With a smirk on my face and the wind at my back, I flew out of the house too fast for anyone to question me.
Because I knew of one undeniable way to swear my fealty to Maisie.
And it ended with forever.
31
Pocket Change
MARCUS
Forty-eight of the longest hours of my life ticked by.
The second I’d left my family, I’d texted her asking to meet, and for the rest of that day, that message went unanswered, my voicemail box painfully empty, my screen black as pitch, disturbed only by my siblings. Every time they texted the group chat, my heart stop-started with hope enough times that I nearly turned my phone off. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
I’d spent a long night wishing I’d shown my cards, laid it all on the table when I’d seen her last. I could have begged. Pleaded. Told her that I loved her and apologized. I considered telling her right there in a message. But for all I needed to say, a text would never do. A voice message could never suffice.
The only way was face to face.
At six the next morning, she answered.
She agreed to meet the following afternoon to talk. And I’d practiced my speech every minute since, all the way to right now, waiting impatiently for the message that she was free.
I only hoped I wasn’t too late.
Enough had happened in the last few days to keep me occupied. Yesterday, a long meeting with Ben informed me of the most shocking revelation of all—Evelyn Bower had given Maisie full control of the company. It was a deduction made when the call came in from Thompson that the lawsuit had been dropped. But not by Evelyn.
By Maisie.
There was much to do in the wake of that disclosure. Paperwork to sign, meetings to attend.
But she wasn’t at any of them.
Last night, we had a proper Bennet brouhaha, complete with enough booze to put down a rhinoceros and one of the more lavish meals Jett had ever made—beef Wellington and trimmings, the whole of which had taken him nearly eight hours to complete. Everyone was there, including Tess and Lila on the arms of my brothers, and we had such a night that it ended well after midnight when the slow dancing in the dimly lit living room turned to canoodling.
Jett, Laney, and I hurried away and didn’t look back.
The night was a success for them. For me, it only served as a reminder of what I’d lost. And I started to wonder if I’d ever get it back.
Late last night, I sat in the armchair in my room, lit by a solitary lamp at my elbow, writing a letter I didn’t know would ever be read. But the words were too much to live only in my heart, too painful to hold in those four chambers. So I let them go, poured them onto a page by way of my hand. And once I released them, I was left empty, exhausted. Rumpled and worn, I’d turned off that light, casting the world in darkness again.
I stood in the kitchen, hip resting on the island, staring at nothing as I turned the velvet box around in my pocket where it had been since I escaped the Bennet ambush. And I waited.
There was nothing else to do.
When my phone buzzed in the other pocket, my heart gave its familiar lurch of hope. My expectation was my siblings. My wish was Maisie. But instead, it was a text from Ben.
Have some papers to sign for the lawsuit. Meet me at your mom’s.
I frowned at my screen as I texted him back.
Shouldn’t we meet at the office?
I was in the neighborhood, so I’m already here, he answered. See you in a few.
With the dismissal, that was that.
I hauled myself off my couch, feeling older than my years. Creaky in the bones, worn to weariness. I wondered as I slipped on my suit coat if it was the result of fading hope, draining joy. But I brushed the thought away. Because I wasn’t ready to give up, not yet. I’d give her time. But I’d find a way.
I had to find a way.
The day was warm and cheerful, a cloudless spring afternoon that whispered summer’s beginnings. Leaves had sprung from their buds, rustling in the breeze and dappling the sidewalk as the Village bustled around me. And I walked toward Longbourne with my hand cupping that little black box, wondering why Ben hadn’t just come over. Maybe there was something for Mom to sign or go over, by which I meant for me to go over on her behalf. Of course, nothing about us was conventional, so it didn’t strike me as too odd. Just enough to question.
Until I walked in the front door.
A host of whispers and shuffling around floated toward me from the dining room, followed by an extremely loud Shh from, if I had to guess, my sister.
I closed the door, knowing I’d just walked into some sort of trap. I just had to figure out what it was and how to get out of it.
Mom appeared in the hallway, her face flushed and smiling. “Ah! You’re here. Ben is just this way. How are you?” she rambled, shuffling over. “Here, let me take your coat. It’s warm outside, isn’t it? Oh, I’m just so glad winter is over. Felt like it would never end.”
I eyed her as she hung up my suit coat, still babbling.
“Mom, what’s going on?”
She scoffed and tittered, but her cheeks flushed another four degrees of red. “Why would you think something was going on? You’re so suspicious. Don’t you trust your mother?” she asked, taking my arm.
“No.”
But she laughed, pulling me toward the dining room and hissed whispers. “Silly. Ben just has some papers for you to sign. They’re very important papers, so you see, we had to do it right away. Why go to the office?” Another nervous laugh.
I stopped. “Have you taken your medicine today? Do you feel feverish? You haven’t come in contact with anyone carrying malaria, have you?”
“A mother can’t ask her son over?”
“Ben asked me over.”
“Marcus Bennet,” she chided, cheeks pink and brows furrowed in consternation, “stop questioning me and get in that dining room right now.”
“For the papers.”
“Yes, for the papers,” she said, tugging me into the dining room.
But I froze in the threshold, dragging Mom to a stop with me.
Because sitting at the long table next to Ben was Maisie.
It was strange, how memory worked, how it could never quite recall the glory of the real thing. How a face I thought I knew better than my own could surprise me so desperately in its beauty. And not the beauty of her form, of her small chin or soft eyes, of her shining hair or the gentle curve of her lips. But in the expression of her love and devotion, so true and real that in a heartbeat, I knew. I knew every thought and feeling of her heart with nothing more than a breath and a glimpse into her eyes.
But still, I paused, not understanding what she was doing here, why she hadn’t called me but inexplicably sat in my family’s dining room, looking at me like she was. Was I supposed to sit? Speak? Sweep her out of that chair and into my arms? I didn’t know.
She didn’t seem to either.
The crowded room watched us silently.
When it had been too long, Ben stood, gesturing to the chair across from him as he said, “Marcus, have a seat.”
I strode to the chair, my gaze locked with Maisie’s, questions and affirmations flying between us, though neither of us spoke. As bidden, I sat.
My family hovered around us like specters.