Connectivity (12 page)

She hands me a glass and picks up hers. “Cheers, Mary-Kate. To being the first person William has ever brought here.”

My pulse jumps. “Really?” I say casually, taking a sip of wine. I am trying to be cool but I really want to yell, Really? I am the first one? Tell me more, Claire!

“Yes,” Claire says. “We were surprised when he called Rupert and asked if he could bring a guest to dinner. But Rupert and I both knew it was going to be you because you are the only person he talks about, Mary-Kate.”

Oh my God. Why do I want to jump up and down and scream in delight at this tidbit?

“Am I?” I ask carefully, trying to mask my excitement.

Claire selects a pitcher that is in her cabinet and fills it with water. “Oh, yes, all the time. He goes on to Rupert about how brilliant you are, how you are so invaluable to him, that you make him laugh, you know, that kind of thing. We both knew you were the one coming to dinner before he said your name. This is a big deal to him, Mary-Kate.”

I swallow as she slides the wrapping off the flowers and puts them into the pitcher.

“It is a big deal to me, too,” I admit to Claire.

She smiles. “I gathered that.”

I watch as Claire begins pulling out bowls and recipe printouts and things out of the fridge and begins heaping them on the countertop. I bite my lip. There appears to be no organization to this at all, not like when I cook.

Claire whips open a Jamie Oliver cookbook and thumbs through the pages. “Now where is this salad recipe?” she asks, flipping back and forth.

Finally she finds the page and begins chopping things up.

“May I help you in any way?” I ask. And I can’t help but notice her knife skills are horrible. She is butchering a tomato, just cutting it all wrong, and it is painful for me to watch.

“Oh, no, you’re a guest!” Claire says breezily. “I think I have everything under control. The chicken has been roasting for several hours so I know it will be really done.”

A warning flag goes up in my head. Hours? Oh, God, that chicken will be overcooked when it comes out! I say nothing and take another sip of my wine.

“Bugger! I forgot to start potatoes!” Claire drops her knife and opens her pantry.

I hear her rummaging around and I try not to laugh. Obviously Claire is a creative genius, but not a culinary one.

I glance back out the window and see that William and Rupert are now talking. A big chocolate brown Labrador runs up to William with a stick, and he throws it, with the dog bounding after it.

God, William, do I even stand a chance here today? Do I?

“Oh bloody hell!” Claire drops the potatoes down on the counter with a thud. “These will take at least an hour to bake!”

“You could mash them,” I suggest. “Peel, cube, boil, mash. You can get that done rather quickly if they are diced small.”

“Brilliant!” Claire says, taking another sip of wine.

“I-I could do them if you like,” I offer. “I love to cook, actually. So I don’t mind helping at all, if you don’t mind, that is.”

“I could kiss you!” Claire cries. “Oh, God, please, that would be lovely.”

“Do you have any rosemary?” I ask, thinking I will make rosemary mashed potatoes for the adults.

“Yes, out in the garden,” Claire says as she consults her cookbook. “Damn it! I forgot chilies! Now I can’t make the salad dressing. Bugger!”

“I can do that, too. I can do an herb one, if that’s okay,” I say.

“William better marry you. That is all I am going to say,” Claire says, going over to the oven and taking a peek. “Oooh! It’s really crispy on top!”

I try not to laugh. I bet that chicken is more than crispy.

“There is a basket with clippers by the back door,” Claire says. “You can take that to get whatever you need from the herb garden.”

“Great, I’ll be right back.”

I walk outside into the crisp spring air. Rupert is now throwing the stick and William is gone.

“Where did William go?” I ask, walking up to Rupert.

“Phone call,” Rupert says. “But first one he’s taken since he’s been here. Remarkable.”

“Remarkable?”

Rupert raises an eyebrow at me and, holy shit, it is William’s look. They might be physically different but there is no doubt they are brothers.

“You have changed him,” Rupert declares.

“W-what?” I ask.

“Daddy! Charlie is throwing dirt at me!” Emma cries, running up to him.

“Sorry, duty calls!” Rupert goes over to the swing set, and I desperately want to stop him.

