Much Ado About You

by Samantha Young

  She told me and I found the book and processed the order.

  “Shall I just pay when it comes in?”

  “Yeah.” I looked up from the screen. “I haven’t heard of her. What kind of books does she write?”

  Maggie smiled. “Mystery. She’s like a modern Agatha Christie.”

  “Cool. Are you a big reader?”

  “The gallery can get quiet, so it’s nice to have a book under the counter.” She gestured around the room. “You have your pick of them.”

  “I do. I’m kind of living my dream right now.”

  “You love books like I love art.” She leaned against the counter. “Where does it come from, Evie? That passion?”

  No one had asked me that. Not even Roane. The answer was a deep pang in my chest. “I . . . uh . . . my dad died when I was eight . . .”

  Maggie’s face fell. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you. It was difficult and, um, my mom fell apart, and books were my solace. My escape.” Suddenly realizing the correlation between my relationship with my mother and Annie’s, I wondered how much I should reveal. Not a lot of people knew about my relationship with my mother, but Maggie and my mom had something in common. They’d both let down their daughters in a big way. But they also weren’t bad people. Not at all.

  “My mom’s a recovering alcoholic. In and out of rehab for most of my life. She’s not a bad person,” I hurried to explain. “The very opposite, in fact. But she’s disappointed and hurt me a lot over the years.”

  Tears shimmered in Maggie’s eyes as she pressed away from the counter, and I knew those tears weren’t for me. They were for her and Annie.

  “Despite all that she’s done to me, how many times she’s broken my heart, I can’t stop loving her.” It was the truth. I loved my mom. I always would. “But this time it’s been harder for me to forgive her. I didn’t think I even would but she . . . she left me a voice mail that surprised me. And I think . . . I mean, I know, that I do forgive her. I think I’ll always forgive her.” My eyes stung as I watched a tear roll down Maggie’s cheek. “She’s my mom, you know.” I walked around the counter and took hold of Maggie’s hand. “You’re her mom, Maggie.”

  Her eyes widened and her mouth trembled. “But . . . but it’s different. I turned my back on her. How could she ever forgive me for that?”

  “Did you turn your back on her because you stopped loving her?”

  “No!” She wrenched her hand from mine and crossed her arms over her waist, huddling into herself. “No,” she whispered. “I . . . I let him make the choice for me.”

  “Your husband.”

  Maggie nodded. “I know no one should speak badly of the unwell, but my husband . . . it wasn’t a happy marriage. He’s very ill now. I have a full-time care worker who looks after him and he’s unable to communicate because of the stroke . . . and the sad thing is, it’s the most free I’ve ever felt since I was girl.” Her eyes rounded with horror. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “Shush.” I gripped her elbows. “No judgment here. Nothing you say to me will ever leave this room.”

  She swallowed hard. “I’ve wanted to make amends with Annie for years, but I was afraid of him, and then when he got ill, I realized I was more afraid that Annie wouldn’t forgive me.”

  I contemplated Maggie’s situation for a moment, trying to organize my thoughts. Finally, I said, “I assume Annie is well aware of the state of your marriage?”

  “Aye. Before she came out to us, when she was still a part of our lives, she defended me a lot to him. I need her forgiveness for that too. She was my protector when I was never hers.”

  “But understanding what you were dealing with, perhaps Annie will be more willing to forgive you than you expect. It’s your silence that hurts. I can’t tell you if Annie will forgive you, but I can tell you that if you don’t try and ask her for that forgiveness, she can’t give it to you. Be brave and at least you’ll know, one way or the other. Don’t let yourself regret not doing anything.” I squeezed her arms.

  Maggie sighed wearily and gave me a sad but affectionate smile. “You’re a sweet, sweet girl. But I just don’t know if I have that in me.” She pulled away and left the shop before I could reply.

  I stared after her, slightly shocked she’d confided in me. Neither of us had expected such an intense moment in our short encounter. I felt melancholy for Maggie and Annie, and I really hoped Maggie found the strength to do what was right.

