Maximum Dare

by Fewings, Vanessa

  Doing the right thing sucked.

  A knock on my office door shook me out of my daydreaming, and Gylda’s smiling face appeared. “Olá, Maximus.”

  “Olá, Gylda. English, please.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m homesick for London.” I leaned back in the chair with my hands behind my head.

  “This is your home.”

  “Humor me.”

  She shrugged. “Fine.”

  “I got you this.” I reached for the paper bag I’d brought with me—all the way from the Quinto Bookshop.

  Gylda eased the book out of the bag. “William Waterhouse’s paintings!”

  “You like?”

  “I love.” She clutched it to her chest. “Max, how did you know I would?”

  “I had a little help.” My smile shimmered with sadness, but she didn’t catch it.

  “How was your trip?”

  “Good and bad.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about the bad. Why?”

  I let out a long breath.

  “If you want to talk…”

  Her eyes saw too much in the face of the man she’d known since boyhood. I never wanted to burden her. She had her own family to think of, her own life with its ups and downs and everything in between.

  “You look tired.” She came in and sat in the chair opposite me.

  “This trip was different.”

  “You met someone?” She gave a nod. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  She gasped. “Ela é casada.”

  “No, she’s quite single. Or she was.” I shook my head. “She’s Nick’s ex-girlfriend. We connected on a deep level. We spent time together. I fell hard, Gylda.”

  “Well, that is good, right?”

  “Nick injured himself and…”

  “She went back to him?”

  “They were dating for a long time. They lived together. He left her for another woman.”

  “You were there for her?”

  “Her name’s Daisy…” I let out a wistful sigh. “We’ve only known each other a short while, but…”

  “But you know. You always know when it’s right.”

  “It was…so very, very right, Gylda.”

  “She felt sorry for Nick. Is that why she went back to him?”

  “I forced her hand.” I reached for a pencil and tapped it on a stack of folders.

  “Why?”

  “Nick needs her.”

  “Don’t be stupid. No one needs to be in a false relationship.”

  I rubbed a hand down my face.

  “Has she reached out to you?”

  “I’m afraid to check my phone. I texted Mum that I’d landed safely and then I turned it off.”

  “Well, look now.”

  I gave a shrug. “What if I see a photo of them together? I don’t know how I’m going to feel about that…or the thought of going back to London and having to be in the same room as both of them.” I paused, swallowing hard. “Or worse, being invited to their big day.” I leaned forward with my face in my palms. “Oh, God. Can I decline a wedding invite when it comes from my own brother?”

  “Holy shits.”

  “You don’t need the ‘s’ on the end.”

  She shot to her feet. “Look at your phone!”

  “No.”

  She leaped forward, grabbing it and waving it in my face. “Max, what if it’s the answer you want?”

  I snatched it back—and tossed it in the bin beneath my desk.

  She reached down and retrieved it. “Your father would want you to look, Max. Do it for him.”

  “My father lost the love of his life.”

  “More reason to look,” she said softly.

  She was right…

  Swiping the screen, I saw a slew of messages had come in from my mum. No surprise there. There were five texts from Nick, which was kind of unusual.

  And one from Daisy.

  I stared at the screen.

  “What does it say?” Gylda’s expression was full of hope.

  “I have to go back.” I slammed my palm to my forehead. “I have to go back right now.”

  Gylda let out a delighted squeal, and it matched my inside voice.

  I’d been too distraught to think straight, to think we had a chance. My life was flashing before my eyes—because that’s how much it hurt to think I’d almost lost her.

  There was still time…

  A company car was put on standby to take me to the airport. Gylda arranged for a private jet to fly me back to London.

  Not caring that I had no luggage, I grabbed my passport from my desk drawer and hurried down to the waiting car.

  Gylda escorted me down and waited with me on the curb.

  Before getting into the car, I hurried back and pulled her into a big hug. It felt like she’d saved my life, and in many ways she had.

  “Call Maria Alves,” I told her. “The woman looking for a Civil Rights Attorney. Tell her I’ll represent her brother.”

  “I remember her.” Gylda’s eyes watered with emotion.

  On the backseat I checked my watch a hundred times a minute. It was going to take me a lifetime to get back to Daisy.

  A confirmation email came in that a plane was ready. I’d have jumped on a regular flight—I didn’t need the luxury of a private jet. What I needed was to get back to London.

  The car pulled through to the VIP parking area.

  Within the airport, I hurried through the pre-flight check-in. With no baggage, I made it through security quickly and was escorted to a private jet at the end of the runway.

  I’d call Daisy once the plane was in the air, hear her voice again. Reassure her that everything would be fine and I was on my way back.

  Reaching the metal steps of the plane, I took two at a time, hurrying as though take-off was imminent. I willed the pre-flight check to go quickly.

  “Mr. Marquis,” said Angus Baxter, one of our loyal pilots, greeting me warmly at the top of the steps.

  “Thanks for this,” I said. “Sorry about the short notice, Angus.”

  “We can’t take off yet, sir.”

  “Why not?”

  “This plane just landed from Heathrow. The last pilot advised us we have a passenger still onboard.”

