Page 248

He holds my gaze as though he's deciding whether to believe me. Then he finally picks up his coffee and drinks it, even though it must have gone cold by now.

"When can I see them?" he asks.

***

We fly home to San Francisco two days later. By Thursday evening, the suitcases are open on my bedroom floor, the house smells like the garlic bread Miles insisted on helping with, and I've rehearsed what I'm about to say so many times that the words no longer sound like mine.

Ross will be here on Saturday. He told me he already had business in New York and could extend his time in the States without anyone asking why. I didn't ask what it cost him to arrange that. I'm not sure I wanted to know.

I wait until the boys are halfway through dinner. Wells is cutting his pasta into precise, equal pieces, and Miles is explaining a sandcastle engineering theory to no one in particular.

"I have some news," I say.

"Do you remember the man I was talking to at the party?"

Miles stops mid-sentence.

"The tall one?" he asks.

"Yes. His name is Ross. He's an old friend of mine from when I lived in London, and he's going to be in San Francisco for a little while. He'd like to come by on Saturday and meet you both properly."

Wells sets his fork down and looks at me with the steady attention that always makes me feel as though I'm being graded.

"You didn't look happy to see him," he says.

Of course he noticed. Wells notices everything.

"We hadn't seen each other in a very long time," I tell him.

"Sometimes that makes grown-ups feel strange at first. But he's a good person, and I think you'll like him."

Miles considers this with the seriousness of a judge.

"Does he play soccer?" he asks.

"I don't know," I say honestly. "You'll have to ask him."

"Does he play chess?" Wells asks.

"He does," I tell him. "And he doesn't like to lose."

Wells picks his fork back up, apparently satisfied.

"Neither do I," he says.

I don't tell him that I know where he got that.

Miles is already asking whether Ross can stay for dinner, whether he likes garlic bread, and whether he's ever been inside a real castle in England. I answer every question and smile in the right places, and I don't let either of them see my hands shake as I clear the plates.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Ross

Itell the London office that the New York office expansion needs closer attention than anyone anticipated, and I tell New York that I'll be working remotely from the West Coast for several weeks. Both statements are true enough to survive scrutiny. My assistant moves meetings, compresses calls into early mornings, and books me a suite on Nob Hill without asking why, which is one of the reasons I pay her as well as I do.

When Sebastian calls to ask why I keep turning up in California, I tell him I'm looking at a private investment. He accepts it without question, but I ‘m aware he has his suspicions that it’s something else. However, the ease with which he believes me stays with me for the rest of the day.

What I learn in the first two weeks is that grand gestures are useless here. Wells and Miles don't care what I can buy or arrange. They care whether I show up when I say I will, so I show up. I come for dinner on Tuesdays and Thursdays and eat whatever Blaire puts on the table, including a vegetable lasagna that Miles describes as a crime. I spend Saturday mornings at the park, where Miles runs me in circles around the soccer field until my lungs remind me that I'm no longer twenty-five.