Where the Lotus Flowers Grow (34 page)

I covered a spot she missed, wondering if I heard her right. “Units of measure?”

“It’s a small thing, but there are a lot of little things like that. They add up. It’s hard being an immigrant.”

“You’re having a tough time with units of measure?” I was relieved. Because this…this I could help her with.

“Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not, Mary. I get it. If anyone gets it, I do. Why didn’t you talk to me about it? I was an immigrant myself, remember?”

She smiled. “I forgot. What was the hardest thing for you when you came here from London?”

“The date. It still is. Sometimes I still write the day first.”

“I haven’t done it much, but I got it wrong when I signed the bank papers.”

“It’ll take a while. Don’t even get me started on ‘Celsius’ and ‘Fahrenheit.’”

She laughed. “Oh, my God, so true. Every day when I hear the weather, I get so excited thinking it’s going to be thirty degrees. Then I remember that means slickers and coats and gloves here.”

“Exactly. Once in a great while it happens to me, too. You’ll get used to it. What else are you having trouble with, Mary?”

“The prices. I do the exchange rate in my head. I calculate it twice, usually. I can’t believe how much things cost.”

I wanted to tell her not to worry, but the words would be meaningless. “I understand.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Liam, I’m adjusting. There are things I love, too. I love Central Park and the subway and how the stores are decorated for Christmas.”

“I think you’re the first person to ever utter affection for the subway.”

“I haven’t had the courage to attempt it on my own yet. I’m not really sure how to navigate it.”

“There’s an app. I’ll download it on your phone. You just type in where you want to go and it sets the route for you, station to station. Although, I can’t comprehend why you’d choose the subway when you have a car and driver at your disposal.”

“I don’t either, but sometimes I want to.”

“We need to talk about stuff like this more.”

“I agree.”

We weren’t exactly professional. We had a few drips. I used a fine paintbrush to cut the corners. When it was done, we sat on the floor against the door and admired our handiwork, a bottle of chilled white wine between us. We didn’t even bother with glasses.

“Why did you want to paint the room?” she asked, passing me the bottle.

I took a long swig. “Because that hole would continue to cause you anxiety. I don’t want anything in our bedroom to bother you. This is the room where we sleep and dream and make love. It’s our sanctuary, yeah?”

“Yes. It’s a really nice color, don’t you think? It reminds me of Goa.”

“Me, too.”

“You haven’t painted since we got here, Liam.”

“Were you not here? I just painted a whole bloody room.”

She laughed. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” My fingers twitched thinking about it. “Are you upset with me about the shelter still?”

Mary crawled onto my lap. I put my arms around her, inhaling her spicy vanilla scent mixed with the tang of fresh paint.

“Liam, I love you, but you can’t be my entire life.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to be.”

She hugged me. “I even love you for saying that. But I have to have something of my own here. You told me to find my place. That’s what I’m trying to do.”

I kissed her head. “Don’t stay any later than six.”

She tilted her head. “What are you doing?”

“Compromising.”

She smiled, the excitement back in her face. “Okay. No later than six. I promise.”

“Have Anderson take you every day.”

She shook her head. “I can’t take a limousine to a homeless shelter, Liam.”

“Baby, don’t you care about Anderson? He has a family to support. You’re going to make his position redundant.”

“I talk to Anderson, Liam. I happen to know he usually drives you because you like to make calls and reply to emails during your commute. So in a sense, me utilizing Anderson and you driving yourself is a waste of resources.”

Damn, this girl was a sharp negotiator.

“Fine. But you’ll take a cab. Don’t take the subway there. Every night, I’ll pick you up.”

“I agree to those terms.”

I held up the bottle of wine. “Here’s to a successful negotiation.”

Mary

I had bargained for his surprise. I also prepared for his dismissal. Instead, he grinned in that boyish way of his. He walked around the easel and supplies I’d set up. I’d covered the floor with the drop cloths we’d used when painting the bedroom. I hesitated on the purchase, worried the artist inside him had gone back into hibernation. He touched every tube of paint, his eyes glinting brighter as he handled each one.

