Some Like it Easy (13 page)

Folding his arms, Armand said nothing for a long interval. Had George pushed him too far? He tried to find the energy to care, but frankly any anger was Armand’s problem, not his.

“Very well. In light of your request, would you consider a bit of brotherly advice? Particularly from a brother with some experience in loving a Novak woman?”

“I wouldn’t say no to it.” Although he didn’t think Anna and Penny had very much in common.

“Don’t let her go.” His brother shocked him by putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll fight and get frustrated. Stand your ground, but don’t let her go. Show her you care and don’t give up. If she’s captivated you even half as much as Anna captivated me, she is worth it.”

George didn’t know whether to laugh or punch something. “She’s—perfect.” He had no other word to describe her. Even her flaws, and she possessed many, only made him care more.

“Then I shall leave you two alone, but do try to keep it down. If Anna hears shouting…”

“Duly noted.” No upsetting Anna, that rule was still in effect. “Though you could distract her.”

Armand’s grin was swift, but genuine. “That I can do.” He gave George’s shoulder a squeeze. “At some point, I’d like to hear about your classes.”

“Absolutely.” He looked forward to sharing. “Later.”

As if on cue, the footman carried a tray toward the veranda.

“Good night, Armand. For what it’s worth, I know I haven’t always been the most willing to listen or to appreciate you, but I think you will make a good father.”

His brother nodded once. “Thank you. For what it’s worth, you aren’t bad, for a brother.” It was the closest to an apology either would venture. Thankfully, brothers didn’t need much more. Armand waved him off. “Go, get your girl. When it’s time to ask her father, talk to me first. I have a few tips on how to get around his version of the inquisition.”

George chuckled. “We’re nowhere near marriage.” The thought gave him pause. He could barely get her to be his
girlfriend
. He’d save discussions about a more permanent arrangement for later.

Much later.

On the veranda, he found Penny seated on the lounger and relief streaked through him.
She waited
. Maybe therein lay the key. The footman excused himself and George sat next to Penny. He poured the tea and she split the sandwiches out.

She broke the silence first. “Everything all right with Armand?” Then she added, “I didn’t get you in trouble, did I?”

The note of worry didn’t escape him. She kept saying she didn’t want them to be together, or for him to be in love with her, but her actions said something else altogether. “We’re fine,” he assured her. “I don’t know if he and I will ever be close, not like him and Bastian are, anyway. But, you know, that’s all right.” Until he said it aloud, he hadn’t realized how true it was. “We’re a product of our family, our birth order, our responsibilities, but we have a few things in common.”
Novak women, for one.

Keeping that gem to himself, however, he took a sip of hot tea.

“I don’t know where to go from here.” She toyed with one of the sandwiches, but didn’t eat it.

“We can start by having a meal and drinking our coffee. Then, we’ll go up to your room and get some sleep.”
Her room, not his.
She’d be more comfortable with her space and, frankly, her suite lay on the other side of the house from Armand and Anna. He wanted distance, too.

“Maybe we shouldn’t…”

He needed to head her latest objection off at the pass. “I have a proposal for you.”

“Oh, don’t…”

“I’m not offering matrimony.” Though her comment, combined with Armand’s earlier advice, inspired him. “In fact, I promise I will not ask until you propose to me.”

Doubt wrinkled her brow, but she didn’t dispute him. “All right.”

“I’m quite serious.” He lifted one of the sandwiches to her lips. She took the offered bite and chewed thoughtfully. “My proposal is we table the discussion—argument—until we’re back in New York. This is a vacation, an escape. We have time to be together, just us…”

“And your brother and my sister,” Penny said around the bite with a laugh.

“Who are looking to get away from all of it, too. They’re basking in their pregnancy and freedom. Seems only fair that we do the same.”

She made a choking noise. “Without the pregnancy part.”

“Oh. Definitely.” He was incredibly not ready for that part. “I have plenty of condoms, don’t worry.”

Penny gaped at him.

“Go ahead,” he told her, the corner of his mouth quirking. “You can say it.”

“Say what?”

“I’m a prince to have thought of them.” He kept as straight a face as he could manage and, to his delight, she let out a laughing groan.

“That’s awful.”

“Yet, true.” Leaning closer, he fed her another bite of sandwich and smiled. “Admit it, you like being coaxed and pampered by a prince.”

“I won’t,” she said, stubborn as ever.

“Yes, you will,” he nuzzled the corner of her mouth and stole a kiss when she parted her lips to protest.

When he let her breathe, she huffed. “All right, maybe a little.”

