Anywhere You Are (14 page)

“Same.”

“Marc?”

“Yes, Grace?”

“I—” she started. Paused before continuing. “I hope you have a safe trip.”

“See you soon.”

The line clicked off. He stood up, tossed the tissue into the wastebasket under the desk, and took off the rest of his clothes.

His headache was gone and he felt…He stopped. Thought. He felt fucking incredible.

He'd slept with too many women, women he knew with the utmost certainty he would forget. Because nothing compared to Grace. All his life, he hadn't known what he'd been missing. Now he did.

Life. In color.

Marc had been home for a couple of weeks, but he'd been spending less time in Manhattan and more time in Eastbridge. Part of the reason was that he, Jake, and Press had a lot of work to do at Briarwood.

They'd been having some issues with environmentalists wanting them to stop renovation work on the Briarwood golf course—apparently, there'd been a sighting of an endangered bird, but Marc was convinced it was all a scam.

He'd seen this type of thing time and time again. The locals would get up in arms about something they didn't like and would drum up an environmental issue to trump any construction going on in any place they deemed unacceptable.

He'd dealt with something similar in another of his investment properties. They'd ended up conceding to the demands of the environmentalists, but they hadn't had to change their plans too much. More important, they hadn't gone over budget.

But Briarwood was only part of the reason he was in Eastbridge. The other reason he was here, camped out in Aunt Sarah's house, was Grace.

They'd spent a lot of time together, the two of them. He thought he worked hard, but he'd never seen anyone hustle as much as Grace. Each and every day, she worked her ass off—in her greenhouse, in her studio, writing and cooking and painting. An unstoppable force.

Groundwork for the India project had been placed on hold for the time being, but he was still doing what he could to move the ball forward from the States. He'd commandeered Aunt Sarah's library as his office, installed Wi-Fi, and was running his real estate empire from sleepy Eastbridge. No one in his Manhattan office even blinked an eye. As long as he was accessible—and he was—it didn't really matter where he was located. It was a revelation.

So they worked days. And nights?

Even now, last night was still burned into his brain. Him, taking her up against his shower wall. Grace, moaning as she undulated against him, her wet hair streaming down her back, her expression one of unbridled passion. He got hard just thinking about it.

And then there were evenings like these, quiet ones where it was just him and Big Blue and Grace for dinner.

Tonight, she'd shown up at his door with a reusable tote bag filled with fresh produce and a dinner plan. Right now, she was in Aunt Sarah's kitchen, stirring a big pot of homemade tomato sauce on the stovetop. She'd shooed him away, insisting that she had it covered and demanding that he finish up his work so they could spend the evening together.

The aromas of tomatoes and spices wafted into the library, distracting him. Though he'd been distracted from the moment she'd walked into the house, with her big smile.

From the kitchen, there was a rattle and the sound of a pot clattering. Blue shuffling around. The sounds of home.

“Ten minutes to dinner,” Grace called out.

“Thanks,” he responded, and hurried to finish up the email he was composing.

When he finally got into the kitchen, she was straining pasta into a colander in the sink. Billowy clouds of steam rose up, engulfing her. She simply laughed and swatted the steam away.

He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair.

She wasn't wearing any shoes, so their height difference was even greater, but she turned in his arms and smiled up at him anyway, looking so beautiful it took his breath away.

“The sauce is tasty. Want to try it?” she said, holding a wooden spoon to his lips.

He blew on the hot sauce, then took a taste. Tangy tomato flavor burst across his tongue, then a post-tang kick. “What did you put in there?”

“I know you've been eating a lot of Indian food lately, and I figured just straight-up pepper wouldn't pack enough of a punch for you, so I threw in some Sriracha sauce. What do you think?” She waited for his verdict, an expectant look on her face.

“It's good,” he said, taking another taste. “Really good.”

Grace beamed. “Oh, good. I made some tagliatelle to go with it.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Nothing,” she told him, turning back to the stove. “Everything's done, including the salad,” she said, indicating a huge bowl of greens and fresh tomatoes sitting on the counter. “I think you're going to love the noodles. I got them at the farmers' market last weekend. This guy I know, Jesse, makes everything from scratch, and they are so good. Every weekend, he sells out of this pasta, and when you taste it, you'll understand why.” She scooped up some of the noodles into a waiting bowl and poured a generous helping of sauce on top. “His
nonna
's Italian, so he got the recipe from her and— What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” he said.

