Nikki's head swiveled, in surprise. She'd been too engrossed in her own thoughts and hadn't heard Max return. He held Alexa one arm on his hip and carried a soccer ball with his free hand. Quite a picture they made. One she wouldn't soon forget.
“She said she was tired,” Max explained.
“I'm not tired anymore, Papa,” Alexa said, squirming out of his grip. Max set his daughter down.
“I've never seen anyone use real china and silver for a picnic in the park before,” Nikki commented, unable to think of anything remotely intelligent to say. Even to herself she sounded like a died-in-the-wool ditz.
Max grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Mais oui. It's because we're French."
“I guess that explains it, then,” she replied, her natural sauciness returning. Max's easy-going attitude had thrown her for a loop. It made him seem too approachable—too sexy. She liked seeing Max relaxed. Today, he reminded her of the way he'd been the night they'd had dinner at Sally's.
“But of course, Nikki.” Renée laughed. “It's your birthday."
“And,” Max interjected, while pouring three glasses of white wine. He handed one to Renée and kept one for himself, “you're a special part of our family. Happy Birthday from all of us,” he said and handed a half glass to Nikki. “Just a tiny swallow for the birthday girl."
“Happy Birthday, Nikki,” Alexa squealed, hugging Nikki around her thighs.
Nikki accepted the glass, and uncertain what to do next, patted the top of Alexa's head in an absent-minded gesture.
With a wide, ebullient gesture, Max said, “Now, let's share this wonderful luncheon that Maman has prepared.” He sank down onto a blue-and-white plaid blanket. “Come on, I'm starving."
“Me too.” Alexa chimed, plopping down next to her father.
Renée settled gracefully beside Alexa, leaving Nikki a spot by Max. Nikki took a deep breath, and dropped to the ground, wondering what the aliens had done with the real Max Devereaux. She hoped they wouldn't reclaim the new one—for a while anyway.
~ * ~
Forty-five minutes later, Nikki, very aware she'd eaten more at the picnic than she had all week, gave a theatrical gasp. “Enough. I'll lose my job, if I eat anymore."
Max assumed a severe expression. “I assure you, Mademoiselle Nikki, that your indulgence today will not be held against you, but you must not make a habit of eating four drumsticks, three servings of pasta, a kilo of melon, and half a birthday cake."
“I did not,” she protested.
“But you did. I counted,” Max insisted, unable to control his facial expression any longer. Muscle by muscle his face betrayed him, his frown dissolving into a wide grin.
“No, Papa, I ate the drum sticks,” Alexa piped.
“No, no,” Max maintained, holding up four fingers. “I saw her. Nikki ate four drumsticks."
“Children.” Renée warned them. “Why don't you take a nice long walk, while I clear up things?"
“I'll help you,” Nikki offered.
“No, shoo-shoo, go on. Albèrt is coming back to assist me. See, there he is now."
Nikki turned her head. True enough, the limo driver had returned, just in time, carrying another cooler. It seemed to Nikki, Renée had certainly planned everything to a “tee."
Max jumped up and extended his hand to her. “You heard Maman. She's given her order. She must be obeyed."
Nikki accepted his hand with a gracious, “Thank you.” The romance novels had it right. The oft-described ‘electric current’ zapped right up her arm, left her downright breathless.
“Me too, Papa,” Alexa announced.
“Of course, ma petite,” Max offered his other hand to his daughter.
Alexa tugged on Max's left hand. “Let's go,” she prompted. “Nikki too,” Alexa insisted, grabbing Nikki's free hand, she positioned herself between them.
Nikki giggled and gave a helpless shrug. “Okay,” she agreed. At the ripe old age of five, Alexa could be quite a handful. Very determined and everything had to be now. “I don't think we have a choice."
Max nodded. “I believe the die is cast. Maman and Alexa have decreed that we shall have a walk, and so we shall."
~ * ~
Renée watched her son and Nikki being pulled along by her granddaughter. She turned to the driver. Albèrt glanced at her then at the trio, his eyebrows elevated, nearly to the line of his scalp.
