Better Luck Next Time

by Denise Grover Swank

  He tucked his phone into his pocket and got out of the car, his mother disappearing behind the curtain instantly.

  No one opened the door for him, even though they clearly knew he’d arrived, not that he was surprised. Proper etiquette required him, as the visitor, to ring the bell, which he did.

  His mother answered the door then, taking him in from head to toe before she leaned in so he could kiss her cheek.

  “You haven’t cut your hair since the last time I saw you,” she said.

  It had been before the article. Before his fight with River. Before Adalia. It felt like a lifetime ago.

  “I know,” he said, touching it self-consciously. “I need to look for a new stylist. Sorry I’m late.”

  “That’s okay,” she said, smiling a little. “Don’t tell your father, but I like the curl. It reminds me of how mine looks naturally.”

  He wouldn’t know—she flat-ironed or curled it every morning, and had for as long as he could remember. It was part of the performance she put on for the other ladies in her circle, part of what he thought of as the show. And he hated it.

  But he didn’t hate her, so he just said, “Thanks, Mom,” and followed her into the house, shutting the door behind him. “I’ll get my bag later. I know I got here late.”

  “It’s no trouble. Just wash your hands and join us in the dining room. Your father didn’t want to keep our guest waiting, so we’ve already sat down for some wine and appetizers.”

  For a moment his mind hung on the wine part—had his parents ever actually tried Big Catch beer? He genuinely didn’t know. Then the rest of her statement filtered in.

  “Guest?”

  “Oh, didn’t we tell you?” She shook her head a little as if to say, Silly me, those memories keep slipping out of my head, but he knew better. This was an intentional type of not telling that meant he absolutely did not want to meet their dinner guest.

  Because the last time he saw his father, he’d admitted that he was interested in a woman, and his father was not the kind of man who enjoyed allowing people to choose for themselves what he could instead choose for them.

  But it was too late to leave—wasn’t it?—and he really did want to take the meeting with the Charlotte Robotics guys, so he washed his hands like a good, obedient son. Before he left the bathroom, he snuck a peek at his phone.

  Adalia had finally written her message, although he had no way of knowing if it was the original message she’d intended to write: Wish you were here.

  He replied before leaving the bathroom: Believe me, so do I.

  She’d said River and Georgie were there too, along with Dottie. They’d probably hand heaping dishes of food around family style, and he was sure someone would throw a treat or two to the dog and even the cat.

  That kind of scene would never, ever happen here.

  Sighing, he left the bathroom—staying in there for the next two hours wasn’t really feasible—and headed into the dining room. Just as he’d expected, his father sat at the head of the table, a beautiful woman in the chair next to him. Her blond hair was long and wavy and very orderly, which only made him miss the wild mass of Adalia’s short curls.

  “Ah,” his father said, “look who decided to make an appearance.”

  “Hi, Dad,” he said, turning on the charm. His mother wasn’t the only one who knew how to act when the occasion required it. “And who’s this?”

  “This is Charlotte Davis. She’s Bud’s daughter. She just moved back home from Chapel Hill, and Bud thought she might appreciate meeting some young people. Since you were already coming to town for the meeting, it seemed just the thing.”

  Bud was the one funding the robotics start-up. So his dad wanted to set him up with a Charlotte so he would move to Charlotte, where he could work at Charlotte Robotics. When he crafted a life plan for someone, he was really thorough.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said, nodding.

  She smiled at him and lifted a hand, holding it up toward his mouth. Did she think he was going to kiss her hand?

  Finn shook it instead.

  He expected her expression to turn peeved, but her smile just seemed a little more fixed. A little more plastic.

  “Pleased to meet you too, Finn. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “All good stuff, I hope?” he asked, only then realizing that the table had been set in such a way that he had no choice but to sit next to her. He circled around it and took his seat, pouring himself a liberal amount of wine.

  “I read the article in Fortune with great interest,” she said.

  “Oh?” he asked. “Are you in the industry?”

  She made a face that suggested he might as well have asked if she starred in pornographic movies. “No. I’ve never been to a brewery, but I admire that you were able to read the market well enough to cater to the lowest common denominator.”

  Ouch. It was an insult wrapped in a compliment, which confirmed everything he’d suspected about her. No wonder his father had hand-selected her for him. “Not a fan of beer, then?”

  “Oh, you’re too funny,” she said, laughing, and touched his arm. He inched away, wondering what he’d said that was humorous. “You’re wasted out there with the hillbillies.”

  Hillbillies? Who was this woman?

  “Finn, would you like any of the goat cheese crostini?” his mother asked brightly. “I can ask the server to bring the plate back out.”

  His parents always hired a server when they hosted anyone outside the family for dinner. Even one person. It had always seemed crazy to him. Wasn’t a private chef enough? Did they really need a person to carry things from one room to another like they lived in a castle instead of an oversized house?

  “No, Mom. That’s not necessary. Why don’t we just move on to the next course?”

  The sooner they could get through this nightmare, the better.

