He scooted closer to her and put his arm around her.
“Hmm, interesting that you didn’t answer the question. Ever heard that doing that just makes people more eager to hear the answer, Ms. Forest?”
She didn’t quite look him in the eye. She’d had sex with him, multiple times at this point, so why was she so embarrassed to say this to him?
“I was just thinking that it was cold in here,” she said, still looking down at the blankets. “And then that maybe it was so cold because I don’t have any clothes on, which isn’t how I normally sleep. That’s all.”
He kissed her shoulder.
“ ‘Normally’?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Fine. Never. Happy?”
He rubbed his hand up and down her arm.
“Very happy, as a matter of fact.” He kissed her collarbone. “Come to think about it, you do feel chilly. But I’m honored that you slept naked for me. Or maybe I distracted you too much for you to get up and put something on before you went to sleep, like you did at the hotel?”
She tried to fight back her grin.
“Maybe,” she said.
He rolled over on top of her and kissed the hollow between her breasts.
“Well, since it’s my fault you’re cold this morning, I see it as my duty to warm you up. Luckily, I can think of a good way to do that.”
An hour later, she was in his kitchen making them both tea. Thank goodness he had a big, cozy robe for her to wear over her pajamas, otherwise she’d probably stay in bed with him for hours.
Actually . . . that didn’t sound so bad.
He padded into the kitchen with sweatpants on.
“We got those pastries yesterday when we were out; I thought we could warm them up in the oven for breakfast?”
She opened the oven to show him the pastries inside and on a cookie sheet.
“I got that far, but I couldn’t quite figure out how to turn on your oven. I kept pressing buttons that beeped angrily at me, and I finally gave up.”
He laughed and reached over her.
“You have to push these two buttons at the same time; I know it’s ridiculous, but I’m used to it at this point.”
Ten minutes later, as they sat at his kitchen table with a plate of warm pastries in front of them and full mugs of tea, Vivian heard a key in his front door.
“Um, Malcolm?” She gestured toward the door, and he jumped up.
“Probably just building maintenance. Excuse me.”
But before he could get to the door, it opened, and a young, tall, brown-skinned man walked in.
“Oh.” He stopped when he saw Malcolm. “I didn’t realize you’d be home.”
“Miles!” Malcolm walked toward him. “What are you doing here?”
The boy’s lips were tight, and he didn’t look at Malcolm.
“I just came to return this.” He held up the key. “I obviously won’t be needing it anymore.”
Malcolm’s eyes narrowed.
“Now, Miles, don’t you think—”
Vivian stood up. It was well past time for her to intervene.
“Hi, Miles. I’m Vivian,” she said. “We have a full pot of tea and some pastries here. Would you like some?”
He looked from Malcolm to her and then back to Malcolm.
“Oh. I didn’t realize . . .”
She didn’t wait for him to answer her and poured him a mug. “How do you take your tea, Miles? I know your uncle likes it with nothing in it, but I like a little cream and sugar both in mine.”
He hesitated. He was clearly too polite to reject her offer, thank goodness. And thank God Malcolm had the good sense to keep his mouth shut.
“Sugar, please. About a spoonful?” He hesitated, then walked over to her. “I’m sorry, have we met?”
She stirred the sugar into his tea and shook her head.
“We haven’t, but I’ve been hoping to meet you. I’m a friend of your uncle’s, visiting from the States.” She handed him the mug.
“I thought you sounded American! Where do you live? I’ve always wanted to visit New York.” He took a sip of the tea.
She smiled at him and went around to the table.
“Come, sit down and have a pastry. We got them yesterday at this great bakery in—what neighborhood was that in, Malcolm?”
“Soho,” Malcolm said, as he sat down next to her.
“Yes, there. It’s my first time in London—I keep forgetting where I am.”
Miles walked over to the table to look at the plate full of pastries. See? She knew you had to lure teenage boys with food. Worked every time.
“And I’m from California, not New York, but I’ve been to New York a few times, and always have a wonderful time whenever I go. Though”—she made a face—“I can’t handle it there in the summer. I’ve only been during the summer once, but never again. So hot and sticky and there’s garbage everywhere.” She picked up her tea. “Then again, I still had a great time even in the heat; the museums are fantastic, and my God, the food is good. You should definitely go as soon as you can.”
Miles plopped down across the table from her and picked up a bun.
“Oh yeah, I really want to! But California seems amazing, too—so different from London. What are you . . . ?” He glanced at Malcolm and quickly looked back at her. “How long have you been in London?”
What a polite child he was. He was clearly dying to know what the hell this woman he’d never heard of was doing in his uncle’s kitchen, but he wouldn’t let himself ask. She’d take pity on him.
“I’ve just been in London for a few days, but I’ve been in England for a little bit over a week. My daughter and I were here for Christmas visiting some of her friends, and after Christmas we came to London, and I’ve been here since then.” She didn’t need to tell him the whole story. “I’ve had a fantastic time so far, though I hadn’t realized just how different England and America were until my time here. Even our words for food are so different.”