“Nice little family, n'est-ce pas, Madame?"
Renée shook her head, and dropped into French. “Non, not yet, Albèrt.” Not surprised he would take interest in family affairs played out before them, since he had been with her family for twenty years. “Nikki is far too young."
“Pity, but she won't always be too young. They seem to suit, and I think she likes him too. How does Maxim feel about her?"
Renée gave an amused smile. “I'm not sure even my son knows the answer to that question."
Albèrt grew thoughtful. “Maxim has had tragedy touch him once. By nature, he is cautious in such matters."
“Hmm, well, there is plenty of time, no?” Renée remembered when Maxim had cast caution to the winds with Solange. She shook her head. “I hope he remains so. Now, you have the cooler with the ice cream. And is there plenty of ice?"
“Of course, Madame.” Albèrt gave a formal bow, still holding the cooler with both hands.
Only too aware of the heat, Renée looked closely at Albèrt's flushed face. “Forgive me, you must be roasting in that uniform. Remove your jacket and loosen your shirt collar. Sit with me here in the shade until the young ones return."
“But, Madame,” he protested.
“We'll share some of the champagne, and I'll prepare you a plate."
“But, Madame—"
“But nothing, Albèrt. There is no reason to stand on formality. It is entirely too warm.” Without waiting for any further protests or his assent, Renée busied herself, preparing his lunch.
~ * ~
Even in the shade, perspiration broke out across Maxim's forehead and the back of his neck. How much was due to the heat of the day and how much to the lovely young woman beside him?
His daughter had tired of holding his hand and now ran several feet ahead of him and Nikki “Not too far ahead,” he warned.
“She's having a fun day,” Nikki said.
Max turned to her. “This is your day. Are you having a fun day too?"
He watched a cat-licking-the-cream smile creep across Nikki's face. She glanced at him from the corners of her impossibly blue eyes.
“Yes, I'm having a fun day too."
“I'm glad.” He hesitated. There was so much he wanted to tell her, things he wanted to reassure her about, but neither did he want to spoil her day by reminding her of the rape.
They walked along, keeping an eye on Alexa.
“Uh—” Nikki started.
“Yes?"
“I wanted to apologize for the way I acted and say ‘Thank you.’”
Maxim held his breath. She was going to bring it up anyway. He finger combed his sweat-dampened hair, wishing he didn't care so strongly for the young girl beside him. “No need to apologize. You didn't do anything wrong."
Her voice dropped to a murmur. “I was stupid and reckless, and I've been a bitch the last few weeks. I don't know why Maman puts up with me. My real mother wouldn't."
Not knowing what to say, Max shrugged. “It wasn't your fault, Nikki."
“Yes, it was. I wouldn't listen to you. I thought I could take care of myself. I mean I lived on the streets, for Pete's sake. What a dumb ass I was."
“And I should have carried you out of there over my shoulder."
She chuckled at the image. “I'm a pretty big package."
Max grinned. “Tall, not big. Besides, I have to accept some responsibility for what happened to you too. I knew his reputation. I even warned him, while you were changing, told him how young you were."
Nikki stopped in her tracks and look sharply at him. “Is that why you bea
t him up? Because you felt responsible?"
“You knew?” He should have known she'd hear about it. Modeling agencies were hotbeds of gossip. His was no different.
She nodded.
Max ran his hand through his hair again, stalling. His tactic failed. His words came in a rush. “Partly, but I was so damn mad. That he would drug you and take something he had no right to have—” He clenched his fists and shook his head, unable to continue. He felt as if he'd violated some code of honor—more likely his vow of never revealing his feelings to the girl—not yet a woman—who stood before him, her eyes wide, lips parted.
“I figured you were like everyone else who said I deserved it.” Nikki ducked her head, then gazed back into his eyes. “Thank you, for not living up to my expectations."
“I-I.” The words died. His power of speech failed him. So much he wanted to say, but couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to her. No, I'm kidding myself. I'm afraid. It's not just her youth. I'm afraid of loving anyone, especially her ... not the way she needs to be loved.