  Yet I also felt a weight lifting off my shoulders.

  When I returned to the States, the first thing I would do was meet with my mom and tell her that although she’d hurt me over the years, I knew she was a good person, that I would always love her, and I would always forgive her.

  She was my mom.

  * * *

  • • •

  Although I kept to my promise and didn’t tell anyone about the words Maggie and I exchanged, I did tell Roane that she’d confided in me. He, unlike me, was unsurprised.

  “How does it not surprise you? The woman opened up to me: a passing acquaintance. I mean, I told her a little about Mom, but I hadn’t expected the reaction I got,” I’d said as I relayed the encounter to him hours later.

  “People sense your kindness and they trust you for it, Evie. They tell you things.” He’d cuddled me close on the sofa. “And I’m glad you feel better about your mum.”

  “Thanks.” I snuggled deeper into him. “There’s a lot to forgive, though.”

  “She can’t help her addiction,” he reminded me gently.

  “True. But it’s how it made her act. Selfish and deceitful. I can’t abide liars because of her. She used to hide her drinking from me and lie about it. She even stole money out of my wallet to buy gin and lied about that too. And then there was how she missed important moments in my life because she was passed out on a bathroom floor somewhere.” I’d sighed, frustrated with myself for getting upset all over again. “I have to let it go. I’m starting fresh with her. It’s a risk I’m willing to take again.”

  Roane had been extremely quiet after that, and I realized as we went to bed that I’d spoken of returning to Chicago to have the conversation with my mother. However, I hadn’t specified whether the trip would be one-way or not.

  I wondered if it concerned him.

  While it was on my mind to discuss it with him, somehow life just got in the way over the next few days. We were both busy with work; moreover, I’d offered to help Caro with the cupcakes she was baking for a birthday event she’d booked. I’d closed the bookstore to help her in the kitchen as much as I could.

  To celebrate her getting the job done and me aiding her, the three of us ventured to The Anchor a few nights after my conversation with Roane about my mom. However, as soon as we walked inside the pub, we drew to a startled halt. It was the busiest I’d ever seen the place. Milly was red-faced behind the bar.

  Alone.

  Where was Viola?

  I turned to Roane. “I’m going to help Milly.”

  He gave me an affectionate smile followed by a quick kiss to the lips. My mouth tingling with his sweet touch, I strode to the bar and lifted the top to get behind it.

  Milly shot me a startled look.

  “I used to bartend after college,” I explained. “Who’s next?”

  She almost sagged with relief. “Thanks, pet.” She gestured to the opposite end of the bar. “Start down that end.”

  Time passed quickly as I poured pints and mixed drinks for the seemingly never-ending line of customers. I didn’t know how long we’d been working when Milly called from the other end of the bar, “Evie, can you go down to the cellar and get another bottle of Macallan? I’m pouring the last of it now.”

  I nodded. Weeks ago, Dex had given us a tour of the pub’s cellar, where they kept their stock, to show us their personal wine coll
ection. He’d let us select a bottle, and we’d drunk to my staying another three months in Alnster. Hurrying out from behind the bar, I pushed through the door marked staff only that led into a large hall. That hall branched off to the stairs that led up to their family apartments, stairs that led down to the cellar, and a door that led to the kitchen.

  I’d taken the first flight of stairs down to the cellar, when I heard the murmur of voices. The sounds from the bar area made it hard to hear, but I was pretty sure there was someone down there. Thinking it was probably Dex, I kept walking until I could hear the two voices clearly.

  I abruptly stopped, tense as a rabbit in the headlights of a car.

  “Do you think I’d be this fucking persistent for just anyone, Vi?” I heard Lucas snap, his voice carrying up to me on the echo of the bare concrete walls.

  Holy crap.

  “Oh, so I should feel special because the great Lucas Elliot deigns to pursue me?” Viola replied, hurt apparent in her cutting response.