  “Who?”

  “Your mother—”

  “My mum’s on here?”

  “No, she gave instructions to make sure you were notified when they landed. I’m glad we finally reached you.”

  I glanced toward the private cabin. “My phone’s been off.” I felt a jolt of disbelief. “It’s not…?” No, that was impossible.

  “I’ll send Katarina to wake her?” said Baxter.

  I waited for the stewardess to pass by me and followed her toward the cabin, peeking through the door to see who the mystery guest was who’d hitched a flight.

  I inhaled in a rush when I saw Daisy.

  She had flown to Brazil.

  She remained fast asleep, lying with her brunette locks curled on the pillow and her arms above her head, looking restful and not like someone who was terrified of flying.

  “I know her,” I whispered to the stewardess as I entered the small space.

  She stepped back.

  Katarina waited in the doorway. “I gave her a drink to calm her nerves, sir. She spent the first half of the flight curled up in a ball.”

  “What did you give her?”

  “A shot of whisky.” She grimaced. “Well, two, maybe.”

  My eyes widened at her confession, but clearly it had worked as Daisy looked serene.

  I sat on edge of the bed and glanced back at the stewardess, who was lingering in the doorway protectively. “She slept the rest of the way.”

  It worried me that Daisy had been so stressed. Though, selfishly, I was glad that I didn’t have to wait a minute longer to hold her in my arms. I should have been with her during the flight, holding her hand and saying the kinds of things that woul
d have made this trip bearable for her.

  She’d faced her biggest fear…for me.

  I leaned low and pressed my lips to her forehead.

  Daisy’s breathing lightened and she stretched languidly, sleepily opening her eyes and brightening when she realized it was me.

  She took my hand. “You came back to me.”

  “That was the plan, yes, but you beat me to it.”

  She gave me a sweet smile. “I’m so happy to see you.”

  I glanced back at the stewardess to let her know she could leave us. With a nod of understanding, she closed the door and gave us privacy.

  I reached for the bottle of water on the side table and handed it to Daisy. She drank thirstily and then looked around.

  “Where am I?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Am I on a…?”

  “You’ve landed now. Obviously.”

  “Don’t let it take off again.”

  I squeezed her hand. “You were very brave.”

  “I might have had a drink. That stuff tastes nasty.”

  “Whisky?”

  “The stewardess told me it costs three hundred pounds per glass. You might want to get your money back.”

  Same old Daisy. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “Your mum offered me a free flight to Brazil. I couldn’t say no.”

  I shook my head. “My mother’s incorrigible.”

  “I didn’t need much persuasion.” She pushed herself up. “Well, maybe a bit, at first.”

  “That old dragon.” I smirked at Mum’s cheekiness.

  “Gillian did something right. She made you, Max.”

  “Well, there is that.” I grinned and then reached out to stroke her cheek. “I should never have left England so suddenly. Forgive me.”

  “You did it for Nick.”

  “It’s been my job to protect him.”

  “He’s fine. I spoke with him before I left.”

  I swallowed hard but the truth came out anyway. “I missed you as soon as I drove through those Hampstead gates. It hurt more than I care to admit.”

  “Leaving me?”

  “That will never happen again.” I played with her hair. “Just say what you want, what you need, Daisy. I swear if it’s the moon and stars, I’ll get it for you.”

  “Just you, Max. I only need you.”

  I smiled. “And maybe some aspirin? How does your head feel?”

  “I feel fine.” She looked around. “Are we in São Paulo?”

  “We are.”

  “That’s where you live.”

  “It is.” I pulled her into a hug, wanting to make her feel safe, relaxing only when I heard her sigh of happiness. “I want to show you the city I love.”

  “I know I’ll fall in love with it, too,” she said, looking up at me. “We found each other again, Max.”

  She rested her head on my shoulder.

  Daisy was back in my arms—and it felt like she had always belonged there.

  Eight Years Later

  The elaborately designed window display looked fantastic.

  Standing back, poised to get into my Jeep, I admired what I had created in Braga’s shop window. An elegant mannequin wearing beachy attire standing atop a generous sprinkling of sand straight from the beach. The store was nestled within the leafy streets of Ilhabela. Known as a green oasis, Ilhabela was filled with stylish stores, elegant restaurants, welcoming bistros, and chic fashion boutiques. It was also the place we called our weekend home.

  I’d be taking a break from this part-time work for a while, for months, really. Resting my hand on my baby bump, I knew time would fly and also be filled with joy.

  Music rose from my handbag.

  My new favorite song. I grinned. It was him. Max had changed my ringtone to Frank Sinatra singing “The Girl From Ipanema.”

  I answered. “I’m on my way.”

  “Time to take a vacation,” he said. “Come home.”

  “Did you see the photos I sent?”

  “The window display looks great.” He chuckled. “I know you’re obsessed, but we want you home.”

  “I’m not obsessed.”

  “Remember that time you tried to shag a mannequin in Harvey Nichols?”

  “She fell on me!” I laughed. “It was her dress I was after.”

  “So you say.”

  “If you let me get off the phone, I’ll be on my way to you.”