“S'all right, Max, you've done enough for me. Enough to last a lifetime."
He swallowed, trying again. “You're young and you have a wonderful life ahead of you."
Nikki returned his platitude with a rueful smile and a Groucho Marx wiggle of her eyebrows. “I know. And we'll always be the best of friends."
“We will."
She shot him a swift glance, then softened it with a broad wink. “Then I guess it's true what they say, you can't ever have too many friends."
Max nodded. If only ... he were younger or she were older.
Alexa ran up and tugged on Max's hand. “Papa? Time for cake and ice cream?"
Max glance at his watch and said, “Yes, it's time for cake and ice cream."
Together they walked back to the sheep meadow. At Max's shoulder, Nikki moved quietly along the trail, silent, but wearing an enigmatic smile. Deep in thought, he wondered what the future held for all of them?
PART II:
THE MASQUE
Twelve
New York, January 2000
The sun shone in a myriad of colors through the stained glass rose window at the far end of the cathedral. Wafts of sandalwood incense curled upward toward the nave. Banks of lilies and roses added their scent to the solemn occasion.
Nikki gripped the lectern, hoping her hands wouldn't shake and her voice wouldn't break. The numbness that had settled over her since Renée's death hadn't lifted. Time. Blind-sided by her mentor's massive stroke, Nikki'd had no time to prepare. Nothing she could do would ever bring back the only real mother she'd ever known. She cleared her throat and began.
“Renee Devereaux was the strongest woman I've ever known. She was the much-loved mainstay of her family, a loving mother and devoted grandmother. For all her consummate professionalism and forward-thinking, she still had time to take a street kid and mold her into a decent human being. She had a heart and the wisdom to see the good in those around her. It may sound trite, but the world I've come to know will be the dimmer for her loss. Maman, we miss you."
Purposefully Nikki had kept the eulogy short. She didn't trust herself to say more without breaking down. And that wouldn't help anyone, especially Max or his teenage daughter Alexa. The younger girl who'd been a little sister to Nikki sat next to her father, sniffling into a tissue while Max himself remained stoic and silent.
~ * ~
After the funeral, Max received friends and mourners at Renée's townhouse. Nikki joined them at Alexa's behest. Truly she didn't know what to say to Max to comfort him—or whether to even try.
Alexa slipped her arm around Nikki's waist. “Daddy's taking grandmère back to France."
“Is he?” Not such a surprise once she thought about it. “She'd like that—being back in her own country."
“I know, but...” Alexa stopped, then sighed. “I can't visit her way over there. Who'll keep fresh flowers on her grave if we don't?"
“I'm sure your father will see that it's done."
Shaking her head, Alexa insisted, “It's not the same."
“But Maman had many friends in Paris too.” Nikki felt her own tears threaten, but held on to her composure for Alexa's sake. “Besides, she's wherever we are. She gave us both so much love, and that won't go away."
Alexa glanced over at her father who was surrounded by those who'd come to offer their condolences. “After we get back from France, Daddy's going to move in here."
“That's wonderful. You won't be alone."
“But he's sending me to boarding school. I know I'll just hate it."
“No, you won't. Boarding school will be fun. You'll see."
“I wouldn't have to go away...” A speculative gleam appeared in the youngster's green eyes, “...if you moved in with us."
“Alexa, your father might have something to say about that. You know I have my own place."
“But—"
“Shh, before someone hears you.” Like your father. She looked around to see if he could've overheard them. Damn. Max was heading toward them.
Alexa didn't hesitate. “Daddy, please don't send me—"
“Not now, Alexa,” he said wearily, as though he'd heard it all before. “Why don't you see if Mrs. Landry would like a plate of food. I want to talk to Nikki for a moment."
The teenager looked from one to the other, then winked. “Okay.” Alexa spun around and advanced on Lara Landry."
Max turned to Nikki, taking her hand in his. “Thank you for coming and for your eloquent eulogy. Maman is honored by your words."
