The Perfect Woman (Rose Gold Book 2)

by Nicole French

  “You did what needed to be done,” she repeated. “So this is me doing what needs to be done for you. Nina, please hear this, from the bottom of my heart. You deserve to be happy.”

  My lower lip began to tremble, and so, before I lost things completely, I pulled my hand back and buried my face in my palms. What was happening to me? When had I become so transparent?

  Even more, when had I stopped caring?

  Since him.

  It was true. Knowing Matthew had changed everything. Even if he wasn’t the path toward that happiness, like Jane, he had come to make me believe I deserved it too.

  When that might happen, I still didn’t know. But I determined to find it somehow.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I have a lot to think about. And I promise you, I will.”

  “Thank you so much for the use of the cottage,” I told Skylar again when we were on our way back to the main house. I had considered offering to stay at a hotel, but found I actually wanted to accept the Sterlings’ hospitality. “I’ll try not to infringe on you for too long. I’m going to visit my house in Newton tomorrow, so hopefully I can be out of your hair by the end of the weekend.”

  Skylar shook her head. “It’s no trouble at all, really. I meant what I said. Stay as long as you like.”

  I shook my head, still shocked by how extraordinarily open she was. The richest people I knew didn’t like opening their homes, which were large enough that several families could live in them for days without seeing each other, for more than a day or two, even to good friends. It was hard to imagine having friends as loyal as Brandon and Skylar, Eric and Jane, and Matthew all seemed to be to each other. I was coming to realize that the relationships I’d worked so hard to maintain most of my life were nothing but mirages. I couldn’t trust any of them to be real.

  As if she read my mind, Skylar set a friendly hand on my shoulder.

  “I know it’s a complicated situation,” she said. “But you can trust us. I promise.”

  I nodded. “I can see that. Thank you.”

  “Come on,” Skylar said. “I’m not an amazing cook, but I can rustle us up some tea and a snack if you want.”

  We entered the house and rounded the corner into the kitchen, but only to discover the adjoining solarium already occupied. A laptop computer was perched on a coffee table between the two oversized armchairs, playing some sort of Disney movie on low volume. The armchairs, however, were completely full of people, all fast asleep. Brandon and Matthew were slumped into the oversized cushions, legs splayed on the ottomans. Meanwhile, Jenny was splayed over her father’s big body, and my own daughter was curled under one of Matthew’s arms.

  “What do you suppose happened here?” I murmured.

  Skylar checked her watch. “Well, I can tell you this isn’t exactly out of the ordinary for the average Saturday afternoon. Luis is still napping, which means upstairs is off-limits. My guess is the girls wanted to watch a movie but also needed a snack, so everyone crammed here…and fell asleep to Frozen.” She nodded at the screen. “I don’t know about yours, but mine is obsessed with Anna.”

  I blinked at the animated characters flitting across the small screen. I was ashamed to admit I had no idea whether or not Olivia liked this film. I honestly didn’t know anything about her current tastes.

  At any rate, I was too entranced by the sight before me to answer. Matthew’s arm was wrapped protectively around Olivia’s shoulders, and my daughter was curled up like a shell into his side, nose buried into his strong chest. Her mouth was slightly open in a deep sleep, but it was really the way one hand still clenched a bit of his shirt that made my heart squeeze. I’d never seen her hold tight to anyone like that—not any of the nannies. Certainly not Calvin. And not me—not since she was a babe.

  A small sigh escaped her lips, and Matthew stirred slightly. His eyes blinked open sleepily, then sharpened when he caught me watching. A crooked smile appeared.

  “Hey, doll,” he mouthed silently.

  I couldn’t help the blush. Or the smile.

  “Nina, do you want that tea?” Skylar asked from where she was now rustling in the kitchen, back to us.

  “Er, yes, please,” I said.

