The Maxwell Sisters (10 page)

In her haste to move away from Adonis, Eve entered the dining room rather speedily and took a chair between her sister and mother so that he wouldn't be able to sit next to her. Had she had her head screwed on straight, she probably would have picked the seat next to Phoebe rather than Tash, who seemed hell-bent on giving her the silent treatment. Her elder sister stared steadfastly at her plate, refusing to utter a word or even look at her.

Well, two can play at that game.

She turned to her mother, who was busy cutting the moussaka into individual portions. She had already served a piece to Phoebe and Spider and was now holding out her hand for Eve's plate. Eve picked it up and passed it to her.

With knife and spatula poised, Anita asked, ‘How much would you like, Eve?'

‘Not much,' she said quietly. ‘Just a little piece, please.'

‘This much?' Anita poised the knife to cut a piece that was much too big.

‘No.' Eve shook her head.

‘This much?'

‘No, still too much.'

She moved the knife further back. ‘And now?'

‘Er … yes, that's good.'

Anita huffed. ‘You can't possibly only want that much.'

‘I'm not that hungry.'

‘Why not? You've hardly eaten anything all day.'

‘Yes, I have. I had heaps of nibbles in the sitting room just now.'

‘Really? I didn't see you.' Her mother frowned. ‘Not to worry. I'll just give you a bit extra.'

She returned the knife to the original piece she had been about to cut, sliced it and transferred it to her plate. With a sigh, Eve accepted her giant piece of moussaka and placed her plate down in front of her.

‘Bread?' She looked up to find Adonis, sitting across the table from her, holding out the bread basket, his eyes twinkling in amusement. How stupid of her to avoid sitting next to him, when being face to face was much more deadly. In any case, she didn't know why he was taking such an annoying interest in what she was doing. She liked staying under the radar and he was totally ruining that for her. Still recovering from events earlier that evening, her nerves couldn't sustain more embarrassment. Couldn't he just leave her alone?

‘No, thank you,' she said firmly.

‘Are you sure?' His eyes danced even more wickedly.

‘Yes,' she hissed and averted her gaze to watch her mother, who had started to serve Patricia and Graeme.

‘Here,' Tash spoke quietly to her, ‘I don't want much either.'

While their mother was distracted, Tash cut Eve's piece evenly in two and transferred one half to her own plate.

‘Quick, get some salad,' her sister whispered but Eve already knew the drill. How many times had they done this as teenagers?

They covered half their plate in leaves to disguise the actual size of their slices. By this stage, their mother had worked her way around the table and had just finished serving a slice to Heath.

‘Natasha?' She held out her hand for her plate.

‘You've already served me, Mum.'

Anita frowned. ‘Have I?'

‘Yes, see.'

‘So I have.' She rested the spatula and sat down.

Eve and Tash exchanged a look.

‘Thanks,' Eve whispered.

‘No problem,' Tash said back with a slight smile.

A wave of nostalgia squeezed Eve's heart. In horror, she realised she was starting to tear up.
For goodness sake, Eve. Pull yourself together.

She blinked rapidly and looked at her hands.

‘Adam,' she heard her mother say, ‘will you pass me the bread?'

‘Sure.' The bread basket came over again and to her dismay Anita extracted two rolls, put one down on her plate and one on Eve's.

‘Thank you.' Her mother nodded decisively and Adam pulled the bread back to himself, grinning mischievously as though he had personally orchestrated her downfall.

Eve couldn't help it, she laughed at the hopelessness of it all.

‘Lovely,' he said appreciatively.

‘Did you say something, Adam?' Anita looked up.

‘I said it smells lovely.' Adam took knife and fork to his meal. ‘You're a very good cook.'

‘Eve is much better,' Anita smiled. ‘She's a top chef in a restaurant in Perth, you know. What's it called again, darling?'

‘Margareta's,' Eve responded quietly.

‘That's right. Eve can cook anything and make it taste sensational. She's always had a knack with food.'

Eve felt heat crawl up her neck and wished her mother would move along to the next topic of conversation.

