting position and wrapped his arms around his knees. “Are you going to get married to Miss Lani?”
Max sat very still. Maybe if he said nothing, Nick would get the hint and let it be.
Fat chance. “Papa?”
Fair enough. He would have to say something. “Why do you ask?”
Nicky fisted up a handful of sand and strained it through his fingers. “You said you really like her. You said it twice, remember?”
“I do remember, yes.”
“Well, when a grown-up has a girlfriend and he really, really likes her, then they get married. Philippe told me so.” Philippe was one of his school chums.
“Ah.” Max waited. It was a complete cop-out. He had nothing. The truth was way too complex to share with an eight-year-old boy.
“So are you going to marry her?”
He tried, lamely, “Sometimes people are together just because they really, really like each other. Liking each other a lot is reason enough for them.”‘
“And then they don’t get married?”
“That’s right.”
“That’s not what Philippe said. He said people get married. That’s what they do.”
“Not all people.”
“Philippe’s father has gotten married five times.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Huh? So then, you’re not going to marry Miss Lani?”
“I’ll tell you what. If I do, you and I will talk about it first.”
Nick made a face. “You don’t need to talk to me about it. I like Miss Lani. You can marry her if you want to.”
“Well, ahem. That’s good to know.”
Nicky just sat there, scowling.
Max tried gingerly, “Nick, is there something bothering you?”
Nick braced back on his hands, wiggled his toes in the sand and huffed out a hard breath. “Well, I keep trying to remember my mother and sometimes I just don’t, you know?”
Sophia. He probably should have known.
Max reached out an arm and hooked it around his son’s neck.
Nicky complained, “Papa!” but he di
dn’t try to squirm away when Max pulled him close. He had that sweaty-boy smell, like wet puppies and sunshine.
At the water, Lani and Connie turned and started toward them. But then Lani seemed to register that a father-son moment might be happening. She took Connie’s hand and led her off down the beach a ways. Together, they squatted and started writing with their index fingers in the shining wet sand.
Max said, quietly, father to son, “When we lost your mother, you were pretty young.”
“I was really young. Only four. I mean, Trev is four.”
“It’s natural that you don’t remember very much about her.”
Nicky didn’t reply at first. Max cast about for something reasonably helpful to add. But then Nick whispered, “I remember she had soft hair. And she would play with me sometimes, rolling a rubber ball in the play yard of the gardens.”
“See? You do remember.”
“It’s not a lot. It should be more.”
Max felt a certain tightness in his chest. “Whatever you remember is just right.”
“Did you really, really like her, Papa?”
“I did, yes.” It was the truth, for the most part. Through a good part of their marriage he had liked his wife very much. And once, a lifetime ago, he had thought what the world still thought: that Lady Sophia Paloma Delario Silva was the love of his life.
“And so you got married.”
“Yes.”
“Hah. Just like Philippe said.”
“That Philippe,” Max said wryly. “He knows it all.”
* * *
Max woke in Lani’s bed.
It was late, he knew that. He should have been back at the apartment hours ago. But their lovemaking had been so good and she was so soft and inviting. He remembered thinking, Just for a few minutes. I’ll just close my eyes...
Beside him, she stirred but didn’t wake. The bed smelled of her. Vanilla. Flowers. Something citrusy. Everything good.
He wanted to turn into her, pull her close, wake her with kisses.
Instead, he turned his head the other way and squinted at the clock.
Four in the morning.
He needed to get back. Sunday mornings had a certain rhythm to them. Marceline brought him coffee in bed to tide him over until the big family breakfast at nine. On Sundays, Nicky and Connie were allowed to join him in the master suite. They would stretch out on the bed with him, propped up on the pillows, and drink the hot cocoa Marceline brought with the coffee. Lani would arrive later, in time to go with them for Sunday breakfast.
“What time is it?” Her voice beside him, soft and enticing as the scent of her.
“After four. I have to go...”
“Um.” She moved, turning over on her side, pressing closer.
He couldn’t resist. He gathered her in. “Have to go...”
“Um...”
He stroked her sleek, warm back, sifted his fingers up into the wild, fine tangle of her midnight hair. The scent of gardenias was always stronger in her hair. “You do things to me...”
Her lips, her breath, trailing over his shoulder, caressing his throat.
He groaned. “Lani...”
And then she was moving closer still, her smooth, curvy body sliding over him, until she was on top of him, her softness pressing into him, making him burn. “Sometimes I wish you would stay a whole night.”
He started to say how he couldn’t.
And she said, “Scratch that. I always wish you would stay the whole night.”
“Lani, I...” And that was as far as he got. Her lips brushed his, teasing him, and he would rather be kissing her right then than talking, anyway.
So he did—or rather, she did. She covered his mouth with her soft, warm one and there was nothing but the sweet, heady taste of her, the glide of her naughty tongue over his teeth, the rub of her body all along his.