  Matthew’s eyes flickered toward her, then back to me before he stretched his other hand over the side of the chair and snagged mine. He softly pressed his lips into my palm. I shivered through a silent sigh, fighting the urge to wrap my arms around them both. What other chance would I have to hold them both together?

  My loves.

  Then Olivia stirred. I pulled my hand back. Matthew’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he kept his arm wrapped securely around my daughter and held her close until she settled once more. My heart squeezed along with them.

  From happiness. From love.

  And yes, from sorrow.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Going somewhere, doll?”

  At seven o’clock the next morning, I was unlocking the door to the Volvo, prepared to run my errands for the day. Jane had already assured me that she would watch Olivia while I was gone. The kids were only just waking up, but I wanted to get everything out of the way in one go. I only had a few more days left with my daughter before we had to bring her and the older kids to school.

  I whirled around, nearly spilling the coffee Brandon had offered all over my crisp Yves St. Laurent blouse and pencil skirt.

  “Matthew!” I cried, pressed a hand to my heart. “Oh, you scared me. What are you doing here?”

  He looked a far sight from the polished, besuited lawyer I usually remembered, instead dressed in much more average weekend fare of worn jeans and a white t-shirt, over which his necklace bearing the cross and saint’s medallion gleamed. His sleek hair was pleasantly rumpled, and he had a night’s worth of black stubble shadowing the sharp lines of his jaw as he shuffled toward me, still barefoot.

  I had seen him once before like this, when I had appeared at his house after John Carson’s death, beset with terror and need. He had answered the door in nearly the same uniform, smudged with grease and dirt after a day of working around his house. He looked, for lack of a better word, utterly common. And completely delicious.

  I had wasted no time in tackling him right there on his doorstep, and right now, in the bright morning sunlight, I wanted to do the same. Did he know how the cheap cotton clung perfectly to his biceps? Did he have any idea the way the denim perfectly outlined the long, elegant muscles of his thighs? God help me if he turned around. In jeans, the man’s backside would give any Roman statue a run for its money.

  I tightened my grip on my coffee mug, conscious that if I didn’t, I was just as likely to drop it.

  “You stayed,” I said. “I—I thought you were getting a hotel.”

  The previous night had ended with a raucous dinner in the main house with the children playing games upstairs until bedtime while I had spent most of the evening alternating between the joy of lingering around a table for hours with people I actually liked and reminding myself not to do what came most naturally when Matthew was around. We had not sat next to each other, instead wisely taking places at opposite sides of the Sterlings’ patio table. But I could feel his eyes watching me over his wineglass. And every time he passed me on his way in and out of the house, when the combination of paper, cologne, and wine would waft by, I’d have to squeeze my legs together and grip the table to keep myself from following.

  And so, once we found Olivia passed out on one of the bunkbeds in Jenny’s room, I went to bed early myself, praying that when I woke the next morning, the temptation would have vanished along with my fatiguing resistance.

  No such luck.

  Matthew shrugged as he set a hand atop my car, half caging me against it as he took a sip of my coffee. “You try convincing Skylar out of hosting her friends. Besides, the beds here are more comfortable than the Holiday Inn.”

  I might have thought it a poor excuse if I didn’t know myself now how insistent the Sterli
ngs were when it came to hospitality.

  “But you’re going to the game with Brandon today?”

  Matthew’s eyes narrowed slightly over the rim of the mug, but he nodded. “Yep. Game starts at one.”

  “No confession today?” I asked. “Or Mass tomorrow?”

  One side of that delicious mouth hooked in a half-grin. “Ah, no. Not this weekend. Why, you want to come repent with me?”

  I almost asked “For what?” But I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle the answer.

  “You’re looking awful nice for early on a Saturday, duchess,” Matthew remarked. “Where are you hurrying off to? Got a hot brunch date?”

  I snorted. “Hardly.” Was that jealousy threaded through the joke? “I’m going to run some school errands for Olivia, and then I need to meet the tenants of my property in Newton.”

  His eyes brightened. “You have a house in Newton?”