I want to make him tell me how William has changed. Is . . . could . . . could he be thinking about something more between us, too?

Rupert comes back with Charlie screaming under one arm and Emma holding his hand.

“Sorry, must go hose them down before dinner,” he says, grinning at me.

They go through the back door. I hear it slam shut and then I hear William approaching me.

I turn and see that William has a serious expression on his face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, putting the herb basket and clippers down.

William sighs and shoves his iPhone into his jacket pocket. “That was a call about the Australia transaction. The negotiations have become sticky, I’m afraid, and I will need to go there straight from London next week to finalize the deal.”

My chest hurts. I know since our relationship has changed, it will be harder for me to see him leave for weeks at a time.

“I’ll need to have an assistant with me,” William says slowly. He takes my hands in his. “Because there is going to be lots of messaging, contracts, meal organization, that kind of thing.”

Oh. My. God. I am going to Sydney! I am so excited I can hardly breathe! London, then Sydney! With William! I am so lucky, so lucky.

William then looks back at me. “And I am taking Arabella with me to Australia, Mary-Kate.”

Chapter 17

I stare at William, absolutely shocked by his words.

He is not going to take me to Sydney.

Because William doesn’t want me there.

Instead, he has made the decision to take Arabella over me.

Oh God, I feel like I just got punched in the stomach. I feel . . . I feel
betrayed
. And as that thought goes through my head, I can’t breathe.

“Mary-Kate,” William says, gripping my hands in his, “I can see this has upset you and—”

I rip my hands away from his. “Upset? Upset? Why would I be upset about this, William? That you . . . that you . . . want to take Arabella more than me? After you keep telling me how brilliant I am, how I am more than an assistant to you, after everything that has happened this week? For God’s sake, you bring me to Berkshire and then turn around and do this? How do you
expect
me to feel, William?”

I storm off, anger and hurt swirling around in equal fury inside of me.

“Mary-Kate!” William hurries after me. He puts his hand on my shoulder to stop me, and I whirl around and push him back.

“Don’t touch me!” I say in a loud whisper. “How can you take
her
? How?”

“Do you think I
want
to?”

“You are William Fucking Cumberland! You can do anything you want! And you chose to take that awful bitch to fucking Australia?

William’s eyes flash. “Yes, I am William Fucking Cumberland,” he says, his voice deadly calm. “And I have to take Arabella to protect you. If people are talking now, Mary-Kate, what would they say when I bypass the lead assistant, who has always gone on big international trips, for you? How would that be perceived?”

I say nothing as I process his words. And the second I do, I know he’s right. One hundred percent right.

“Mary-Kate,” William says, his voice thick with concern, “you know I want you there. Now more than ever I want that. However, I cannot put you in that position. It would be selfish of me to do so.”

I look into his eyes and see worry in them. Worry that I am not going to accept this answer.

But his words, and the expression on his face, tell me everything I need to know.

“Please,” William says, stepping closer to me, “Please believe me, Mary-Kate.” He hesitates for a second, and then rests his hand against my cheek. “Please believe what I am telling you.”

I swallow hard. “I do believe you. I . . . I’m sorry. I should have known there was more to it . . . but I just hate her so much! The idea that Arabella gets to be your right-hand person, that she gets to spend all that time with you, and after what she did to me this week—”

“What,” William says, cutting me off, “has she done to you?”   

Oh shit. I didn’t want him to know about the exile situation.

“Mary-Kate,” William says firmly, “answer me. What has Arabella done to you?”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s not worth getting into.”

William’s blue eyes get extremely intense. “I will decide that. Tell me. Now.”

I take a deep breath. Oh God, he’s going to be furious. But I have no choice but to tell after letting that slip.

“Do you know where she is making me sit at the office?” I ask.

William’s brow creases. “No.”

“You know the build-out section? Where nobody is? That is where she set me up. As far away from you as I could possibly be.”

I watch as William takes in my words. His jaw goes tight. He removes his hand from my face. And I see nothing but anger flickering in his eyes.

“Why,” he says, in a controlled voice, “did you not tell me about this sooner?”

