How Sweet It Is
Kate Perry
How Sweet It Is
A Summerhill Novel
Praise for Kate Perry’s Novels
“Perry’s storytelling skills just keep getting better and better!” –
Romantic Times Book Reviews
“Can’t wait for the next in this series…simply great reading. Another winner by this amazing author. “
–Romance Reviews Magazine
“Hot! Recommended!” –
Bookpleasures
“Exciting and simply terrific.”
–Romancereviews.com
“Kate Perry is on my auto buy list.”
–Night Owl Romance
“A winning and entertaining combination of humor and pathos.”
–Booklist
Other Titles by Kate Perry
Wrapped in You
How Sweet It Is
Kate Perry
© 2014 by Phoenix Rising Enterprises, Inc.
Cover Graphic © Slava Basovich Photography
Formatting by Polgarus Studio
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Sweet smooches to …
Chris and Leah, for giving me unwavering support, a place to write, and bottomless glasses of wine. I’m pretty sure Viola wouldn’t have gotten her life straightened out without these two.
Katie, who bulldozes everything out of the way so I have space to write. Without her, this book would have been twenty pages long, with ten pages of Viola eating macarons.
My Magic Man, who always shows me how sweet it really is. Viola should be so lucky to find a man like mine.
And, finally, all sisters—biological and of the heart. Viola is blessed this way, and so am I.
Chapter One
“You need sex,” Beatrice proclaimed. “And maybe a new kitchen.”
“I need more than sex. I need a life.” Viola looked at all the chrome surrounding them as she delivered a cup of coffee to her older sister. The kitchen was cold and impersonal, just like her ex-husband Charles, who’d picked it all out. “And definitely a new kitchen.”
“Start with sex. It’s easier.” Smiling as she accepted the cup, Bea pulled the newspaper on the counter closer to her and flipped the pages open.
“Is it?” She sat on a barstool next to her sister. “It seems like sex offers a lot of complications, even under the most casual of circumstances.”
Bea glanced at her, her expression as frank as it always was. “When was the last time you had sex?”
Vi pursed her lips as she thought about it. “In the previous decade, I think.”
“So you might concede that you aren’t the best judge.” Bea turned a page. “I, on the other hand, am an expert, and I think you’re more than capable of having both a life and sex at the same time.”
“The way you’re having a life and sex at the same time lately?” Vi asked with a disbelieving lift of her brow.
“I’ve been busy with business,” Bea said, not meeting her gaze as she turned another page.
Vi knew her sister better than she knew herself, so she didn’t need to look Bea in the eye to know that wasn’t the whole truth. Vi may have been going through hell with Charles the past year, but Bea’s personal life hadn’t been smooth either—not since she’d met Luca Fiorelli.
Cupping her hands around her hot beverage, Vi tried to play casual. “Luca hasn’t been around in a long time.”
“We’re not talking about Luca.” The tightness around Bea’s eyes contradicted her glib tone.
“But maybe we should?” she asked carefully. She knew her sister well enough to know when to push and when not to, and where Luca was concerned Bea wouldn’t even take a nudge.
“We definitely shouldn’t.” Bea pushed the paper aside and gave Vi the stare that made savvy businessmen squirm. “We’re talking about you and the fact that you’ve been in a slump for so long, in so many ways. It’s time you snapped out of it.”
“Is it a slump when your entire life has been that way?” she asked philosophically, pulling the newspaper toward her. Truth of the matter was that her mother enduring thirty years of infidelity had been a wake-up call for Viola. When she’d found out that Charles had been cheating on her, for a second she’d debated not doing anything about it—at least not until their daughter, Chloe, was out of the house.
But what kind of example was that for her daughter? So she’d kicked Charles out, thinking that’d change everything.
It hadn’t. It’d only highlighted all the areas she was lacking as a person.
“I’m worried about you, Vi.” Bea took Vi’s chilled hand and held it in her warm, capable one. “You’ve been especially unhappy lately. I thought once the divorce went through you’d cheer up, but it’s had the opposite effect on you. Tell me what I can do to make it better for you.”
That was Beatrice Summerhill in a nutshell: protective of what was hers. But Bea had always been extra protective of her, because they weren’t just sisters—they were best friends.
Vi was so tempted to put her head on Bea’s shoulder and let her older sister take care of everything, the way she always did.
Only letting other people make her decisions had led her to exactly this place in her life: in this cold kitchen, with a failed marriage, no purpose, and a daughter who resented her. It was definitely time to try something different.
So she squeezed Bea’s hand and said, “I appreciate the offer, but I need to figure things out on my own.”
“I thought you had. A couple months ago you’d decided that you were going to make your mark on the world.”
“I had. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
“And how much longer are you going to put it off?” Bea asked with a sardonic lift of her brow.
“Mother waited until her sixties to figure everything out,” she pointed out. Jacqueline Summerhill was now happily in love and on the verge of publishing her first book, a family memoir. “That gives me over twenty years.”
“Unlike Mother, you kicked your husband out,” her older sister pointed out. “So don’t expect me to believe that you’re keen on following Mum’s footsteps.”