  I nodded. “Yes. I purchased it just after Olivia was born. I thought then I might go back to college, but…” I shook my head. “It, um, didn’t work out.”

  Sympathy crossed Matthew’s handsome face, but surprisingly, he didn’t press. On that, anyway. “So the house. You’re planning to live there, then?”

  “I might.” I fingered the edge of the car door, suddenly wanting to get in and escape this theory. I had wanted to leave New York for years, but when I spoke to Matthew about the possibility, it came with a stab of pain.

  “And you’re not going anywhere else this morning? Just errands and house hunting?”

  Something about his tone cut. Just slightly. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”

  I could tell he wanted to offer a quick rejoinder. Probably answer my question with another question, as he so often did. Cross-examine me until my head was spinning with irritation and confusion, until I’d tell him whatever it was he thought he wanted to hear.

  But instead, he just shook his head with a rueful smile. “Just plain curiosity, doll.”

  He glanced behind him toward the windows of the house, perhaps to check for adolescent spies of some sort. “I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart. Or tomorrow, if you’re asleep when we get back. Don’t wait up.”

  He darted a quick kiss to my cheek, then started back to the house.

  “Wait, what?” As his words sank in, I called out, bewildered, “I thought you were going back to New York after the game tonight.”

  Matthew turned back and flashed another grin. “Didn’t they tell you? It’s a Yankees-Red Sox doubleheader on Wednesday, and I’m due some vacation time. I’m staying a bit longer.” He winked. “So, I guess you’re stuck with me for a few days, doll. I’ll try not to get in your way.”

  I stood there, unable to move as he reentered, waiting for my head to stop pounding at the notion that I’d get an entire week of this torture. An entire week of Matthew and his unintentional charm offensive.

  I couldn’t decide if it made me happy or terrified.

  Likely some of both.

  It was past one by the time I finished the majority of my errands and got back to Boston, where I picked up a sandwich for lunch on my drive back into Newton. It had been a while since I’d visited Boston—ten years, in fact—but other than a few new stores here and there and a greater prevalence of Starbucks, the area hadn’t changed much. Still the same large houses lining the sloping streets toward Boston College, another area school. Still the tree-lined streets and neatly paved sidewalks only occasionally littered with children’s bikes or chalk drawings.

  When I’d originally bought a house in this neighborhood, I’d done it with children in mind. Once, I’d had the idea of sending Olivia to a public school instead of a prep school like the ones I’d attended, and Newton had some of the best in the area. I certainly hadn’t imagined sending her hours away at the tender age of five. It troubled me still to think of the day I left her in that classroom, watched as she had stood in the window, arms wrapped tightly around her waist until the large front doors of the academy had closed behind me.

  Maybe that was the reason I’d chosen Andover, a boarding school outside of Boston, instead of something closer, like Girard or Rumsey. Maybe a part of me had never completely given up on this move, leaving a clear route when I was ready to leave that life and pursue another. One where I could meaningfully be reunited with my daughter at last.

  I parked the car outside the classic colonial with the bright white shingles and Tuscan columns framing a black door. At first, it looked the same. I had originally fallen in love with its farmhouse appeal, with the yawning backyard, the willow that shaded a small creek at the far corner, and the large deck where I imagined rocking Olivia to sleep under the stars I never saw in New York. I remembered thinking it would be a cozy place to live when the New England snows hit, with its multiple fireplaces and large chef’s kitchen. I had wanted to learn to cook. Maybe even one day get married to someone I actually loved and have a real family.

  For a moment, I could see Matthew’s face peeking through the windowpanes, eager to greet me as I returned home. Quickly, I shook away that particular vision. Even if our future hadn’t been doomed, this was not the place for him. My love was a New York native, through and through, as much for his family as for his job and the home he had already bought for himself.

  Pipe dreams, all of it. Time to let them go and find a way to make my own happen without him.