“Like it's weird that I'm making you dinner. I've made you dinner before, you know. Lunch, too.” Her tone was teasing.

“It's not weird. It's—” He swallowed. “I just want you to know that I don't ever expect this from you.”

She looked stunned. “Of course I know you don't expect this from me. And if you ever want to cook me dinner sometime, I'd be happy to take you up on your offer.”

“Tomorrow night, then.”

She gave him a warm smile. “Tomorrow night sounds great. Now here.” She handed him the bowl of pasta. “Please take this to the table for me.”

The pasta turned out to be as delicious as Grace had promised. Big Blue loved it too, and ate the entire portion Grace put in his bowl.

After dinner, the two of them took Big Blue for a long walk on the property. Though Marc had kept the dog with him at Aunt Sarah's place for the last week, he hadn't had the chance to take Blue on any kind of lengthy walk. It was a mistake he was glad to rectify, since Blue was clearly thrilled to be in his old stomping grounds once again. Marc let him off his leash and the dog raced ahead, sniffing and pawing at the ground, poking his nose into the brush, and barking when he found something particularly interesting. Every so often, Blue would double back, then race ahead again.

“He's happy,” Grace said, pointing. Blue had found a stick—with leaves still attached—and was dragging it along like a prize. “Just look at him.”

Marc reached out and took her hand in his. “So am I.”

Smiling, the two of them followed Blue down whatever path he chose. As dusk fell, they wandered through the paths in the meadow, some of which were now becoming overgrown due to lack of use. Grace didn't seem to mind. She gamely picked her way through the meadow, laughing when a piece of tall grass smacked her in the face.

When they got to a section that seemed to be impassable, Grace whistled for Blue, and the three of them headed back the way they'd come.

“What are you thinking?” Grace said.

“I'm thinking that this feels like home,” he told her. “Or at least the best parts of home.”

“You don't talk about your family much,” she said.

“Neither do you,” he retorted.

“I don't have to,” she said with a shrug. “Everything that anybody would want to know is already out there. But you grew up in a different environment than I did. Are your parents…still alive?”

“Yes.”

“Do you…want to tell me about them?”

Marc took a deep breath. He'd always kept his family life private, in part because he wasn't the kind of man to go about airing his personal business, but mostly because it was seriously messed up.

He'd grown up in Branford, a medium-sized town near New Haven. There were definitely elements of Branford that had a Stepford Wives vibe to them, and he'd figured that his family was just like everyone else's. Until one day he'd visited his friend Arnie Gianetti's house.

Arnie came from a big Italian family. He had six brothers and sisters who were always fighting, a mother who was always cooking, and a father with a big, booming voice who owned the best pastry shop downtown. Marc had been invited to stay for dinner—him, the smart boy who lived in the big, quiet house on the water. He'd been amazed by the noise and the yelling and the teasing, and most of all, by the huge kiss that Arnie's dad had given to Arnie's mom when he'd come home from work that evening. He'd never seen anything like it. It was then that he realized what was missing in his own family. The thing his parents didn't and wouldn't ever share: love.

So he'd grown up watchful. Distant. And lonely, with his older sisters having gone off to college. He'd never told anyone about his upbringing. About his family's dysfunction. Those were secrets better kept buried. But for the first time, he wanted to share.

“My parents aren't happy people,” he finally said. “My mom's kind of a mess and my dad is too, but in a different way.”

“A mess? Like they're crazy?”

“Kind of. Growing up, I watched my mom give and give of herself. All she wanted was for my dad to love her as much as she loved him. But my dad didn't reciprocate.”

“Didn't he love her?”

“I'm not sure. Maybe, once upon a time. The thing with my dad is that he wants what he wants, when he wants it. And he doesn't care who gets in his way.”

“Was he always that way?” Grace asked, her voice quiet.