Confused by Max's touch, Nikki stammered, “I-I'm glad you think so, but I'd just rather have her here alive."
“We all would."
“Of course.” She sighed. “I'm not very good at offering comfort, Max. Maman was...” Unable to continue, she stopped.
“She was so proud of you,” Max said, his voice deepening with emotion and his accent thicker than she'd had heard it in years.
“I know. She told me. Never stinted on praise—she was good that way.” If he said another word, she'd break down and blubber like a baby. “I have to go. Early call tomorrow. You understand?"
Still holding her hand between his, Max murmured a polite, “Of course."
Did she imagine it or did he look disappointed that she had to leave? To be honest, she didn't have to leave, but she couldn't hold it together much longer, especially if he insisted on holding her hand and saying nice things. She eased her hand from his. “I'll just say good-bye to Alexa."
Max Devereaux, who was still her boss—and therefore out of bounds—never failed to affect her. Dammit. It just wasn't fair. Why couldn't she just get over her infantile crush on him?
Thirteen
End of March 2000
Nikki's flight from Nice had been arduous with plane changes in Paris and London. The last leg from London to New York had seemed much longer than usual, leaving her with plenty of time to take stock.
Plenty of time? Make that too much time. On one hand, her career was solid, enabling her to maintain two homes, in addition to the condo she'd bought her mother.
On the downside, her friend and mentor's death in January had been a blow, unexpected and swift, shaking Nikki to her very core. She'd talked with the active sixty-one year old the evening before she died. They'd made plans to have one of their long gossipy lunches as soon as Nikki returned from her current assignment. But now...
Renée's passing had served to remind Nikki of the fragility of life. She'd always thought she had plenty of time, but no one ever really knew what life held in store. Maybe it was time she slowed down and smelled the proverbial flowers ... and got involved with someone.
But there was only one person she trusted that much. Max.
~ * ~
Max stood staring out the window at the city street far below. Three months since his mother had died. How could he have wasted so much time? Nikki was due back from the shoot in Nice. Maybe he should call and ask he
r to dinner. What would be the harm in that? Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? If his mother were here, she would agree it was time. If she were only here.
He suppressed his grief and strode back to his desk and punched in Nikki's number. The phone rang four times, then clicked, signifying her voice mail would answer. Damn. “Nikki, this is Max. Please call me when you get home."
Two minutes later his phone rang. He grabbed it, hoping it was Nikki.
It was.
“Max, is something wrong?” she asked, a note of tension in her throaty voice.
“No, I—uh, merely wanted to ask if you would have dinner with me tomorrow night. I—uh—” Embarrassed, he found himself stumbling over his words like an awkward schoolboy.
“Dinner? Another dinner at Sally's Diner?” The tension in her tone melted into one of teasing.
“Sally's? Oh, yes, Sally's.” He'd almost forgotten the name of the diner, but recovered quickly, “No, not Sally's this time. L'Haute Cuisine,” he said, suggesting his favorite small French bistro. “If that's all right?"
“Of course. Sounds great."
“Quarter till eight?"
“Yes, I'll see you then,” she said, her voice dropping.
He replaced the receiver and let out a breath of relief. Nothing so difficult about asking Nikki to dinner. Finally, without the encumbrance of an unconscionable age difference ... He couldn't resist a small smile. Perhaps, he might soon hold Nikki in his arms and tell her—what? That he'd been in love with her for years. Nothing so rash. He'd scare her off. No, this dinner would be more of a reconnaissance mission to learn the lay of the land, so to speak.
~ * ~
The following evening, Max walked up and down in front of her apartment building. So damn nervous, he was fifteen minutes early. What if she didn't care to see him in any role, other than as her employer? What if she were involved with someone else? He knew when and where Nikki went on fashion shoots, but on a personal level, she remained a mystery. If only his mother were still alive, she'd know.
The doorman had started giving perturbed glances in Max's direction, so he screwed up his courage and nodded at the doorman.
See You In My Dreams Page 12