  Too depressed and saddened to bother with this house, for years I had allowed Calvin to take care of it via his own property management firm. A mistake, I now knew, but one I could rectify. A simple call informed me that as of last year, they no longer managed the house, and as far as they knew, it had been vacant since the previous tenants left a few years earlier.

  My heart sank as I got out of the car. Neglect of my sweet, beautiful house was everywhere. The windows were filthy after a year without washing. The bushes and trees badly needed pruning, and the grass was overgrown and gone to seed where other parts of the yard hadn’t been completely torn out. The paint was peeling, more gray than white near the foundation, and the gutters on the left side were cracked and overfilling with debris.

  Vacant, I had expected. In minor disrepair, perhaps. But this utterly broke my heart.

  “You there! Hello?”

  I turned to find an elderly woman with tight pin curls and pale, wrinkled skin hurrying across the street toward me. Her finger was already pointed toward me, and she had that way about her I knew well—a woman of relative means who assumed her opinion was more important than most.

  “Do you know the people that live here?” she demanded as she huffed to the sidewalk where I stood.

  I frowned back at the house, baffled. “There are people who live here?”

  “Yes,” blustered the woman. “They moved in four months ago, and I have to say, they are the worst neighbors we’ve ever seen. It’s bad enough the house ended up a rental, since that damages the neighborhood enough, you know. But then it sat empty for a year, begging for vagrants and whatnot until these people moved in. And since then, it’s been nonstop. People in and out at all hours of the night. Horrid sounds, screeching cars.” She made a sound in the back of her throat that conveyed her clear disgust. “Are you here to do something about it?”

  I wanted to ask what she thought I could possibly do by myself, but instead found myself straightening to my full height of five feet, nine inches, plus the added three from my heels, and smiled.

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m the owner. And you have my word I’ll take care of the problem myself.”

  The lady nodded, but not without looking me up and down, as if to assure herself I was what I said I was. I could feel her eyes catch on my elegant Chopard watch and the demure double-strand of pearls I had put on this morning. She relaxed.

  “Good,” she said. “You see you do.”

  “Thank you,” I told her. I paused, then reached into my purse for my phone. “Might you have a phone number where I could reach you? Or perhaps
you would like mine in case you notice anything else questionable? You seem to have quite the keen eye.”

  She was eager to offer her number. Flattery goes a long way, as I’d learned from my grandmother. So did unblinking eye contact and long, unabashed silences. By the time the woman finished entering her number into my phone, she was much less inclined to be snappish.

  “I’ll be in touch,” she said, handing it back to me as I fixed her with a direct stare. “I—thank you for your attention.”

  She crossed the street and scurried back into her own house without much of another word. I turned back to my house. Well, well. This was a development. With a sudden knot of anxiety in my stomach, I walked up the path to the front door and knocked.

  For a moment, I didn’t think anyone would answer. Then footsteps sounded behind the door.

  “Who is it?”

  I stood awkwardly outside the house, keenly aware that I could be seen through the peephole. “My name is Nina de Vries,” I called out. “I own this house.”

  There was a silence. Then the door unlocked and opened, revealing a young woman with mangy, mouse-brown hair and tired-looking pale skin.

  “You is who?” she asked in a thick accent I couldn’t quite recognize, but which sounded vaguely Eastern European. Her light blue eyes were glassy and unfocused, and she wore nothing but a dirty nightdress with bare feet.

  I frowned. “Nina de Vries.” I offered my maiden name because, as I understood it, that was still on the deed. I had used it before the social security office changed my name for good. “I’m the owner.”

  Her glazed eyes drifted up and down, taking in my prim white clothes. “No, no. You is not who comes. Where is Miss Gardner?”

  I frowned. “Do you mean Mrs. Gardner? That would be me. De Vries is my maiden name.” I craned my head, trying to look over her shoulder. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

  “No, no, you is not Mrs. Gardner. She is shorter. Kate, sometimes, he calls her.”