  “I see a foot rub in my future.”

  “Wait a minute, you told me if I made it home before dinner, I’d be getting the foot rub.”

  “Your word against mine.”

  “I’m getting in the car now.”

  “Drive safe.”

  I was less than a half hour away from our home. The ocean views were spectacular. I’d never ceased to be awed by the sight of the endless blue sea, or the feel of the warm air on my skin. I inhaled the fresh ocean breeze with gratitude.

  Once inside the house, I heard Max’s voice coming from the garden. He was out there playing with our sweet six year old, Ava. She took after her daddy with her big brown eyes and luscious dark locks. We adored our beautiful, smart little girl. She easily switched back and forth, fluently, between English and Portuguese. It was a joy to be excited about the way she would continue to shine in the world.

  Changing out of my skirt and blouse, I happily climbed into my yoga pants and roomy T-shirt, and then headed for the door. One of the drawers in Max’s bedside table was slightly open. I went to push it closed and then recognized a small object that Max had kept—Max had kept the ladybug button he’d carried around since our first kiss.

  A shiver went through me; even now it meant something.

  He was a little greyer now around his sideburns, though his eyes were just as bright and full of life. I’d fallen head over heels in love with that romantic and sentimental soul who made every moment special.

  “Ouch!” Max’s yell came from downstairs.

  I hurried down the winding stairwell that led to the living room. “What happened?”

  Max was barefoot and hopping around the living room, clearly in pain.

  Seeing me rush down the steps, he gave me a disapproving look. “Careful!”

  “I’m totally capable of walking. What’s wrong?”

  He pointed a finger at his foot. “There’s no worse pain than this.”

  I rested my hands on my hips. “Hello, you forgot childbirth.”

  “Not even close.” He rubbed his sole.

  I rolled my eyes, trying not to smile. “You stepped on a Lego again, didn’t you?”

  “This is not funny.”

  “I’m not laughing.”

  His lips curled at the edges. “I didn’t know fatherhood could be so dangerous.”

  “Wearing shoes is an option.”

  “I was playing football at her age.” He wandered over to me. “This is how the best players train.”

  I glanced out the large glass window and saw Ava kicking a ball—with her shoes on, at least.

  Max wrapped an arm around me. “Maybe we can switch out her Legos for a puzzle.”

  “She takes after you.”

  He wagged a finger in my face. “Being artsy comes from you.”

  “What’s she wearing?” I looked closer. “Is that a Manchester United T-shirt?”

  “Nick sent it.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s never been better, he says.”

  Max looked me up and down. “You look extra pretty today.”

  “You say that to me every day.”

  “That’s because—” His lips found mine and we shared a passionate kiss.

  Ava ran in. “Mummy!”

  She looked adorable in her football shorts and T-shirt.

  Leaning low, I dragged her in for a hug. “Ava, you’re a professional player now.”

  Max and I shared a smile, a look of pride. I rested my hands protectively on my swollen belly.

 
Ava gripped Max’s leg. “Daddy, let’s play again!

  I followed them outside, sitting in my usual spot in one of the wicker chairs. On the other side of the veranda, the spectacular view of the city was like a painting. Our five-bedroom home was perfect for Max to work from when he took a break from the office. His career as one of the most distinguished civil rights attorneys in the country continued to flourish. He’d have made his father proud.

  We also loved this location for its accessibility to the beach. Every weekend we were swimming, building sandcastles, or watching Ava’s daddy surf. We savored our time together as a family.

  Max was kicking a football around the garden and Ava was trying to intercept it. I cheered her on as she grabbed the ball and then kicked it into the goal. Again, Ava dribbled the ball toward the net, moving around Max who was trying to defend it. She threw a goal in the center.

  We cheered like she’d won the World Cup—like she hadn’t used her hands, either.

  Max looked ecstatic. “It’s in her blood.”

  I wasn’t surprised.

  Afterward, we settled in the sitting room.

  Max and I huddled close together on the couch while Ava ran around the living room, mimicking her Uncle Nick playing football as she watched him on the big screen.

  Nick’s match was live on TV. He was playing with the talent that had earned him fame and fortune, his old knee injury never once obvious.

  We’d have been there in person, but with me heavily pregnant and about to pop any moment, I wasn’t allowed to fly—which was as good an excuse as any not to do my least favorite thing.

  I’d flown since that first flight on Max’s private jet all those years ago, but if it was possible to find another way to travel, I preferred it.

  Ava was doing her favorite thing in the world—watching her uncle’s team, Manchester United, play Liverpool F.C.

  At halftime, the match was evenly scored. Nick was going to have to draw on all his passion and drive to see this through. We wanted this win for Nick as much as he did.

  Ava slipped off the couch and hurried over to pull something from behind a seat cushion.

  “What have you got there, baby?” asked Max.

  “I found a toy.”

  Max and I swapped a wary glance, and then saw what she was holding. It was Pelé, the collector’s statue that Max had once entrusted me with on the day we’d first met.

  Max sat up. “That’s not a toy, Ava,” he said. “That’s the greatest football player in the world.”