  By the time they got to dessert, Finn was seriously contemplating staging an accident for himself. Dessert fork in the eye, maybe? Even though he’d disagreed with pretty much everything Charlotte had said, openly, she’d written off his responses as jokes. According to her, he was the most hilarious man alive—and judging by the way she kept finding excuses to touch him, she was interested despite his “provincial” background.

  “Finn, Chef made your favorite dessert,” his mom said, “chocolate soufflé.” Which would have been great if it had been his favorite and not something he’d complimented once after getting tired of the silence at the dinner table. His mother had latched on to the comment, though, and he hadn’t had the heart to correct her. Plus, he could tell this was her attempt at an apology. While his mother preferred it if everyone liked her, she didn’t actually like everyone back, and he could tell she did not share his father’s approval of Charlotte. (And in all honesty, his father probably approved more of Charlotte’s looks and her father’s connections than of any sort of sparkling personality on her part.)

  “That’s great,” he said, “but I’m actually really tired. I think I’d better go to bed early tonight. Get a fresh start in the morning for my talk with Bud and the team.”

  “Oh, my father will love you,” Charlotte said. “He has a great sense of humor just like you do. But are you sure you need to go to bed? I was hoping to lure you out for a nightcap.” She put her hand on Finn’s leg, and he jerked away so vehemently, he almost fell out of his chair.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “Yes, yup,” he said, springing to his feet. “I have a medical condition that requires me to get at least ten hours of sleep a night.” He glanced at his watch. “It’ll be a close one tonight. Take care, Charlotte. See you in the morning, Mom and Dad.”

  His father was scowling at him again, a look that had become very familiar, during this meal and over the course of a lifetime. But if he wasn’t pleased, it was a problem of his own making for trying to set Finn up—and with Charlotte, no less—just days after he’d told him about Adalia. His mother woul
dn’t have okayed this ludicrous setup if she’d known about Adalia, but then again, she likely didn’t know. Neither was exactly the sharing type. Maybe he’d have a talk with her over breakfast.

  Finn hurried away, waving at Charlotte, who was muttering something about him being “so brave.”

  He didn’t feel very brave. He wouldn’t dare leave his room until he saw her drive away. In retrospect, he should have noticed a car was parallel parked near the driveway—a sporty silver Mercedes-Benz.

  In the safety of his room, he pulled out his phone and texted Adalia.

  I think my dad just tried to set me up with a human robot (literally...her father is funding Charlotte Robotics and her name is Charlotte. Coincidence? I think not.) Okay, maybe that’s not nice, but neither is she. I deeply regret coming home.

  Those three dots appeared again, then disappeared, then reappeared.

  He started to type out an explanation of what had gone down—how he’d told his father about Adalia, and then his dad had tried to manipulate him into doing what he wanted, and…

  Her message appeared before he finished, and he deleted the essay he’d written.

  Adalia: I always deeply regret going home. Want to watch the end of Pride and Prejudice with me? We can video chat so I can see the tears you will inevitably shed at the end. You will, of course, have to pretend you didn’t finish it the first time.

  Finn found himself smiling as he wrote his response: I do want that. So much so that I skipped the chocolate soufflé for dessert.

  Adalia: Amateur move. You should have grabbed it and run.

  And Finn finally let himself write what he’d wanted to write earlier: I miss you.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  So introducing Tyrion to his new home hadn’t exactly gone as planned, but Adalia had learned a lot about Finn from his reaction to the whole disaster. He’d seen the humor in it, just like she had, even when the smoothie had sprayed all over his expensive clothes and shoes. She’d laughed at him—hysterically, in fact—and he’d just grinned back, his eyes sparkling.

  It was like he was too good to be true.

  And even though he’d warned her early on that he wouldn’t be able to stay long before he left for his parents’ house in Charlotte, he’d seemed reluctant to leave. Selfishly, she would have kept him there if not for the texts that had popped up on her phone.

  The first two, from Lee, had set her heart racing.

  I’ve heard something that I need to talk to you about.

  Then: This is IMPORTANT, Addy.

  What was he talking about? Had he found out about her arrest?

  Still, she might have ignored that and called him later, if not for the message that had arrived moments later from an unknown number: I’ve only just started, Adalia. Deal with me or deal with the consequences.

  Had Alan talked to Lee? She had to call her brother. Immediately.

  Finn had clearly wanted to know why her phone was blowing up, and why she suddenly had the crazed look of Jezebel going after that blender, but she didn’t want to involve him any deeper in this mess. He’d done enough for her, and she didn’t want him to see her as some wounded bird. So she’d kissed him goodbye and shoved him out the door, telling him she couldn’t wait until their Wednesday mystery date.

  Dottie left moments after Finn, saying she’d be back with dinner, but she had to run home to get a special cake plate to celebrate Tyrion’s first night home. Did she intend to make the dog a cake? How did she manage to constantly have so much food, all of different varieties? She was like a human house elf. It was slightly worrying, being alone with Jezebel and Tyrion, but it gave Adalia the perfect window to call her brother. Putting Tyrion on a leash, she took him out back and sat on the bench, her fingers shaking as she pulled up his name.

  “Addy,” Lee said when he answered. “Are you okay?”

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  “I’m sitting in Grandpa Beau’s back yard,” she said, as though it was an adequate answer.