Triumphant, he nodded to the sandwiches. “Then you should let me feed you more.”

Uncertain and seemingly off balance, she raised her brows. “Why
should
I?”

“Because you’re going to need your calories, Miss Novak. We have all night. Do you know one of the best parts of having a prince in your bed?”

The waffle of indecision on her face slid away as the corners of her mouth curved. “No, do tell.”

“No one wakes a prince up unless he orders it.”

Her laughter was his exact goal. Reclaiming his cup, he was surprised—and delighted—when she held a sandwich to his lips. “Point of order, princeypoo? You need to stock up on your calories, too.”

“That sounds distinctly like a challenge.” He bit into turkey and cheese.

“Could be it was one…” They took turns feeding each other, then Penny added, “George?”

Wariness invaded his cheer. “Yes?”

“Thanks for putting up with me and for wanting to be with me.” The comment was so quiet, he realized she’d given him a unique gift—an unguarded peek inside her heart.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”
No one else I’d rather be with.
Hope was an unusual emotion, bittersweet and thrilling in equal measures. “Thank you for letting me.” Because she was. Despite all her protests and stubborn objections, she came back to him again and again. She slept in his arms, waited for him when he asked, and even in the middle of their disagreement, she’d chosen her words carefully. He’d seen it in every pause, every hesitation.

Grinning, George gave her another kiss.

She paused, curiosity ripening in her eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said and kissed her again. This time she looked a little dazed when he released her and offered another sandwich.

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, I’m positive.” He wanted to shout and swing her around in dance. Not yet, though. No, he had to be even more patient, more persistent, and he definitely had to take Armand’s advice to never let her go. She loved him.

She just didn’t know it yet.

T
heir week
on St. Christos floated by like a dream. As promised, George didn’t bring up their relationship again and neither did she. Instead, they spent their time playing—sunning on the beach, riding a motorcycle all over the island, even movie nights with their siblings. She’d never been as relaxed as she was on their flight home. Not even the promise of more snow deterred her from her cheer.

Back in their apartment building, they resumed the pattern of alternating nights in his apartment or hers. Mallory came home and, thanks to her mother’s continued recovery, she dove back into her life with renewed cheer. Mid-terms swept them up. Penny finally decided to let her application to graduate fly without changing her major and George sold not one, but all three of the papers he’d written to a couple of different periodicals his professor recommended. One went to a journal on politics and the other two to national outlets. All would be published under a pseudonym to protect his family and his anonymity.

His disbelief and shock tickled her. Their celebration included a real, honest to God dinner out followed by boxing their dessert and carrying it home. They’d ended up in bed and ate their cheesecake after a couple of rounds of mind-blowing sex.

Scooping up another spoonful of her confection and catching a strawberry with it, she couldn’t help but stare at him. He was a beautiful man and, after all their weeks together, he shouldn’t be able to keep surprising her—and yet he did. More, she enjoyed the surprises nearly as much as she did how he lived up to his expectations.

“What?” George dabbed at his chin with a napkin. “Am I making a mess?”

“No,” she said. “Just admiring the published writer.”

His self-deprecating snort was another facet of his behavior she’d come to admire. He really didn’t expect accolades or congratulations. Doing the work hadn’t been high on his list, but once he’d discovered his enjoyment? He seemed to positively thrive on the academic challenge. “Thank you.”

Stroking her foot up his leg, she asked, “Can we be serious for a sec?”

“If you insist.” Just like that, his guard went up. She’d gotten pretty good at recognizing wariness in his eyes.
Since I’m the one that put it there, I shouldn’t be proud of the fact I recognize it.

“I’m trying to figure something out and, well, I thought maybe I could bounce the idea off you.” An idea she’d been mulling for the last four weeks. Spring had begun to pry New York out of winter’s icy grip, and they were on the downhill slope of the semester.

“Always,” he said, offering her the rest of his cheesecake. It looked good, but her stomach was already protesting the slaughtering of her slice. He set the containers on the nightstand, then rolled onto his side. Facing her, he propped his head on his hand.

Under the full weight of his attention, she struggled to push the words out. “When we went to St. Christos, Anna asked me about my finances.” The barest flicker of guilt shone in his eyes. “Yes, I know you said something to her. And no, I’m not mad.” She had been, but Anna’s words and his later statement about her selfishness both stuck with her. She made a lot of decisions, on purpose, to keep her freedom.

Freedom could be isolating. Freedom could cage.

“I only said something because you were killing yourself to do everything and you have people in your life who want to help.”

