Page 38 of Say You Will

“I beg your pardon?” Spencer asks.

“I need you to go find me macadamia nuts. Coated in chocolate. Green-tea-flavored chocolate-coated macadamia nuts. I’d like them for my mid-afternoon snack. Please. Go find them, now. I’ll speak to you later privately to discuss the macadamia nuts once you’ve located them. Franki, do you have any snack requests?”

I shake my head, the motion so small it’s likely barely perceptible.

Spencer’s mouth tightens, and he lifts his chin. “Very well. I’ll return with your snack.”

Spencer leaves and Dante lifts his eyebrows in some form of silent communication with Henry. “I’m headed for a team meeting. I’ll go over the drills with you later, Franki.”

Like heck, he will.I won’t be here.

When Dante takes his coffee cup with him and heads for the front door, I turn to Henry. “Staying here isn’t going to work for me. I’m going back to the Hamptons.”

“Because of the binder? Spencer can be overly enthusiastic. I’ll talk to him.”

“It’s too uncomfortable for me to be here. Spencer obviously believes I’m going to marry you.” I shudder at the idea. Every image I had of what a business marriage with Henry would look like took a downgrade after speaking with Spencer. That’s saying something, considering my initial impression was pretty darn bad to start.

“Spencer made incorrect assumptions. I’ll clear those up when he returns. You live here. He works here. He takes direction from you, not the other way around,” Henry says.

All the practical reasons for staying remain. Anything else means an unhealthy strain on my finances, but I have my doubts this is going to work, even in the short term. “We’ll see how it goes. You and I in the same space may not be a good fit for either of us.”

Henry puts an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s give it a try. What do you say we take Oliver for his morning walk? Then we’ll come back up here and get started. I have a proposal I’d like you to translate this morning, if possible, and a phone call scheduled with Mon-sewer Mercy-er at three where I’ll need your services.”

I lower my shoulders and blow out a breath. “I’m looking forward to it.” I hesitate. “You haven’t called him Mon-sewer Mercy-er to his face, have you?”

Henry’s eyelids go heavy and his lips curl. “Why?”

“It’s pronounced ‘Monsieur Mercier.’”

“Mercy-aye,” he says, his attempt to match my accent cringeworthy.

“Closer. Mercier,” I say.

“Thank goodness you’re here. I’d be lost without you.”

eleven

Henry

One Week Later

Look After You | The Fray

Sun streams through theexpansive windows of Bronwyn’s home in Blackwater, Pennsylvania as I haul Grandma Miller’s carved oak rocking chair into the family room. I sigh aloud at the disappointing, but not wholly unexpected, sight that greets me.

Bronwyn’s husband Dean, dark hair in disarray, scruff covering his jaw, and wearing nothing but a pair of blue gym shorts, is asleep after a night curled up on a blue velvet sofafar too small for his bulk. At my deliberately noisy entrance, he opens bleary hazel eyes and glares.

I don’t take offense. The man is constantly scowling unless he’s looking at his kid or his wife.

“Henry. What are you doing here?” Dean’s usually mild Virginia accent gets stronger when he’s tired. His voice is the next thing to a disgruntled twang this morning when he sees me.

I place the heavy chair in the corner with care. It’s an antique, after all. I’m not dinging it up out of irritation simply because my brother-in-law is sleeping on the sofa instead of growing a pair and talking things out with his wife. “I’m the one who drove Bronwyn here yesterday. I spent the night at my maternal grandparents’ farm, and needed to check in this morning, because, as you know, I won’t be leaving my sister until I’m certain she’s properly cared for.”

Dean refused to bring his wife home, telling her she needed to stay with our parents until she was healed to his specifications. She decided he could kick rocks and needed an ultimatum. I fully agree.

I wasn’t happy to leave Franki in New York for this trip, but she has breakfast planned with an old friend from boarding school this morning. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours, and I already miss her.

“I’m here. You can leave,” Dean says.

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