The Summer of Sunshine and Margot Read online

  Chapter Eight

  Declan found himself eager to get home. Sunshine’s text around eleven had made him chuckle. We have ants! Connor would be thrilled and knowing his son was happy made him happy, as well.

  He didn’t have to go out to the Malibu job site, so he was able to leave work at five and be home by five-thirty. He walked in from the garage and called out that he was back. Connor came running and flung his arms around Declan’s waist.

  “Daddy, Daddy, they’re here! Sunshine waited for them to arrive and kept them safe until I got home. We moved them into the ant farm and they’re really happy. Come see! Come see!”

  Declan allowed his son to drag him into his room where the ant farm sat on his desk.

  “Sunshine says I should wait at least a month before getting a second one. That I have to prove I can take care of them and that I don’t lose interest.”

  “Those are excellent points,” Declan said, not bothering to mention that there wasn’t actually much to do when it came to the ant farm. Making sure Connor wanted to pursue his ant farm dreams was the main thing.

  “Sunshine is really smart.”

  “She is.”

  And gorgeous and sexy as hell and the stuff sexual dreams were made of, none of which he would ever say and probably shouldn’t think.

  “I’m going to get changed, then let’s check out what’s for dinner.”

  “Okay, Dad. I’m going to watch my ants.”

  Declan kissed the top of his son’s head before going into the master and changing into jeans and a T-shirt. He collected Connor on his way to the kitchen.

  “We’re having barbecue chicken tonight,” Connor said. “And pasta salad. I helped with that. It was fun.” He wrinkled his nose. “And roasted vegetables. Sunshine said the barbecue makes them better tasting but I don’t know if that’s true.”

  Declan saw the table was already set and Sunshine was indeed outside, at the barbecue. She already had a large platter of cooked chicken beside her, along with a few pieces of raw chicken. Apparently she’d been at the grill for a while.

  “I’m going to check on Sunshine,” he said. “Do you want—”

  “I’m going back to my ants!” Connor yelled as he skipped down the hall.

  Declan pulled a couple of beers out of the refrigerator before heading outside. Sunshine smiled when she saw him.

  “Hi. How was your day?”

  “Good.” He handed her a beer. “You do realize barbecuing is man’s work.”

  “I’m breaking down barriers left and right.”

  He nodded at the impressive pile of cooked chicken. “I’m not sure we’re that hungry.”

  “I’ll freeze it.”

  “That or you’ll need to invite the neighborhood.” He glanced toward the house. “Connor’s very excited about the ants.”

  “I know. The transfer went very smoothly. I think the ant farm is going to be good for him.”

  “I agree.”

  It was something positive for Connor to focus on after the last few difficult months.

  Sunshine motioned to the plate of cooked chicken. “Would you please take that inside for me? I’ll put them away when they cool off. Dinner’s going to be ready in about twenty minutes.”

  “You want me to barbecue for you?”

  “What is it about men and outdoor cooking?”

  “It’s very primal.”

  “Apparently. Really, I can handle this. Go unwind from your day. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He carried the chicken inside and left it on the counter, then walked into the living room. The furniture was exactly the same as it had been since he and Iris had bought the house. Almost every room was. The only thing he’d changed had been the master bedroom. After she’d died, he’d hired a decorator to completely redo the room. A piss-poor way to try to exorcise ghosts, but it was the only thing he could think of to do.

  Connor was doing better, he reminded himself. That was something. Time was helping him heal but he thought a lot of his improvement was due to Sunshine. She and Connor clicked and it was good to hear his son laughing again. Neither of them had laughed for a long time.

  He knew he was still battling anger. Declan had been angry for so long, he wasn’t sure who he would be if he let it go. He’d carried his rage around for months before Iris had told him she was sick. He’d had to pretend everything was fine for Connor’s sake, but it hadn’t been.

  Even now he wondered if he should have left her. Would that have been better—a clean break? A divorce? Only what about Connor? There would have been the double blow. No, staying, however hellish, had been the right decision. Their son hadn’t known Declan had slept on his home office sofa for months before Iris’s diagnosis. He hadn’t known his parents’ marriage had been shattered to the point that it could never be repaired. At least as far as Declan knew. He’d never had the opportunity to make a decision one way or the other.

  Maybe that was what pissed him off the most. There’d been no choice, no opportunity to talk about it, to work it out. Because right when he’d thought he might be willing to try, she’d told him she was dying. That the cancer she’d kept from him, the cancer that she’d assumed could be easily treated, had taken a turn and now she had less than a couple of months to live. A couple of months that had turned out to be three weeks. There had been only shock and disbelief and then she’d been gone.

  Declan looked out the window, but saw instead the ridiculously sunny day of Iris’s funeral. He’d been numb from shock, aware that while he would have to process his feelings at some point, all that mattered was Connor. Getting his son through his grief. His parents had moved in to help, he’d found a therapist for his son and had taken a couple of weeks off to start the transition.