Luckily, Patricia decided to enter the fray at this stage. ‘Yes, well, Spider has been trying for months now to get Eve onto his cooking show as a guest presenter.'

‘I'm afraid,' Eve tried to stem the conversation herself now, ‘that it's just not my thing.'

‘But it would give you so much exposure, my dear.'

Exactly why it's not my thing.

‘And the winery too,' Patricia addressed this comment to Anita and John.

‘I don't think Tawny Brooks needs more publicity,' Anita responded. ‘It's well known enough. Besides, children should be left to follow their own path.'

‘Oh, I completely agree,' Patricia nodded but then went on to say, ‘Spider, however, has absolutely thrived in front of the camera. His cooking is so exotic now from all the tips he's picked up trying to be different. Isn't that true, dear?'

‘Cooking for TV has certainly been a very steep learning curve,' Spider acknowledged her point.

‘Phoebe,' Patricia patted her future daughter-in-law's hand and said with a pointed look at John Maxwell, ‘you are very lucky to be getting your own live-in Masterchef when you marry my son. Very lucky indeed.'

Surprisingly, this time her father did not interject and Phoebe began to gush, ‘Oh I know, I –'

She was cut off, however, by a snort from her mother's direction. Phoebe's gaze shot to Anita, who said, while vigorously cutting her moussaka into smaller bits, ‘Phoebe is quite a catch herself as a schoolteacher, you know. She'll make an excellent mother. She's absolutely brilliant with children.'

‘Yes, but to be a stay-at-home mum, you need a man with a solid job and a good income.'

‘Phoebe,' Anita squeezed her daughter's name out through lips that had pressed themselves together far too strongly, ‘is a very independent woman who is passionate about her career. I'm sure she will find a way to do both.'

Phoebe opened her mouth to say something but Patricia got in first.

‘Of course, Phoebe has ambition. But it's all about stamina, isn't it? Sometimes it's just easier to let one's partner do all the hard work.'

‘O-h.' The word was pronounced so exaggeratedly as to make Anita's open mouth of surprise look rather grotesque.

Eve cringed.

Her father slapped his knee, chuckling in enormous enjoyment of the exchange as Anita began to turn a rather alarming shade of purple.

‘Phoebe is not afraid of hard work.'

‘Er … Mum –' Phoebe tried desperately to interrupt.

‘She is extremely diligent with her lesson preparation after school and sinks many long hours into that. After all, she handles a classroom of thirty children daily.'

‘Spider reaches a national audience daily.'

‘Phoebe shapes young lives.'

‘Spider shares recipes with the world.'

‘Phoebe works late every night.'

‘Spider never sleeps.'

‘
Phoebe
–'

‘Phoebe …' Anita's youngest daughter startled the group by rising abruptly to her feet. ‘Phoebe,' she smiled, raising her glass, ‘would like to make a toast.'

In relief, Eve grabbed her glass that was filled with her father's shiraz. Intense, ripe and youthful, it was the only red her mother served with moussaka as it enhanced its spicy taste.

‘To family,' Phoebe raised her glass. ‘Both our families, coming together,
warmly
.'

Her father chuckled again.

She fixed him with a glare before continuing, ‘And openly to help celebrate our marriage.'

‘Cheers!' Everyone clinked glasses.

Eve refused to make eye contact with Adonis as he clinked hers.

Phoebe sat down again as the gathering finally settled into neutral small talk. Graeme questioned John about the process of vintage and how it was all done. Her father explained how harvest was conducted in short intense bursts where they fully picked one grape variety and processed it immediately.

Phoebe and Tash both contributed and she would have thought Adonis would as well, being the winemaker and all, but he steered completely clear of it. Focusing, unfortunately, all his attention on her.

‘So, do you think Spider really never sleeps?'

‘Well, of course he sleeps,' she said rather impatiently, taking another sip of her wine and not meeting his eyes.

‘How would you know?'

She felt her cheeks warm irrationally. ‘What do you mean, how would I know?'

‘Have you actually seen him sleeping?'

Chagrin gripped her.
Only once.
They'd been poring over recipe books for ideas for their restaurant till the wee hours of the morning. He'd fallen asleep on the couch and she'd covered him with a blanket. And …

‘Are you all right?'