“It's all I've known,” Marc said. “When I was born, he was already a hotshot surgeon with way too much hubris. He was so skilled, so talented, I think he thought he was special.” Marc shrugged. “Maybe he was. I don't know. But what I do know is that he cheated on my mom. He hid it from her at first, but by the time I was in middle school, I knew something was wrong.”

“Did they fight?”

“No. Nothing so uncivilized. They had words. Or rather, she would. He'd ignore her. Then she'd cry. He'd ignore her some more. And nothing would change.” Grace squeezed his hand, not speaking, but letting him know she was there. “I knew it wasn't normal, but I felt powerless to stop him from hurting her. From hurting us. Now my mom is like a husk of the woman she was. She's physically weak, but it's more than that. It's almost like her soul has been shattered. I keep asking her if she wants me to hire someone to look out for her, but she's not interested.”

“You have siblings, right? Would they be able to look after your mom?”

“I have two older sisters, but they're wrapped up in their own lives. I'm not even sure they see what's been happening to our mom, though it's pretty obvious if you look even a little bit. I try to help her, but…” He trailed off, not really sure how to express the futility of what he was up against.

“She stayed with him?”

“She loved him,” he said helplessly. “Always thought he'd change. I think she'd still be with him if he hadn't finally gotten off his ass and filed for divorce. She hasn't been the same since.”

“That sounds really rough,” Grace said.

“I haven't told you the worst of it.” Marc took a deep breath. “I thought once I left the house, I'd be done with him. Of course he wanted me to follow in the family footsteps. He's a doctor, my grandfather was a doctor, as was my great-grandfather. It's one of the major reasons I'm not.”

“So you're not a doctor. You're doing okay.”

“My dad slept with my girlfriend,” he blurted out.

“What?”
she said, her tone shocked.

“My ex, Kiera. She slept with my father.”

“That's—” she started, then stopped, then started again. “Ew.”

“That about sums it up,” he said. “She was beautiful. An actress. Not my usual type. We met at a symphony fundraiser Press dragged me to. At first, I was leery of getting involved with someone so unlike me. She was everything I wasn't—emotional and complicated and exciting. Unfortunately, she didn't care about me at all. She was just in it for the thrill of playing us off each other.” Her own twisted version of a play where she was the siren and they were the saps.

“And your father?”

“I guess he was in it for the thrill, too. That, and maybe screwing me over a little. The next thing I knew, Kiera told me she was dumping me for another man. I just never thought it'd be my dad.” He gave a bitter laugh. “She exploited him, dragged him everywhere, got their pictures in all the society pages. Then when she'd milked him for all the publicity she could, she dumped him, too.” He looked over at her. “This is too much. I'm sorry.”

“No, don't apologize. It was…illuminating. I'm just still processing everything. I mean, you know all about my family, but this is the first time I've heard you say anything about your own, aside from your Aunt Sarah, that is.”

“My family's messed up,” he said. “The worst part is, we all try to pretend everything's so normal.”

“Every family is like that,” she said. “In fact, you might say that my family's the abnormal one, airing their dirty laundry for everyone to see.”

“But the way we do it means it festers. Grows like a cancer until it consumes everyone and everything.”

“Just because your parents are messed up doesn't mean you need to be,” she told Marc. “At least I hope so.”

“What you're saying is that I'm not my father.”

“That's right,” Grace said, taking his face in her hands. “And just so you know, I'm not the cheating type. I'm loyal to the end, even when I should know better. And I'm
definitely
not going to sleep with your father.”

“Promise?” he said, his lips curling up despite himself.

She put her hand over her heart. “Promise.”

He kissed her, already feeling a little better.

They walked to the edge of the meadow, through a short stretch of woodland, and ended up at the edge of a small pond Aunt Sarah had refused to fill.

Lily pads dotted the surface, and a chorus of bullfrogs sounded in the dimming light. It was hard to believe that merely an hour ago he'd been chest-deep in legal documents and building codes. Aunt Sarah's property was gorgeous, but it was the woman by his side who'd facilitated his transition from work to life. He took a deep breath, and the last remaining bit of tension dogging him dissipated.