  Lucas must have heard it too, because his tone softened. “You know that’s not what I meant. I just . . . I can’t let this go. I don’t think you can either.”

  Holy double crap.

  I pressed a hand to my chest, my heart beating hard for Viola.

  “I told you that night on the beach that we can’t.” Viola sounded so sad. “You were right to push me away all those years ago because of your dad. I don’t want to cause problems between you and your family. I don’t want to be the person that causes such a rift.”

  “Aye, you say that, but then every time I touch you, kiss you”—his voice deepened to a masculine huskiness that made my eyes widen—“you light up like a fucking fire. Are we just supposed to ignore that?”

  “Maybe it’s just lust.”

  “You think this is just lust? Goddamn it, Viola, if I wanted just sex, I could get it anytime.”

  She snorted in derision. “Aye, I’m aware of that, Lucas. I am very aware of that. You’re practically legendary at uni. And I’m to believe I’m not just another shag for you.”

  “You don’t believe that. You’re just saying that to piss me off.”

  “Well, you do fuck other girls to piss me off.”

  “I haven’t touched another girl since I realized you feel about me how I feel about you.”

  “But we can’t be together!”

  “Do you want me to go? Do you want to see me with someone else . . . because I can’t bear the thought of seeing you with another guy. I’d kill him.”

  “You don’t mean that. You can’t mean that. We can’t. We can’t.” Her voice broke. “I’m sorry.”

  “The choice about my family should be mine, Vi, not yours. It’s bullshit. It’s a lie. You’re lying . . . you’re tearing my fucking heart out, and I think that’s what you meant to do all along. You finally got one up on Lucas Elliot.”

  Just before I heard the slam of the basement door, I heard Viola cry, “Lucas, no!”

  Then the door slammed again as Viola chased after him.

  I sagged against the wall, wrung out by the angst I’d overheard.

  What the hell? How had these two become worse off than they were before my little seed of encouragement?

  Twenty-Two

  Sundays had become precious to Roane and me. For most people in the village it was a day off work, the day they visited church to worship, and an afternoon they gathered at one another’s homes for roast dinner, but agnostic Roane and I loved it for a different reason. It was the only day in the entire week when we could spend every minute together. The man’s body clock forced him to wake early every morning, even though we’d both agreed that we wouldn’t work that day. My own body clock seemed to have synced to his, and when I felt him stir, I rolled into him and kissed him awake so he wouldn’t get out of bed.

  Although he rarely slept, he’d stay with me for a few hours, holding me, touching me, sometimes wringing me dry with multiple orgasms before the day had even begun. Then he’d leave me sated in bed while he showered, and I’d force myself into the shower while he made us breakfast.

  One Sunday, following a traditional English breakfast, which made it hard to move for at least half an hour afterward, Roane finally drove me to Alnwick Castle & Gardens. It wasn’t something we could do without planning ahead because dogs weren’t allowed. Caro agreed to watch Shadow all day so Roane could play my personal tour guide.

  The gardens were extraordinary. And by extraordinary I meant epic. We took our time, meandering through the twelve-acre estate. There was a beautiful cherry orchard and amazing tiered fountains called the Grand Cascade. We saw kids playing in little diggers and passed large wrought-iron gates with skulls and crossbones on them. Signs on the gates read these plants can kill.

  “The Poison Garden,” Roane explained. “There’s around a hundred toxic plants in there. You need to book the guided tour to get inside.”

  “Next time,” I said, morbidly intrigued. “And maybe we can eat at the Treehouse Restaurant then too.” The restaurant was exactly what it said on the sign. It was the world’s largest tree house restaurant. I absolutely needed to dine inside a tree house at least once in my life.

  We ended up walking around the gardens for a couple of hours, my nose filled with the heady scent of roses, which seemed to permeate the entire grounds. Then finally we approached the castle, and Roane led me into the part of the grounds where they filmed Harry Potter.