She looked up into those deep blue eyes and nearly had to slap herself to disconnect their gazes.

‘I'm fine.' She took another gulp of shiraz and said abruptly, ‘And no, I've never seen him sleeping. Maybe you should ask Phoebe, she can clarify.'

‘I'd rather talk to you.'

She gritted her teeth and for once conveyed her annoyance, hoping he would get the message. ‘
About what?
'

He picked up his glass, sipping it and considering her as though he was trying to figure his way around a puzzling problem. ‘I'm concerned that you might have the hots for me.'

She choked on her wine, spraying some out from her mouth. ‘What?' She grabbed a napkin to dab at her lips.

‘Don't get me wrong.' He lifted his hands to reassure her. ‘I'm flattered, really.'

‘How nice for you.' She glared at him, folding her arms to allow him time to hang himself.

‘No, seriously.' He seemed to be at pains to spare her feelings. ‘I think you're great. Interesting, quirky, maybe a little weird.'

‘
Weird?
' she protested.

‘In a good way. I mean, you're not like your sisters.'

Her arms tightened and her eyes narrowed. ‘In what way?'

He was silent for a moment, watching her steadily until he seemed to miraculously hit upon the answer. ‘You seem to be incredibly easy to annoy.'

She gasped, dropping her arms. ‘
That's
how you're going to differentiate me from my sisters?' What happened to quieter, shyer, even ‘more retiring'? That, she could have accepted because it was the truth. ‘I am not easy to annoy.'

A soft laugh vibrated in his chest. ‘You're annoyed right now.'

‘No, I'm not.' Her brow wrinkled in irritation.

He shook his head, grinning at her. ‘What did you want me to say? That you're prettier than they are?'

Her breath hitched. ‘You think I'm pretty?'

‘I think you're beautiful.'

She blinked, slightly taken aback.

‘But,' he sighed as one passing on a cream puff, ‘you're not on my radar. Nor is any other girl in the neighbourhood. I'm here to work. So whatever you were thinking before,' he stabbed a cherry tomato with his fork and popped it in his mouth, ‘it's not going to happen. I just thought you should know, before you got your hopes up.'

Wow. This has gone on long enough.

‘O-kay.' She pronounced her words slowly, to give them time to sink into his thick conceited skull: ‘I-do-not-have-the-hots-for-you. Not even slightly. In fact, right now, I think you're a narcissistic, arrogant pig.'

‘Really?' He seemed genuinely surprised. ‘So then why have you been sending me signals all evening?'

She was horrified. ‘I have not been sending you any signals.'

‘You were staring at me before.'

‘In your dreams,' she hissed.

‘And you did try to sit in my lap.'

‘That,' she put her glass down heavily, ‘was an accident!'

‘And you did that whole weird thing when we first met, where you tried to bump into me on purpose.'

‘You know,' she coughed as she felt blood rushing to her face, ‘you have some imagination.'

‘Do I?' He seemed genuinely contrite. ‘Sorry, I didn't mean to jump to conclusions.'

‘Good,' she said shortly, determined to end the subject. ‘Apology accepted.' She picked up her fork and glanced down the table to see if she could engage someone else in conversation. Unfortunately, everyone seemed absorbed. Even her mother was talking in civilised tones to Patricia about the merits of cloth napkins over paper ones at the wedding, which, surprisingly, they seemed to be in agreement over.

‘So now that we've established that you don't have the hots for me and I'm not in the market for a relationship,' Adonis addressed her again as though there had been no lull in the conversation, ‘we can now have a safe conversation unfettered by sexual tension.'

‘Lucky us,' she returned sardonically, now resigned to the fact that all her escape routes were blocked. ‘What do you mean by “safe” exactly?'

‘Well, you talk a little bit about you and I'll talk a little bit about me. And we'll just sort of get to know each other as friends.'

Friends, of course.
All men thought she'd make a good friend.

Despite her better judgement, however, she decided to go with it. After all, she was interested to know about this man who had so easily ingratiated himself into her family.