  “Why did you really leave New York?”

  A lump filled her stomach. “Lee…”

  “The truth, Addy. Not the bullshit you keep feeding me.” He sounded pissed, but she heard the undercurrent of worry under it.

  “Did he call you?”

  “Your boyfriend? The one I told you was bad news from the beginning?”

  “Congrats, Lee. You were right,” she said, her voice breaking. “How does it feel to have all the answers?”

  He paused. “I don’t have all the answers, Addy,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I hardly have any of them.” Then, to her surprise, he added, “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I thought I did.”

  Funny how she was seeing both sides of Lee in a span of seconds. She’d known the authoritarian Lee most of her life. He’d always been so eager to please their father, and their father, of course, encouraged it. But something had changed between Adalia and Lee before she left New York, like he’d started to consider her a person, not just his baby sister.

  She had invited him to a small show that included a few of her pieces. In truth, she’d done it to stick it to him, to make him feel guilty for inevitably saying no, but he’d surprised her by coming. They’d gotten dinner afterward and talked all night, and after that, they’d started getting together once a week or so, always without Victoria, much to Adalia’s relief. She’d discovered a Lee who was a little more like her and Georgie, a little more like their mother. He had a sense of humor and a warm heart, but make no mistake, he still had an authoritarian streak a mile wide. She’d opened up about Alan, and he’d told her under no uncertain terms to break up with the creep. Immediately. That very day. And when she’d tried to explain why it wasn’t that easy, he’d insisted that she was making excuses. He’d refused to discuss Alan again until the jerk was in her rearview mirror.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” he asked. “We were talking. Getting closer.”

  “It’s hard to feel close to someone when they keep giving you ultimatums.”

  “I was only trying to look out for you, Addy. That man was bad news. The call I just had with the asshole only confirms it.”

  Her heart sank. “What did he tell you?”

  The call disconnected, and she was sure he’d just hung up on her, but a video call from him showed up on her screen. She sucked in a deep breath and answered.

  His worried face appeared on the screen. “This seems like a face-to-face discussion. I was two seconds away from booking the next available flight to Asheville, but I didn’t think this conversation could wait that long.”

  “What did he say?” she repeated. It had to be bad if Lee was willing to come to Asheville to sort things out. Despite being one-fourth owner of the brewery and the house, he hadn’t been back since the reading of Grandpa Beau’s will.

  “That you vandalized an art gallery, and if I don’t pay him two hundred thousand dollars, he’s going public.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “You didn’t agree to pay him, did you?”

  “Addy, what the hell happened? I’ve done a quick search online, and there’s no mention of you doing anything of the sort, but he insisted it was true, and if I don’t pay him for the damages, the gallery will sue Buchanan Luxury. That lowlife actually threatened our family business.”

  Hadn’t she wondered about the damage to the gallery? She’d been so furious, so distraught…surely she’d hit the floor and walls with paint. They would have had some say in whether charges were brought against her. Alan must have convinced them not to go the criminal route, for fear she’d release her side of the story, but that didn’t mean they weren’t interested in some sort of restitution. She closed her eyes. Why wouldn’t this just go away?

  “Addy,” Lee said insistently, “just tell me what happened.”

  So she told him everything, from how Georgie and River had paid her bail and arranged for her to fly to Asheville the day after the incident to how Georgie had gotten Alan to back down. Several ti
mes, her brother looked like he wanted to interrupt, but he remained silent.

  “I thought that was the end of it,” she said when she finished. “But he’s been sending texts.”

  “What kind of texts?” he asked in a deep voice.

  “The first ones were flattering, like he was trying to get back into my good graces, but they’ve gotten more threatening over the last few days. I tried blocking him, but he texted from an unknown number.”

  “Have you responded to any of them?”

  “No. Georgie thought he’d quit it if I didn’t respond.”

  “Even after he started to threaten you?” he asked in disbelief.

  “She doesn’t know about that part,” she admitted.

  He was silent for several seconds. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, sounding hurt. “After all of our conversations before…” He swallowed thickly. “Addy, I hate that you didn’t feel like you could call me.” He paused, his eyes tearing up. “I hate that you were in trouble and you didn’t feel safe asking me for help.”

  She didn’t know what to say. She knew he needed to hear that he was wrong, that she did trust him, but they both knew it would be a lie.

  “I understand why you didn’t call me from jail,” he continued. “And I understand why you didn’t tell me you were going to Asheville until well after the fact, but I don’t get why I’m just now hearing all of this, months later and under duress at that.”

  “Because,” she said, “if I told you, it would be the same as telling Dad. And Victoria.” Then a new thought hit her. “Oh, my God. Is she listening to all of this?”

  He made a face. “No. She’s with her mom and sister getting mani-pedis.” His jaw set. “And telling me isn’t the same as telling Dad.”

  “Oh come on, Lee. We all know you’d do anything to stay in his good graces. I figured you’d tell him the first chance you got.” Which meant this very conversation could get back to him. But what could he do? Her father had no power over her…except that wasn’t true. It still hurt her when he lashed out, when he treated her like she was nothing more than a minor inconvenience or disappointment, like a latte being delivered with the wrong milk.