“I know.” She did know it. “Took me a little while to forgive you, but then I realized there’s nothing to forgive. You did what you’ve been doing for months.”
You were looking after me.

“You do the same thing for me,” he said. “You helped me with classes, with decisions and, if rumors are correct, you defended me to Anna.”

Her surprise must have shown because he grinned. “Armand and I are talking more. She scolded him on your behalf.”

The idea of Anna scolding Armand cracked her up and she pulled the sheet over her mouth to hide her giggles. His expression softened and he tugged the fabric away from her face.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Gathering up her courage, she shifted and reached for her phone. “I got an email today from Richard. He’s acting as Anna’s attorney.”

“Oh?” Unveiled curiosity echoed in the syllable.

“Yep, she talked to me on the island about her savings. She’s had this account for years, saved for college. Maybe a house. Later for other things, but she said she doesn’t need any of it anymore and she wanted to give it to me.” Finding the email from Richard, she opened it up and slid her phone over so George could see the screen. He waited a beat, raising his eyebrows at her for confirmation, before he picked up the phone.

He skimmed the note then glanced at her again. Considering his personal wealth, Armand cutting him off notwithstanding, the sum didn’t seem to move him, though it shocked the hell out of her. “Are you going to let her give it to you?”

“That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” She couldn’t gauge his reaction from his single nod. “It’s a lot of money and…it would mean I could quit the job at the bookstore and take the diner down to only a few nights a week.” Still, she hesitated.

“All right.”

Fiddling with the phone, she tried to get her rioting emotions into a semblance of order. “I want to be really happy about it because it means I can relax a little. I can afford the rent without selling anymore of my jewelry.” She’d gone to Milo to get her rings back, and they’d been gone. Sick with disappointment, she’d moped for two days until George finally got her to admit what was wrong.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he repeated his earlier apology. He touched the ring on her right hand. “I honestly meant to and…”

“And I was being a bitch, it’s okay.” She’d been so damn relieved, she’d forgotten to be angry with him for his high-handedness.

“You weren’t a bitch, Penny.” When she only raised her eyebrows, he chuckled. “You were stubborn. There’s a difference.”

Were. Past tense.
“I’m still stubborn.”

“Don’t I know it?” He muttered the words, but she heard every one, and she giggled because he didn’t sound remotely unhappy about the fact. If anything, they’d grown closer.

“I stopped trying to fix you up with other girls.”

“And I appreciate it.” Another concession post St. Christos. They’d avoided any discussion about their future or relationship and she’d stopped pushing him out the door.

“A part of me wants to go to Europe.”
Whew.
She’d said it.

The guarded look returned to his eyes. “Go on.”

Clearing her throat, she said, “And another part of me is considering applying for a Masters here. They approved my graduation on the provision my GPA doesn’t have any major slips.” She’d have to score something like a negative fifty on every assignment through the end of the semester to even begin worrying about that.

George’s grin was instantaneous. “You should have told me earlier. Congratulations!”

The warmth of his pride spread through her. “We were celebrating your good news and
your
accomplishments.”

Wrapping his hand around her nape, he tugged her to him. One long, hard kiss later and she’d almost forgotten their discussion. “Never hold back on your good news. I want to celebrate with you and for you.”

“Thank you.” Pressing her hand to his chest, she tried to take stock, to remember where they were. “Another part of me…wants to take the plunge. To put myself out there into the art world and see if I can make it.” She’d arrived at the hardest part of her confession.

“What do you mean?” He covered her hand on his chest with his own.

“I’m a bit of a fraud,” she said, swallowing hard. “I’ve—I’ve never let anyone outside of my teachers see my work. Well, that’s not entirely true.” She hesitated, not because she believed George would think less of her. He’d given her no reason to ever believe that, but because admitting her failure aloud was one thing she’d avoided for years. “When I first came to New York, I’d made this huge deal to my family about doing it all on my own.”

Finding only encouragement in his gaze, she pressed onward.

“I spent my freshman year painting canvas after canvas. I thought they were incredible, a real demonstration of my talent, and how I would make a real name for myself…” Old humiliation crept through her. “I would sell the paintings and make a small fortune, support myself and prove artists are capable of excellence.”

Confessing her naiveté was harder than she’d thought it would be. She sucked in a deeper breath. When George pulled her into his arms and rolled onto his back, she burrowed against him. Hearing the thump of his heart beneath her ear helped.