Miles burst out laughing.
“It’s so true! One time, this kid from the States was in my school because his mum was working here—he got so confused when someone said we had flapjacks. He thought they would be pancakes!”
Vivian looked at him sideways.
“Okay, now you’re going to have to explain this to me; what are flapjacks? I would definitely think that was a pancake.”
Malcolm broke in.
“I believe you’d call them granola bars, or something close to them?”
Vivian laughed.
“I’d be confused, too.”
Miles grinned at her.
“The kid in my school was very confused.” He reached for another pastry. “What’s California like? Are there really palm trees everywhere like on TV?”
Vivian laughed.
“Not quite everywhere, but we do have our fair share of palm trees. I live in Northern California, so it’s not quite as warm and beachy, but still warmer than”—she gestured to the windows—“this.”
He eagerly asked her more questions about California, New York, and other places in America, and she answered them as well as she could. She steered the conversation away from both art and universities as much as possible, and she didn’t think Miles noticed. At one point, Malcolm put his hand on her thigh and squeezed, and she covered it with her own.
“Okay, is it true that—” Miles broke off and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Oh damn.” He looked up at her. “Sorry, I mean . . .”
She laughed.
“Miles, I’ve heard ‘damn’ before, it’s okay. Is something wrong?”
He stood up.
“Yes. I mean no. I mean it’s just I was supposed to meet my girlfriend a quarter of an hour ago. I have to go.”
She walked over to the door with him.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you. But I’m so glad I got a chance to meet you, and I hope you have a very happy New Year.”
He smiled at her and re
ached out to shake her hand. She was about to lean in for a hug, but okay, she’d shake hands instead.
“It was great to meet you, too, Ms. . . . Vivian.” He glanced at Malcolm, who she could feel behind her, and back at her. “Bye.”
“Bye, Miles,” they both said, as he walked out the door.
They were silent until they heard the elevator ding. Then they looked at each other and laughed.
“How did you do that?” he asked her. “He was all geared up for another fight when he walked in here, I could tell. And you just . . . gave him tea and offered him pastries and got him to sit down and relax?”
She grinned at him.
“I’ve had lots of practice in making friends with surly teenage boys—and girls.” She picked up her mug and took a sip. “I just figured the two of you needed a little time-out where you could relax around each other so you could both find a way to put your weapons down. I’m glad I could help.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “And did you notice that he forgot to leave your key here?”
Malcolm jumped up and looked at the counter, then turned around and stared at her.
“I didn’t even realize that. Vivian, I may need to break into the glass today—I think you deserve to wear some of the crown jewels just for that!”
She stood up and fluffed her hair.
“Well, I’d better go get ready for that, then. I don’t want to be late for my coronation!”
What would have happened if Vivian hadn’t been there? Malcolm wondered. Would he and Miles have had another fight? Would Miles have just thrown the key at him and left again? One thing was for sure: they definitely wouldn’t have made up. The stony expression on Miles’s face every time he’d looked at him had told him that.
Though . . . there were a few times, when they were all sitting at the table together talking about travel and U.S./British relations and everything else, where Miles had looked at him like he’d used to, like they were sharing a joke.
He wanted to get that back for good.
Midway through their tour of the Tower of London, Vivian looked at him.
“You need to apologize to Miles, you know.”
What? She’d taken that from what he’d told her?
“The hell I do,” he said. He stopped himself and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. What I meant was . . .”
She laughed.
“Oh, I know what you meant—you meant what you said. But I meant what I said, too. This fight with Miles is killing you, I can tell. I’ve only known you a little over a week, and I know he’s the most important relationship in your life. You can’t destroy it like this; you and I both know that. Apologize to the boy. Talk to him. Ask him questions about why he wants to do this.”
He dropped his hand from her back. He thought she would be on his side here.
“I know why he wants to do this! Because he has this youthful infatuation with the idea of being an artist, and he hasn’t thought it all through!”
Vivian nodded slowly.
“That’s one perspective. But you told me Miles said he feels like he needs to be passionate about this, that he doesn’t want to waste any moment of life, that he’s feeling his own mortality because his father died young—I’m not saying I agree with him, but after seeing what my sister has gone through, I understand what he’s saying. Talk this over with him; he’s obviously really thought about it. See if you can come to some sort of common ground. But don’t just expect him to bow to your will.”
This is what came of opening yourself up to people. He never should have told her about their conversation in that much detail.
“I’m not expecting him to bow to my will. I’m simply expecting him to act like an adult. He needs to listen to the people who know better about what he should do with his life. I’m not going to apologize to a nineteen-year-old for calling him ridiculous for wanting to go to art school instead of Oxford!”
She nodded.
“Okay, great. And where’s that gotten you so far?”
He turned away from her.
“You don’t understand. Just because you spent thirty minutes talking to Miles doesn’t mean you know him. Or me.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
“Okay. That’s certainly one way to respond.”