  All these months later, Connor was healing. Declan had no idea where he was on his own journey, but wasn’t sure that mattered. Iris was gone and he honestly didn’t know if he was sad about that or still angry or just plain exhausted by the whole thing.

  * * *

  “You don’t have to help me clean up,” Sunshine said as Declan carried dishes to the counter.

  “I don’t mind. You did all the cooking.”

  She laughed. “I always do all the cooking. It’s part of my job description.”

  Within a day or two of his hiring her, she’d said she was happy to cook dinner every night but her days off. Declan had been relieved and had immediately increased her salary to reflect the new responsibilities.

  “Is the cleaning service working out?” he asked. “Is once a week enough?”

  “You and your son are surprisingly tidy, so yes. Once a week is fine.”

  “Let me know if you want them more often.”

  “I will.”

  While she rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, he wiped down the counters. They both finished at the same time. Declan picked up the bottle of wine.

  “Another glass?”

  She hesitated a second before nodding. “Sure. Thank you.”

  They sat on the bar stools at the island. He was careful to keep his distance. While he might find Sunshine the stuff of fantasies, he would never say or do anything to make her uncomfortable. She was great with his son and he didn’t want to risk losing her.

  “I’m glad the ant farm is a hit,” she said.

  “Me, too. He was so quiet after his mom died. It’s good to hear him laughing and see him interested in things again.”

  “I’m sure it is. He’s healing, Declan. I can see it happening in the few short weeks I’ve been here.”

  “Does he talk about his mom with you?”

  “Sometimes. I know he misses her. When he seems sad, I ask him to tell me about her.” She smiled. “He has some great memories. He’s old enough that they should stay w
ith him for the rest of his life.”

  “I hope so.”

  She picked up her wine, then put it down. “At the risk of going places I shouldn’t, are you laughing much these days?”

  “More than I was.” An honest answer that avoided his ambivalence.

  “Are you seeing anyone?”

  He drew back so quickly, he nearly fell off his chair. “Are you asking if I’m dating?” He had to clear his throat and consciously lower his voice. “As in...dating?”

  Her mouth twitched as if she were trying to hide a smile. “Yes, that was the question.”

  “It’s only been five months. That’s way too soon.” Dating? He couldn’t imagine it. How would that happen? Where would he meet someone and why would he want to?

  “Okay, just checking. My point was going to be you might want to talk to Connor’s therapist before introducing him to a new woman in your life. Maybe get some pointers on the best way to do it. I’m great with a barbecue and I can do a killer spelling test study session but I have zero experience with the loss of a parent in these circumstances.”

  Which meant she had some experience with the loss of a parent, he reasoned. Probably a topic he should follow up on, only he couldn’t get the dating question out of his mind.

  “Are you seeing someone?” he asked, then held up a hand. “Sorry. Not an appropriate question.”

  “Why not? Declan, I live in your house and cook your meals and do your laundry. I think it’s okay for us to be friends.”

  “I’m not clear on the nanny rules.” Except for the one that said he should in no way think she was hot.

  “They’re not very complicated. Mine is mostly that you should be a good dad. You’re doing that one.”

  “You probably want the check to clear, as well.”

  She laughed. “Okay, yes. So those two.” She drew in a breath. “I’m not seeing anyone. Things ended with my last boyfriend a few months ago and since then, I’ve been trying to do things differently.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She looked at him. “I’m trying not to be dumb when it comes to men. I want to be less impulsive, more thoughtful. I want something real.”

  “Like falling in love?”

  “More than that. Falling in love with someone who sees us having a future together. I want a guy who respects me as a person and doesn’t just see me as a piece of ass.” She winced. “Sorry. Saying that would be an example of my impulsive side.”

  He was too busy feeling guilty about his sexual feelings toward her to be bothered. “No apologies required. You’re saying you want it to be...”

  “Not about sex for once.”

  “I miss sex.”

  Declan had not intended to say that out loud. He was only supposed to think it. Horror swept through him as he frantically tried to figure out a way to call it back or unsay it or apologize.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “That was not what I meant.”

  Sunshine turned toward him, her eyes bright with laughter. “It’s okay,” she told him, her voice kind and a little amused. “I totally get it. You’re saying it’s too soon to get involved, but getting laid wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

  “God, that sounds terrible, but yes.”

  “It sounds real and honest. You know, you can have sex without a relationship.”

  He stared at her. “Are you suggesting I hire a hooker?”

  She burst out laughing. “No. You don’t seem the type. I’m saying there are plenty of women who want a weekend fling with no attachments.”

  “Where?”

  “Everywhere.”

  “Not in my world.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “I would be. Genuinely.” He knew she wasn’t one of them. Sunshine wanted more. “To be honest, I’m not sure that’s my thing. I always preferred a relationship to go with my sex. Even in college, I wasn’t that guy.”

  Her expression turned wistful. “That’s really nice to hear. I like that there are good guys out there.”

  “Yes, and most of us aren’t getting any.”

