The Winters(17)

“Max, what are you doing?”

He took a deep breath. “I emailed Laureen yesterday and offered to pay your father’s debts.”

“You what?”

“It bothered me that she was hanging it over your head. It’s criminally unfair, if not plain criminal. So I told her you’d done an exceptional job this month and asked her to put whatever amount you owed on my bill. I was going to tell you tonight, as a surprise. But now I realize I should have asked you first. I’m afraid I might have instigated this . . . this ridiculous transfer. I can’t tell you how sorry—”

“What did she say?”

“She said you wouldn’t want that.”

“And she’s right!” I threw down my bag, covered my face with my hands, and turned away from him to hide the new influx of tears. So this is why Laureen raced back. My mortification was complete. I turned to face him, my voice pitched high. “How was I to pay you back for what I owe her?”

“It’s not like that. I expect nothing from—”

“I never asked you for anything. I don’t want anything from you.”

“That’s why I did it.”

We stood there looking at each other. My chest painfully constricted. Was this what a heart attack felt like?

“Tell me something,” he said. “Where would you rather go? St. Barts or Long Island?”

“Stop.”

“It’s a serious question.”

“I can’t go to Long Island with you, Max. To do what? To live where?”

“To live at Asherley with me. With us.”

With one step he closed the space between us, glanced around, and awkwardly bent down on one knee on the hot gravel road, the sun directly above us. I told myself that what was about to happen wasn’t real, that I was imagining this, that he was stooping to pick something up off the ground.

“This isn’t how I planned to do it. I had hoped to be better dressed at least. But if this is the way it has to be . . .”

“Max, you’re being ridiculous,” I said, a smile fighting to break out across my sodden face. “You don’t have to do this—”

“Your hand, please. I can’t put a ring on it right this instant. But hear me out.”

I gave him the hand that wasn’t covering my mouth in astonishment. He cleared his throat and continued.

“You have made me a happy man these past few weeks. I wake up every morning in this phony paradise, away from friends and family, where I come to conduct the dullest, most heartless part of my business, cheered only by the fact that by nightfall I will get to see you. So I see no reason why we should not continue to be together. And I know we haven’t known each other very long. I know I’m not an easy person to love. I have a . . . complicated life, and a complicated daughter who will probably make this a little harder for you before it gets easier. But you see, fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your reply, I am falling in love with you. And I am the type that’s intent on finishing what I start. So will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

When he bent his head to kiss my hand, I gently pulled it loose before he made contact. Even in my most ludicrous fantasies, when I imagined us carrying on beyond this past month, it never involved this, a proposal, marriage, relocation, or my living, of all places, at Asherley. Even in my dreams, even as I tried to imagine myself trailing my fingers along the boxwood at the bottom of the sloping lawn, or attending glittery political functions in the great hall, or making my way down to breakfast, one hand on the carved balustrade, the other crunching sleep out of my eyes, I could not get any closer to the estate than the iron gates.

“Oh, Max. I’m so . . . Please stand up. It can’t be comfortable down there.”

Stiffly he rose, brushing gravel off his now pocked knee. “Seems I have misconstrued things. I was of the mind that you might have felt the same about me.”

“Oh, I do. I do. I am . . . falling in love with you, too. I think. No. I am. So you must know what this means to me. It’s so kind. But you can’t marry me. I don’t belong at a place like Asherley. This is the biggest house I’ve ever lived in,” I said, my thumb indicating the rundown townhouse behind me. “You need someone with more experience, with—I don’t know—glamour. I’m mangling this. Can’t we just continue like we’ve been doing, maybe talking on the phone now and again? Perhaps you can make a trip to St. Barts sometime soon to see me.”

He had a wan smile on his face. “Yes,” he said, “except for the simple fact that I want you in my life now. Don’t you think I know best who belongs at Asherley, who belongs in my life, in Dani’s life? I promise you if you’re miserable, I’ll bring you right back here, no worse for the wear.”

“What about Dani? She might want to weigh in on this.”

“Oh, she has. I’ve already told her all about you. I even sent a picture.”

“And . . . ?”

“Naturally she will need some time to get to know you, to love you like I know she will. She’s headstrong. But she’s not in charge. And believe me, bringing you home with a ring and a promise will accelerate the bonding. She needs to know you’re not just some temporary girlfriend. So I will ask the question one more time. Do you want to go to St. Barts right now, or do you want to come home to Asherley with me?”