“I found this small art supply store. I don’t know if I purchased the right materials.”

He threw off his suit jacket. “I’ll make it work.” He undid his cufflinks. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. What are you going to paint?”

“My favorite subject.” He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his crisp white shirt. He stripped down to his boxers.

“Why are you stripping?”

He stared at me, a hunger in his eyes that robbed me of all senses. “I’m not going to risk getting paint on anything. I can be very messy, Mary.”

He lifted my blouse and then reached behind me to unclasp my bra. My skirt followed.

“Leave your knickers on.”

He moved a chair to the middle of the room, his excitement growing. “Sit here, lass.”

“Like this?” I asked, sitting very straight.

He undid the clip in my hair. “Bring your feet up. I’ve seen you sit that way before. It’s comfortable for you, yeah?”

I nodded and did as he asked.

“You look beautiful, Mary.” His lips grazed mine.

He went to the easel. I remained as still as possible for as long as possible. I snuck glances at him in my peripheral. He was definitely in his element, the passion evident on his face. I wasn’t tracking the time, but the dim sky had turned dark, and I couldn’t maintain my position any longer. “I need a break, Liam.”

“Right.”

He came over to me. He massaged my legs and stretched them. “You’re very tense. I should have noticed. Sometimes I get carried away.”

“I’m fine.”

He steadied me as I stretched. “Want to see it?”

“Yes.”

He’d done me in a black background with shimmering gold light around me. I marveled at the way he captured little details, like the white half-moon tips of my fingernails. He put his arm around my waist. He had paint splatters all over his chest. “I love it.”

“Thank you.”

“You
are
messy.”

He took the brush, dipped it in a dollop of bottled green, and painted on my stomach. I looked down at the smiley face he drew. “Now we match.”

“Not quite.” I took the brush from him and tried to make a heart on his arm, but it looked more like a weird circle.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that, Miss Costa.” He tickled me so hard I fell to the ground. He moved on top of me. We rolled around, knocking into the table. The paint tray fell on us. Paint dripped down his back and across my side. He traced the line of my hip with citrus orange. I painted his back in an earthy red. Paint was everywhere. In our hair, on our bodies, and flowing onto the hardwood floor like lava. It would take forever to clean up, but for once, I wasn’t paying attention to the mess. I was so deliriously happy, I wanted to splash color on everything.

“Liam?”

“Yes, my love.”

I swirled all the colors with my fingertip. Then I took his left hand and drew a solid circle around the base of his ring finger.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m telling you it’s okay.”

“Okay?”

“You can ask me to marry you.”

He smiled a huge smile. I traced the crease on the side of his face with dark purple. He kissed my forehead. He held me close, our bodies slick with paint. “Thank you, love. I know how much you miss home.”

“You’re my home, Liam.”

Liam

I wanted to fly out to California for the long weekend and propose at the Wilshire Pacific, but Mary was intrigued with the idea of Thanksgiving. She asked if we could have people over.

I had to admit, she’d managed to make closer friendships in two months than I had in all my years in the States. She had been animated when she talked about menus and guest lists and table centerpieces. And a bunch of other stuff my masculine tendencies precluded me from understanding. Regardless, I couldn’t deny her. Then she’d asked in a tentative whisper if we could invite Stephen. I didn’t know who was more shocked when I had agreed.

“What can I do?” I asked, putting my arms around her as she stirred a pot.

“Not distract me.”

I kissed her neck. “That might be difficult.”

She closed the lid and went to the opposite counter to peel potatoes. “Will you cut the onions? They always make me cry.”

“I can do that.”

I heard something roll onto the floor. I bent to pick it up. She turned around, her hands clapped against her mouth.

“Yes, Liam!”

“Yes what?” I realized the position I was in and what she thought. Shit. “You dropped this,” I said, handing her the potato.

Disappointment coursed through her face.

I arched my brow, trying and failing to hide my smile. “Thought I was proposing, did you?”

“Maybe,” she said, turning back around.

I spun her toward me. “I plan something much more romantic than kneeling on the kitchen floor while you’re peeling potatoes.”