Vi slumped in her seat. “It’s only that there’s so much to change, and I have no idea where to start. I tried shopping for clothes, except everything I picked out looked exactly like what I already had in my closet, so I returned them. And I have no idea what to do with myself because I’m not good at anything.”
Bea shook her head. “That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is. The rest of you have talents. You have amazing business sense. Portia is an expert in the family history. Rosalind is giving Vera Wang a run for her money. Gigi is Sarah Bernhardt reincarnated, and Titania makes Annie Liebovitz look like an amateur. Even Summer has her law practice.” She frowned at her coffee. “What have I ever done?”
“You’ve raised a lovely daughter.”
“A daughter who looks like she only rises at night.” She sighed. “And, really, she’s raised herself, hasn’t she? I don’t think I can take credit for who she is.”
“You’re selling yourself short.” Using her finger, Bea lifted Vi’s chin. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”
“Someone who was idiotic to stay in an awful relationship for much too long?” Seventeen years, to be exact. She hadn’t been much older than Chloe when she’d married Charles.
What had she been thinking? The thought of Chloe getting married made a tide of fear and agitation rise up her throat. Viola hoped she’d serve as a cautionary tale and that her daughter would do the exact opposite of what she’d done.
A fierce expression lit Bea’s face. “Don’t ever call yourself idiotic. Everyone makes mistakes. Just don’t make them again.”
“Never.” The last thing she wanted was to get married again. She couldn’t imagine being in a relationship with anyone—not when she had no idea who she was.
Her mobile rang. Thinking it might be Chloe, she looked at the screen. Her stomach sank when she saw it was Charles.
She didn’t have to answer to know what he was going to say. Excusing herself, she slid off the stool and left the kitchen to answer.
“Hello, Charles,” she said pleasantly, even though she wanted to punch him in the face. She stepped into her laundry room and closed the door for privacy.
“Viola, I can’t pick up Chloe tonight.”
Of course he couldn’t. He was probably too busy with his new lover. Vi swallowed her bitterness for her daughter’s sake and said, “Again? Chloe was looking forward to seeing you.”
“Yes, well, I have conflicting plans. Tell her I’ll see her this week.”
You tell her, she wanted to fling back at him.
You tell her that she’s not as important as the woman you’re shagging.
Gripping the phone, she told herself to be calm. “She has a couple school activities this week.”
“Then I’ll see her next weekend,” he said impatiently. “I have to go. I’ll speak to you later.”
“I—” She blinked when the line went dead. She held her phone out and stared at it, wanting to throw it against the wall, but the trouble of replacing a broken phone wasn’t worth the satisfaction. Unless she threw it at his face—then she’d be completely willing to sacrifice her mobile.
The thing was, Charles wasn’t the problem. Their marriage had been shite. What bothered her most was that he’d moved on and seemed satisfied with everything. He had a lover, a new flat, and a new life.
She, on the other hand, was snared in her old life, which had been dull and unsatisfying. Everything was ill-fitting—from her furnishings to her clothing. She plucked at her shirt, which hung on her shapelessly.
Anger filled her chest, and she shoved the laundry door open. Bea was right, of course: enough was enough. It was time to stop talking about making changes and actually implement them.
Bea’s head lifted from her mobile as Viola strode back into the kitchen. “It’s time, Beatrice,” she declared.
Her sister smiled slowly. “That must have been Charles.”
“He’s such a worm,” she whispered, in case Chloe was close enough to hear. Vi may detest the man, but she never spoke poorly about him in front of their daughter.
“I take it he’s not coming to pick her up.”
“He infuriates me,” she all but hissed.
Bea took her hand. “Come out with me tonight. Do you remember Stuart Covington, my friend who’s the art critic? I’m accompanying him to the opening of a show. It’ll be vastly entertaining. Stuart always offers biting commentary on the artwork. Quite frankly, I think he’s an art critic only because he enjoys bashing gallery owners. He believes they’re all inept. Since you’re such an art connoisseur yourself, you’d appreciate his biting wit.”
She shook her head. “I have nothing to wear.”
“Seriously, darling?” Her sister arched her brow. “That’s the excuse you’re going to use?”
“It’s true. My clothing is hideous.” She gestured at her body.
“So go shopping.” Bea eased off the stool, one elegant movement, her clothes hanging perfectly without being bunched up.
If only she’d inherited a little of the fortitude and grace Bea had gotten in spades. Sighing, she stood, too. “I told you that I tried. I wasn’t good at it.”
“Darling, if you want to master life, you need to realize when you have resources that can accomplish what you can’t.”
Vi shook her head. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Take Gigi shopping. She’s an expert, she loves it, and she doesn’t leave for filming until Friday.” She gave Vi an older-sister look. “I’ll at least see you at Tuesday night drinks, won’t I?”
“Would I miss having a margarita?” she tried to joke. Frankly, Tuesday nights with her sisters is the only thing she had to look forward to. At this point, she didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse.
Bea hugged her with one arm, kissing her cheek. Before she let go, she gave Vi a direct look. “You can change your mind about tonight. I’ll message you the address of the gallery.”