  She laughed again. “Try being open to the possibility.”

  “I think I’ll just suffer instead. But what about what you want? You should be able to find anyone you want.”

  “It’s not as easy as you’d think.”

  That couldn’t be true. Not that he could discuss it with her. He’d already said too much. Later he would mull over the depressing fact that she hadn’t so much as hinted that she found him to be the kind of man she would want to sleep with. Not that he was, or she would or any of that. Dear God, what was wrong with him?

  “I hope we both get what we want,” he said, struggling frantically for a way to gracefully change the topic.

  She raised her glass. “Me, too. Whatever that turns out to be.”

  * * *

  Bianca’s bedroom was an architectural marvel. This was the first time Margot had been inside and she couldn’t stop staring at the beautiful windows and the wood carvings around the doors. The ceiling was domed, the doorway to the bathroom arched and the combination of old world and modern blended seamlessly. If the main upstairs guest room was this nice, what must the master bedroom be like? Margot had to admit she had her first serious crush on a house.

  She forced her attention back to the matter at hand—having Wesley over for cocktails that evening. Margot was very curious about the man who had won Bianca’s heart. She had, of course, done her research on him and could easily do five minutes on his history and accomplishments, but that wasn’t the same as meeting the man in person. Who was he? What qualities and characteristics had made Bianca fall in love with him and be so willing to change to fit into his world? She had high hopes that tonight many of her questions would be answered, but first they had to choose a wardrobe.

  Margot pulled her attention away from the carved four-poster bed and the antique dresser to the woman she was working with. Bianca wore an oversize shirt tied at the waist, and leggings. On anyone else, the outfit was ordinary, even sloppy. But on her petite frame, with her gorgeous face and air of sensual grace, it was stunning in its simplicity.

  Margot smiled. “This room suits you. All the drama and elegance are the perfect backdrop.”

  “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Thank you. I like the room a lot. I’d change it if it was mine, of course, but Alec likes things to be traditional.”

  A quality Margot appreciated, not that she would say that to Bianca. It was important never to be seen taking sides.

  Margot motioned toward the closet. “Shall we?”

  “I really don’t need your help picking out a dress for drinks at home,” Bianca grumbled, even as she led the way.

  “It isn’t drinks at home,” Margot reminded her. “It’s drinks with a diplomat and a few friends.”

  “Same difference.”

  Bianca sounded like a pouty fourteen-year-old, which was probably the point. Bianca was interested in her lessons and remembered Cardiganian history easily, but there was always an undercurrent of defiance. As if she were going to start spray-painting the walls at any second. Or maybe Margot was just projecting. She’d been told Bianca was a certain way, had read about her antics and now she was looking for rebellion. Maybe Bianca had already changed and there was nothing to worry about.

  They moved into a large walk-in closet. Dozens, or maybe hundreds, of dresses, long and short, filled one wall. Blouses, jeans and pants filled another. There were shelves overflowing with folded sweaters, racks and racks of shoes and handbags. Small handbags, totes, bucket bags and boxes with pictures showing elegant evening bags.

  “Wow,” Margot said, turning in a circle. “I’m speechless.”

  “I love clothes.”

  “And you look good in them. It’s overwhelming but
in a happy way. All right, what would you like to wear tonight?”

  Bianca walked over to the wall of dresses and flipped through them. She pulled out three. One was a black bandage dress that dipped low in the front and, based on the thick elastic fabric, would fit as tight as plastic wrap. The second, also black, was a tiny slip dress with spaghetti straps. The third one was see-through black lace.

  “All right,” Margot said, looking at them then turning to her client. “What is the message you’re trying to send tonight?”

  “I have no idea what that means.”

  “It might help to think about events with Wesley as more than simply a social evening. What you’d wear to dinner in Malibu isn’t the same thing you’d wear to a formal reception for a visiting dignitary. For our purposes, tonight is a cocktail reception. You’re Wesley’s fiancée. Based on the fact that we’re pretending this is for his work, then he’s representing his country. You’re with him as the woman in his life, so in a way, you’re doing the same. What message do you want to send to other guests?”

  “Oh, I see what you’re saying. What message?” Bianca thought for a second, then grinned. “That I have a rockin’ hot bod.”

  Margot pressed her lips together. “While that’s true, I’m not sure it’s helpful to Wesley.”

  “Sure it is. If he can get the girl with the rockin’ hot bod, he has power.”

  “Doesn’t he have power anyway? And if this is a Wesley event, perhaps the attention shouldn’t all be on you.”

  “But I like all the attention. It’s who I am.”

  Margot wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she kept quiet. Bianca looked back at the dresses she’d chosen.

  “You want something more boring.”

  “I want something beautiful and appropriate. When it’s just you and Wesley, wear what you’d like, but when it’s for business, dress for the occasion. You’ll still have a rockin’ hot bod—but the image you present will be slightly more subtle. Think of this as a performance. You wouldn’t wear spandex to play Lady Macbeth.”