  “Oh my God, this is where they filmed the first flying lesson scene.” I gaped, turning around to take in the massive walled courtyard.

  Roane grinned. “Well, I couldn’t say whether it was or not.”

  I pointed to him but was still staring at the castle grounds in awe. “One day you’ll be Potter mad like me, my friend.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Ignoring his muttered comment, I hurried over to an older couple and asked them if they’d take a photo of Roane and me. They obliged and with giddy excitement I pulled Roane over to where I wanted him

  “You’re so adorable.” He pulled me into him and stole a lingering kiss.

  When I got my phone back from the woman who’d taken it for us, I discovered she’d snapped a few and one included the kiss. It was a great photo. “Look.” I nudged Roane to show him, and his lips curled at the corners as he looked at it. “I love it. I’m posting it to the ’gram.”

  Roane was not on social media. He was far too busy and indifferent to public opinion for social media. However, he was so laid-back he didn’t protest about the fact that he’d become the hero of my Instagram profile. My friends back in the States pestered me with questions about him every time I posted a photo, but I never answered because I didn’t know how to explain our relationship. The only answer I could give was that he was the most wonderful man in the world and he was mine, but I’d prefer to say that to him first before announcing it on social media.

  Posting the photo of us kissing along with a tagline explaining where we were, I had to admit to feeling a petty thrill. Some of those curious Instagram friends were the ones who’d looked on me with pity when I announced I was taking a break from dating at my thirty-first birthday. Some of them even shared smug “thank God it isn’t me” looks, thinking I didn’t see them. And nearly all of them asked me about my dating life before they asked me about anything else.

  I wasn’t above a little smugness myself.

  Poor Evie, living in beautiful England, having epic sex with a hot Englishman.

  “What’s that look?” Roane asked as we strolled into the castle.

  “This is my ‘my boyfriend is better than yours’ look, and I’m not ashamed of bragging.” I wrinkled my nose. “Okay, I’m a little ashamed, but what can I say, I’m not perfect.”

  He gave me a confused smile and squeezed my hand. “What are you talking about?”

  As we walke
d into a massive dining hall that made my lips part in awe, I absentmindedly explained.

  Not surprisingly Roane was pleased. So pleased, he gave me hot eyes. He couldn’t give me hot eyes in a castle filled with tourists! I shot him a quelling look. “Tell me about the castle,” I said, hoping to distract him.

  He smirked but began to talk as we walked through the opulent rooms. “It’s owned by the Duke and Duchess of Northumberland. They’re one of the oldest families in England, and this has been their castle since the end of the eleventh century.”

  “Holy crap,” I murmured. “Imagine living with all that history. Knowing exactly who you are and where you come from dating back to nearly a thousand years.”

  Roane nodded. “Aye, and it being what it is. Northumberland is considered one of the grandest and richest dukedoms, and although the castle is their official seat, they have three other estates across Britain. Moreover, Alnwick Castle is the second-largest inhabited castle next to Windsor.”

  “Windsor Castle, as in the queen’s Windsor Castle?”

  “Aye. Now”—Roane glanced at his watch—“we just have time before it closes, so let’s hurry.”

  “What? The castle?”

  “No. One of the State Rooms. They’re only open to the public for a certain length of time because the family uses them.”

  “That’s so cool,” I murmured, hurrying to keep up with him as he maneuvered us through the castle, clearly knowing it like the back of his hand. Then he walked through a doorway, and my breath caught as I followed him in.

  A library.

  A magnificent, beautifully furnished library with a walking gallery above us.

  “I thought you’d like this.”

  My gaze moved from the rows and rows of leather-bound books to Roane. Love filled me to bursting, until it was a pain in my chest. “I like you,” I whispered.

  I love you.

  The words were on the tip of my tongue, but Roane took my hand and pulled me into the room to show me more, and just like that, the fleeting bravery I’d felt disappeared.