“I am a big girl, William. I can deal with it.”

“This,” William says, “should not have to be dealt with. And I will rectify this first thing Monday morning.”

“William-”

“I should fucking sack her!”

“You and I both know you can’t do that.”

“Why not? I am
William Fucking Cumberland!
It should come handy from time to time to sack people like Arabella!”

I can’t help it. I know William is furious, but what he just said is so funny that I burst out laughing.

“What?” William snaps, obviously not amused.

“I am ‘William Fucking Cumberland,’ fear my wrath!” I say, laughing.

William pauses for a moment. My God, he actually looks sheepish! He rubs his hand over his face and groans. Then he begins to laugh, too.

“You know what? Let’s not talk about her anymore,” I say.

“I’m still taking care of this on Monday,” William says.

“Fine. But can we ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’ now?” I ask, teasing him.

William laughs. He steps closer to me and links my hands with his, squeezing them tightly.

I gaze up at him, with the setting sun illuminating his dark waves and cheekbones, and I am just lost looking at him.

“I loathe the idea of Arabella being in Sydney instead of you,” he whispers sexily, brushing his soft lips against mine. “Loathe it.”

I melt into his chest as his hands wind around me. “I loathe it, too.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” William murmurs against my lips before kissing me again.

I can feel his heart beating under the fabric of his plaid shirt. I relish the moment, of being in this beautiful English garden, inhaling the scent of his pine cologne and leather jacket mixed with the country air, of being wrapped up in his arms and feeling his lips against mine.

Suddenly, we hear a door slam and we both look toward the house. Rupert is walking toward us, but William continues to hold me.

“Rupert, really, can’t you see that I’m busy?” William yells out good-naturedly.

I blush furiously, and Rupert grins.

“Emma has requested that you read her some of her new books before dinner,” Rupert says, his eyes dancing as he walks up. “I was told to come out here and help Mary-Kate get the herbs for the potatoes.”

William gently kisses the top of my head, a move so sweet and gentle that my heart just leaps with joy. “Do you mind?” he asks.

“Of course not. Go read!” I say. “I just have to get some rosemary, and I’ll be right there.”

William releases me and goes back inside.

Rupert waits until he is out of earshot and then flashes me a smile.

“Sorry to have interrupted,” he says.

I feel my cheeks burn. “No, no problem. Can you please show me where the rosemary is?”

Rupert nods and I walk with him to the back of the garden.

“I can’t get over this,” Rupert says suddenly.

I hesitate for a moment. “Over what?”

“William. My God, he’s let you in, hasn’t he?” he says as we stop in front of the herb bushes.

I act like I’m very interested in the rosemary. I bend down and pick up the herb clippers. “Let him in?” I repeat, clipping off some branches.

“Yes. William has always kept himself isolated from everyone except me. He has since he was a child. Due to how we grew up, you know,” Rupert adds.

I say nothing, as I do not want to share William’s confidences with anyone, even his brother.

“Our parents,” Rupert says slowly, “weren’t meant to be parents. So where I vowed to create my own family to fill that void, William has created a global empire to keep him busy and fulfilled. And I thought he would always be that way. Until today.”

I drop the rosemary into the basket and stand up, despite the fact that I am trembling from Rupert’s words.

Could this really be the beginning of something more for us?
I wonder, my heart jumping.
Could William want something more than the undefined relationship that we are currently falling into?

“You’re good for him,” Rupert says as we begin to walk back.

“He’s good for
me,
” I say. “I am the one who is lucky, Rupert.”

For whatever way William lets me into his life, I am lucky
.

We go back into the house, and Claire is flittering around the kitchen. She is whacking away at the potatoes with her knife, and I cringe when I see the pile of misshapen potato. Well, not cubes, exactly, but . . . bits. Chunks and bits.

“The chicken is still roasting!” Claire says excitedly.

Oh dear God.
I don’t even want to look in the oven for I have a feeling there is a black bird in there.

“You know, making all these sides is exhausting,” Claire declares.

I furrow my brow. “Sides?”