They were silent for the rest of the tour.
He checked his phone on the way out and saw an email he really should respond to.
He cleared his throat and turned to Vivian.
“Would you mind terribly if we went back to my apartment now? There’s some work I should get done this afternoon. I can order in for lunch, if you’re hungry.”
She shook her head slowly.
“I don’t mind at all, and I’m not hungry quite yet. I can read while you work; I’m excited to get back to my book.”
When they returned to his apartment, he fetched his computer from his messenger bag, where it had been ever since he’d gotten back from Sandringham. He sat at the corner of the couch. Vivian made another pot of tea and poured him some, without asking him if he wanted any. She sat in his easy chair, instead of on the couch with him, with a book and her own cup of tea.
She was wrong about what she’d said about Miles. She was obviously wrong about it. Why should he apologize to Miles? Miles was the one who was destroying his life. Miles was the one who had insulted him! He’d spent years helping him and indulging him and preparing him, and they’d gotten there, he’d gotten into Oxford, then Miles wanted to go and throw that away. He had nothing to apologize for.
He tried to bury himself in work, but it only took about ten minutes to respond to that email, and as much as he tried to focus on other tasks, Vivian’s presence across from him made it impossible for him to concentrate. Which in turn frustrated him—he’d used work as his distraction for years. Why wasn’t it working today?
He sighed and looked at Vivian, then away. He was still upset with her for what she’d said about him and Miles, remember?
He had yelled at the boy, though. And laughed at him. And told him he was acting like a child, when Malcolm knew he most wanted to be treated as an adult.
But even so! What was he supposed to do—go to Miles with his hat in hand and tell him he was doing everything right and he was sorry he’d ever questioned him? That was impossible.
But he hated that he’d snapped at Vivian and made everything awkward between them again. Even though he didn’t agree with her advice, she was just trying to help.
“I’m sorry,” he said out of the blue.
Vivian put a finger in her book and looked at him.
He closed his computer and put it on the coffee table.
“I’m sorry I was so rude to you. And I’m sorry I said what I did about you not knowing me—that was both unkind and untrue. I just don’t know what to do here.”
Vivian put her book down on the table.
“I know it wasn’t my place to give you advice about what to do with Miles. But I also know you’re so upset about this, and he seems like such a good kid—I don’t want this to cause a permanent rift between the two of you.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Me neither.” He wished he could go back to Christmas Eve, when everything was relaxed and easy and he thought Miles’s big news was that he was going to move in with his girlfriend. “And you’re right, I am so upset about this. But that’s no excuse for how I treated you this morning. I shouldn’t have been quite so . . .”
“Cold and British?” she filled in.
He laughed.
“That’s one way to put it.” They smiled at each other. He was so relieved she was smiling back at him. Why had he wasted precious time quarreling with her? Especially since the last thing he wanted was for Vivian to be angry with him. “And I’m sorry I’ve been such a boor all afternoon.” He took a sip of his now-cold tea. “Vivian, I don’t want to apologize to him. I hate this, I hate that he’s doing this, it makes me furious, and I can’t tell h
im he’s doing everything right, because he isn’t. I just wish he would listen to me.”
Vivian nodded.
“I know.”
He got up and put the kettle on for more tea, and went back to the couch.
“I don’t know how to talk to him about this. Passion doesn’t put a roof over your head or food on your table. Do you think I had a lifelong passion to work for the Queen? No—I realized early on what I was good at and where I would thrive, then I worked to make it happen. I didn’t spend years pretending the monarchy was my top priority out of passion; I did it because I was strategic about my career. His love for art is all well and good, but I wish he would be realistic.”
Vivian moved over to the couch and sat next to him.
“Hey.” She moved her hand up to the back of his neck and rubbed the tight muscles there. “That part is okay. What he wants to do isn’t what you or I would do, that’s for sure. But you don’t have to approve of everything he’s doing to start a dialogue with him about why he’s doing it.”
He nodded as he relaxed against her strong fingers.
“You’re right. But . . .”
She shook her head.
“I know you don’t want to apologize for how you reacted on Christmas. But he’s a proud kid, and you mocked him for his dreams.” He started to respond to that, but she put her finger on his lips. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose, but don’t you think that’s how he sees it?”
He nodded again.
“You’re probably right about that.” He put his arm around her. “I’m sorry you’re in the middle of all of this. You only have a few days left in London, and I’ve involved you in my family drama.”
She kissed him on the cheek.
“Don’t worry about it. When I take the new job, I won’t be in the trenches in family dramas anymore; I’m going to miss it.”
He laughed and pulled her closer.
“Now that I’ve helped you have a bit of a busman’s holiday, we should make the most of our remaining time together.”
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“Did you have something specific in mind, Mr. Hudson?”
He whispered in her ear. She let out that explosive giggle again, right before he kissed her.
Chapter Thirteen
Royal Holiday Page 17