“I took them to a couple of galleries and talked to the owners. The first wasn’t interested, but the second offered to look at them all and, maybe, you know hang one or two.” She’d been flying on that news, floating. “I was so excited. I called Anna and then my parents, and told them I’d done it. I’d sold my first paintings. Talk about hubris. I even made a big deal about how I didn’t need their help, no one had to worry about me because I was going to be great.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “What happened?”

“The gallery owner hated them all. Told me they were…they were sidewalk vendor, good. Supermarket quality.” His words had been far more acerbic. “I was devastated, but I’d already told everyone I sold them.”

“So you couldn’t say anything about the bastard hurting you?” The angry growl in his voice brought out his European accent and Penny’s toes curled. Lifting her head, she met his expression and found only outrage. “What was the ass’s name?”

“It’s not important. My point is, I’m a fraud.” She’d saved the hardest part for last.

“How so?”

“I’ve been working on a degree for years. I kept changing my major. I walked away from painting after that. I just—I couldn’t bring myself to pour my heart and soul onto a canvas only to have someone tell me I was pedantic, boring and supermarket quality. I like the welding, I do. The sculpting and even the photography classes that I took…”

“But you love to paint.”

Penny nodded, not quite trusting her voice. “With Anna’s savings, I could—I could take the next year off from school, or maybe only take a couple of classes. I could get serious about putting my art out there again.” The idea scared the hell out of her and, as difficult as she found it to admit, her act of being fearless saved her. Only she wasn’t sure how well it would work if someone savaged her art again. To make it, she needed a thicker skin. “If I go to Europe, it’s kind of like running away. I mean, I thought I’d try the Sorbonne...”

Realization crystallized in his gaze. “But they turned you down. Darling, art? It is in the eye of the beholder. You cannot let two or three blind idiots take away what you love. Do you know how many of the masters weren’t even considered passable in their time?”

True
. The rejection from the Sorbonne had hurt. “If I go for my Master’s, it will eat up a lot of the savings. I’d still be here, though, and Mallory is not staying for school, I don’t think. We haven’t talked about it. Anyway, I could afford the apartment on my own…”

“And if you pursued your art career fully?”

“I’d have maybe fourteen months? If I was really circumspect about what I spent my money on. I’d probably still need the job because I’d need paints and supplies. Also, I haven’t painted in years.” It had been too painful. “What do you think I should do?”

“Whatever it is you want to do, we’ll figure it out. All of it. I want you to do what you want.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

“I can’t answer for you. What I want is what you want. I just want you to talk to me about it. I want us to talk about what it will mean…and how we can make it work.” He paused, then nudged her chin up so their gazes met. “I want us to talk because I love the sound of your voice.”

“I have a lot to think about,” she whispered.

“Will you keep talking to me? Telling me what you’re thinking?”

This answer wasn’t so hard. “Yes.” She couldn’t ignore his relief or happiness at her response. More, she couldn’t ignore her own.

A
week went
by and she still hadn’t decided what she wanted to do. The decision shouldn’t be so difficult. They’d talked about the pros and cons whenever the subject came up. As great as Europe sounded, she knew she wasn’t going to run away. Maybe if she were going for school...
Be honest, Pen. You don’t want to go because George won’t be there.
Mallory hadn’t pulled her punches on the subject.

Anna offered her unqualified support, even going so far as pointing out her rent didn’t need to be a factor if she stayed in New York. Penny wasn’t comfortable with the suggestion, but she didn’t immediately dismiss it. George had been right about one thing, she didn’t want to be a burden on anyone and distancing herself by labeling her choices as protecting her independence denied her family the choice of being by her side.

“Relationships are messy,” she said aloud to her room.

George had an early class, and she’d slept late. But she was awake when her phone rang. Not recognizing the number, she let it roll to voicemail. Half the time, unknown calls were auto dialers wanting to sell something. When the phone beeped indicating they’d left a message, she put the phone to her ear and listened.

“Miss Novak, this is Moira Kelly at the Cannon Gallery. We’ve reviewed the portfolio you submitted, and we’d like to discuss acquiring a few of your paintings for our
Hot in the City
show this summer. According to your letter, you have a wide selection. If you could send me images of your paintings for consideration, we can schedule a meeting. I’m looking forward to talking to you about this opportunity.” The woman left a number and email addy for the images, then disconnected.

Her portfolio.
Who’d submitted her portfolio? She’d never heard of the Cannon Gallery or Moira Kelly. Galvanized, she threw back the sheets and walked into her closet. Opening the second storage behind the clothes closet, she stared at the paintings.

The stacks were uneven.