She moved her legs, straddling him, folding them to each side of his waist.
He groaned as he slipped right into place in the cove of her thighs. She was already wet and so very ready. Just the feel of her came very near to pushing him over the top.
Somehow, he held out, held on, as her body rose and she was sliding forward, lifting him with her as she moved. The endless kiss continued, and he caught her face between his hands so he could thoroughly plunder her mouth.
Right then, without him really realizing how perfectly she’d positioned them, she lowered her body down onto his, taking him into her, all the way in.
He groaned her name against her lips. Paradise, to be buried deep in her welcoming heat. And then she manacled his wrists with her soft hands, guiding them back to the pillow on each side of his head.
“Lani...” It came out as a plea.
She lifted her sweet mouth away from him, sitting up on him. He moaned at the loss—and also at the way the shift in position had her pressing down tighter where they were joined, deepening the connection. And then she started moving, holding his wrists in place on the pillow, driving him out of his mind with pure pleasure, her cloud of dark hair falling forward over her white, smooth shoulders.
He sought her black eyes through the darkness, held them, tried to stay with her as she took him, rocking him.
But it was pointless to hold out, impossible to last. The sensations intensified, sparks flying down every nerve, heat popping and sizzling across his skin.
He shut his eyes as he went over, and he broke the hold of her hands on his wrists, so he could touch her, grasp the perfect, full curves of her hips and press her down even harder on him as he pressed up into her.
She crumpled onto him then, her softness covering him. As his climax rolled through him, she caught his mouth again and she kissed him endlessly, crying out wordless things, her climax chasing his.
He pressed even harder into her, and with a long, low cry, she shattered around him.
* * *
“I have to go,” Max whispered, his hand on her cheek, fingers weaving up into her tangled hair.
Lani pretended not to hear him, tucking her head into the curve of his shoulder and then settling against his chest. His heartbeat slowed under her ear and she felt so lovely, so loose and lazy, her body still thrumming with the echo of pleasure, her skin, like his, sticky with sweat.
For a string of too-short moments, he just went on touching her, guiding her hair behind her ear, stroking warm fingers down her arm.
But then he took her shoulders in a tender but determined grip and pushed her away from him.
She groaned in protest, grumbling, “No...”
But he was already gently guiding her to the side, sliding away from her, easing his feet over the edge of the mattress, rising before she had a chance to pull him back.
With another groan, she buried her face in the pillow.
“A quick shower,” he said, bending, brushing a kiss against her hair.
She heard the hushed whisper of his bare feet as he padded across the floor.
Not five minutes later, he was back. She sat up and watched him quickly pull on his clothes.
Smelling steamy and wonderful, his hair curly, sticking up on one side the way it did when it was wet, he bent close to give her a last, sweet kiss. “I’ll send the car for you. Eight-thirty?”
Her throat ached with all the things she was holding in. Her love, her longing, the future she saw for them versus the one she had finally admitted, to herself and to Syd at least, that she wanted.
But now was not the time. Not after he’d slept too late, not after she’d shamelessly kept him there longer still, using her body to get a little bit more from him, a little bit more of him. A little bit more of what he didn’t want to give.
We have to talk.
She tried the words out in her head and didn
’t like them.
We have to talk. The four little words people said when things had to change.
He arched a brow at her. “Lani? Eight-thirty?”
She forced a smile and nodded.
One more kiss. And he was gone.
She got up, pulled on the silky robe he’d given her and went out into the living area to engage the dead bolt after him. Then she brewed coffee and took it out on the balcony, into the cool predawn darkness. She sipped and stared at the tree shadows on the hill in back, planning what she would do.
She needed to wait for an evening when they wouldn’t be disturbed. Tonight wouldn’t do. They would be with the children all day and she would have dinner at the palace apartment, in the little kitchen, all casual and cozy, just the four of them and maybe Gerta. Later, she might stay until eight or nine, but when they were at his apartment, there was always the possibility that Connie or Nick would need him for something. She didn’t want them overhearing what she had to say.
Tomorrow, they were leaving together for two days, flying to London, where he would speak at a charity fund-raiser. They would return Wednesday.
She’d been looking forward to it, to the time together away from home, to the nights when he wouldn’t have to get up and leave before daylight.
So then. Tuesday night maybe, after the event? If that didn’t feel right, then whenever he came to her place next, she would do what Syd had said she should do. What she realized at last she needed to do.
She would tell him she loved him. And that she had changed. She would tell him what she wanted from him, from her life. She would do all that right away, as soon as he walked in the door, before they started talking about her day or his day or what was going on with Nick and Connie, before they made love or had dinner. She would do it and not put it off.
And then they would take it from there.
Her cup was empty. She pushed back the slider to go in and get more. And right then, on the counter, her cell started playing the theme from Big Brother.
Carlos? At this hour? Five-thirty in the morning in Montedoro was ten-thirty last night in Texas.
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