“You don’t have to be romantic.”

“Yes, I do, Mary. You deserve it.”

We finished preparing the meal and getting ready just as our first guests arrived.

The Seville sisters were interesting. They brought Bubble and Squeak, which I never really enjoyed. For whatever reason, this made Mary giggle like a school girl.

“He is British, and it was the only British thing I could make,” one of them said.

Then the older one winked at me and commented what lovely cheeks I had. Cheeks she wouldn’t mind pinching. I had a feeling she wasn’t talking about my face.

Clawson, whose daughters weren’t coming home this year, came next, bringing some kind of pork stuffing.

“Hello, mate,” I said, taking the casserole dish from him.

“Mr. Montgomery, thanks for the invite.”

“It’s Liam. Call me Liam.”

“Okay, as long as you call me Clawson.”

I stopped in my tracks. “That is what I call you.”

“So it won’t be an issue then.”

Stephen came next, carrying a bottle of wine and a weary expression. “You sure about this, Liam?”

“No, but what the hell? You’re here.” I held up the bottle. “And you brought good wine.” I lowered my voice so Mary couldn’t hear me, but the warning was unmistakable. “Behave yourself. This is a big deal to Mary. She’s been working all day.”

“Behaving is not a problem, bro. But let me ask you something.”

“What?”

“What the hell kind of cheap bastard are you? You didn’t cater? Everyone this side of the Hudson caters.”

I cracked up, because I did sound like a cheap bastard. “I suggested it. Mary insisted on doing it all herself. Just so you know, she’s never made a turkey.”

“You think she’ll botch it up?”

“I have no idea, but no matter what, you’re going to eat everything on your plate and tell her it’s the best damn bird you’ve ever had, yeah?”

“Got it.”

Stephen strolled over to the painting in the living room. I had done it last week, and it was the only one that was appropriate for public display of any kind. There was no way anyone was going to see the nudes except for me. In this one, she wore my blue oxford shirt and a pair of fuzzy white socks.

“You’re painting again?”

“I am.”

“I’m glad, Liam. You have a talent.”

I would have treated a compliment from Stephen with suspicion if not for the sincerity of his delivery.

Mary wore an emerald green dress with a deep v-line. Her long hair cascaded in soft waves. The bracelet gleamed against her wrist. God, she was gorgeous. I debated kicking everyone out, sliding all the dishes off the dining room table, and having my way with her.

“Hello, Stephen,” she said, holding out her hand.

Stephen kissed her cheek instead. I strained not to break my wine glass. “Looking good, Costa. You went shopping.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Find any lamb coats?”

She laughed. “Not yet.”

“Well, I hope you bought an evening dress, too. There’s a pretty big party next week.”

Shite.

I let out an aggravated sigh directed at my brother. “I told you, Stephen, I have no interest in going.”

“I don’t want to go, either,” he said.

“Then why are we discussing it?”

“Potential investors will be there, and we’re taking the company public, so it’s an important event for us. Besides, it’s for charity.”

“What charity?” Mary asked.

I sighed. “My stepmother throws an annual charity ball to support protecting endangered species. We don’t have to go.”

She looked worried. I wanted to hit Stephen in the back of the head for bringing it up when she was already stressed.

“Is it important for you to attend?” she asked.

“It’s a matter of opinion,” I said.

“No one wants to go. I think we’ve all established that,” Stephen said. “But we need to go. Our biggest clients and future investors will be in attendance. My mother’s friends aren’t exactly worthwhile people, but they are influential, and we need their backing.”

“Then we’ll go,” she said, offering me a hesitant smile.

I nodded at Stephen. He was right. “Okay, we’ll go.” I clapped my hands. “Let’s get this dinner party going. Are Chet and Tony coming?”

“Not until later. They’ll be here for dessert.”

“Then let’s eat.”

Thank goodness for the Seville sisters, because they could definitely entertain.

“My Charlie is constantly licking my face. I have to tell him no,” Dorothy said.

“I don’t mind it,” Lucille countered. “If only I could get him to stop biting.”