“William made it clear that you like sides with dinner,” Claire explains. “I normally don’t do them for our Sunday dinner.”

I suddenly realize that William really wanted me to feel at home.

Oh my God, if I even stood a chance today, it’s over. I’m done. I’m so in over my head for this man I can’t see straight.

“Well, why don’t you let me do the potatoes and the salad? You have done so much work, Claire.”

Claire looks extremely grateful. “Bless you.”

I pick up the knife and begin to make the potatoes similar in size so they cook evenly. As I am re-chopping, William walks into the kitchen and puts his arm affectionately around my waist.

“What are you making?” he asks, his fingertips dancing below my ribcage and making a shiver shoot down my spine.

“Rosemary mashed potatoes for the adults and plain potatoes for the kids,” I say as I chop. “And you can help me.”

“What?” William asks, laughing.

“You are going to be my
sous
chef. Now go wash your hands.”

I can see Claire staring at us with a look of shock on her face.

“Bossy American,” William teases as he walks over to the sink.

“My God, you are actually going to get him to do this,” Claire says aloud.

“I have no choice, Claire,” William says, washing his hands. “Mary-Kate is very strict about me pulling my own weight, you know.”

I laugh and so does William.

He walks back over to the counter where I am, and I slide him the rosemary and the cutting board.

“Chop it fine, please,” I say, moving to the stove and dumping the potatoes into boiling water.

“Do you care to inspect my technique first?” William asks, arching an eyebrow at me as I walk back over to him.

I bite down hard on my lip. Odds are his technique is better than Claire’s, so I wouldn’t dare correct him in front of her.

“No, I trust you can chop an herb, William.”

Claire picks up a stack of dishes from the countertop. “I’m going to set the dining room table.”

As soon as she leaves, William bends down and whispers in my ear, “I’m glad you are making potatoes and salad because she is a bloody awful cook,” William declares.

I stifle a laugh. “I gathered that.”

“Make sure you take big portions of whatever you make, so you don’t starve.”

“William! You’re awful!” I whisper back.

“Whoever told you I was nice?” he teases back.

With William’s help, I prepare the salad and potatoes. For fun, I even made William mash them with the masher, which was quite entertaining to see him work like that.

“All right, you all go sit down and I’ll bring the chicken in,” Claire says excitedly.

William and I share a glance and try not to laugh. We all sit around the table, with the children and Rupert, and wait for Claire’s big reveal.

Then we hear a scream, a loud crash of a pan into the sink, and then the oven door slam shut. And then we hear Claire.

“Bloody hell, it is black!!” she screams from the kitchen. “Black! How is it
black
? It is supposed to be golden brown not black, bloody hell, and there is smoke!”

“Mummy said a bad word!” Emma yells to Rupert.

“Mummy didn’t mean it,” Rupert says quickly. “Let me go see what is going on.”

Oh dear God. I am shaking, I am trying so hard not to laugh, and I have tears in my eyes. I don’t dare glance at William. I don’t. Because if I see what I think I will see, I will lose it.

“Do we get pizza now?” Charlie asks.

“We always get pizza when Mummy yells from the kitchen,” Emma says earnestly.

“So you eat a lot of pizza then, don’t you, love?” William quips.

And that does it. I burst out laughing, and so does William. I mean, we are dying laughing and I have tears streaming down my face. I glance at him, and, holy shit, he has tears in his eyes, too.

We manage to stop and pull it together before Claire walks back into the dining room. She has her wine glass in her hand and takes a sip.

“I have a pizza in the oven. We’ll eat in fifteen minutes.”

“Sweetheart, it is fine. We still have Mary-Kate’s salad and potatoes, too,” Rupert says reassuringly.

Claire sighs heavily and sits down. We all reassure her it is no big deal. Being together is why we are here. Then we begin passing around sides and start eating.

Rupert takes a bite of his potatoes, and after he eats, he looks at me. “Mary-Kate, these are amazing!”

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

“Oh my God, they are,” Claire agrees.

“Mary-Kate is an excellent cook,” William declares. “She writes a blog about cooking, you know?”

I feel my cheeks flame from his compliment.