by Lucy Score
The dining room across the foyer was still crowned with the flea market-find chandelier that only worked sometimes. The table was set for dinner, he noted as he headed to the back of the house for the kitchen. There would be no casual family dinners around the kitchen table or the coffee table in the family room while Waverly Sinner was a guest.
He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake bringing her home.
The news Micah had given him had added a new, disturbing layer to the darkness that surrounded Ganim, and Xavier prayed his instincts were right about coming to Idle Lake. The man was devious and mobile, but he didn’t have the deep pockets to be chartering planes to follow Waverly from state to state or country to country.
He didn’t need to put anyone else that he cared about in the line of fire where Ganim was concerned, especially not his own family.
He did care. About Waverly. If he hadn’t, last night wouldn’t have happened. He’d never been a one-night stand kind of man. Not the son of Carol Saint.
The flashes of Waverly under him in the dark had him pausing in the hallway to will away the erection that threatened to embarrass him. He’d been out of his mind to give in to those desires. And now craving her again, especially knowing what waited for him with that lithe, responsive body of hers, would keep him out of his mind unless he could find a way to shut it down.
She needed his protection, not his devotion. He would toe the line until Ganim was behind bars or wiped off the planet. And then… And then what? Could there ever possibly be a relationship between them? He with his growing business, she with her thriving career—would there ever be a middle ground to start a life together?
It was a question for another day. Now, he needed to keep his head clear and thwart a new kind of threat: his mother and her uncanny suspicions that his relationship with Waverly wasn’t one-hundred percent professional. If she had the slightest hint of how much he really cared for Waverly, she’d be like Hamilton with his hamburger. Relentless.
Erection under control, he followed the laughter back to the kitchen.
“I knew it,” Chelsea said triumphantly. “Dante Wrede just looks like he’d be an incredible kisser.”
“He’s certainly one of the better ones,” Waverly agreed.
Madeline swooned against the counter. “What about Liam MacGill? He’s just too pretty to look at.”
Emmett looked on from the island with interest while Carol danced around the crowd in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on their meal.
Xavier did not like where this conversation was going. On set or not, Waverly kissing any other man did not sit well with him.
“Guys, I told you to make Waverly feel welcome, not interrogated.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep himself from putting them on Waverly’s shoulders like he wanted to do. “Why don’t you tell her a little bit about yourselves so she doesn’t think you’re completely insane?”
His mother shot him a knowing look with the arch of an eyebrow.
“Already done,” Madeline announced, giving the floor to Waverly with a dramatic wave of her upturned hand.
Waverly cleared her throat and began her recitation. “Chelsea is the middle child, and, as such, is often overlooked in favor of the prodigal son who can do no wrong.”
“Until he starts lying to his mother about weekend houseguests,” Carol reminded them. “Chels, you and Mad can battle it out for favorite tonight.”
Chelsea whooped in approval.
“Chelsea is twenty-five and works for a large information technology company as a network security administrator. She lives in Boulder and is dating—”
“You can skip that part,” Chelsea said, jumping in with a pointed look at Xavier.
“Who are you dating?” Xavier demanded.
“Madeline, or Mad, is twenty-one and finishing up a degree in environmental design at University of Colorado Boulder. She plays volleyball and plans to hike the Pacific Crest Trail from Oregon to Washington after graduation.”
“You want to do what?” Xavier asked, incensed. His baby sister hiking alone through the wilderness was giving him heartburn.
“I need less testosterone in this room,” Carol said. “You two with the penises, get out.”
Emmett pulled two beers out of the fridge and jerked his head toward the deck. Xavier followed him.
“Dinner in ten,” Carol called after them.
Xavier accepted the beer his father handed over and they stood shoulder-to-shoulder facing the lake and trees. He marveled at his ability to relax here. Waverly was in the kitchen unsupervised—because his mother and sisters were no kind of supervision—and he was enjoying a cold beer with his father and not wearing a gun.
He wondered if it was his instincts that told him everyone was safe here or an ignorance based on the false sense of security home bred. Whatever it was, he knew with a mystic certainty that Ganim would never touch this place or anyone in it.
“So how much trouble is she in?” Emmett asked finally.
Xavier wondered when the excitement of celebrity would give way to making the connection to current events. “A good bit.” A good bit more than even he had realized.
“I Googled her,” his father said, looking out through the trees toward the lake. “A lot of results in the last twenty-four hours. A lot of results that mention you. Your mother is going to go ballistic when she sees the footage from last night.”
Xavier grimaced. “I’m surprised the girls haven’t shown it to her yet.”
“I don’t know if they’ve seen it. Chels picked Mad up on campus from a camping trip on her way in, and Chels was in the office until early morning today, thwarting some cyber-attack on their server.”
“I don’t know why she won’t come work for me,” Xavier sighed.
His father laughed. “Don’t you? Does Chels seem like the type to enjoy being the boss’s sister?”
“I’d treat her fairly,” Xavier protested.
“You’d protect her. It’s what you do. Why do you think they haven’t told you about any of their boyfriends in the last year?”
“I thought they weren’t dating!” Visions of boyfriends not vetted by him taunted Xavier.
Emmett clapped him on the shoulder. “Son, sometimes our women don’t want to be protected. They want to be supported when they go out and kick ass on their own.”
Xavier sighed. “You’re a wise man, Dad.”
Emmett raised his beer. “Your mother is responsible for that.”
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Dinner was a loud, casual affair. Pot roast, mashed potatoes, carrots and peas, and homemade apple pie for dessert were doled out around the table as everyone talked and argued over each other. The easy affection Xavier and his sisters shared made Waverly wonder what it would have been like to grow up with siblings.
And then there were the stories. Waverly was treated to volumes of Saint history, the more embarrassing the better. There was the time Emmett was late for work—he ran a civil engineering firm—and forgot to put the garage door up before driving through it. One Easter Eve, Carol had hidden three-dozen hardboiled eggs in the yard after hosting a particularly thirsty wine club. Only twenty-two eggs had been found, the rest rotted in the yard for the better part of the spring, making the entire neighborhood smell of sulfur on breezy days.
And there were stories about Xavier. Waverly’s personal favorite was when Xavier overheard Chelsea’s new boyfriend bragging about his less than respectful weekend “plans” in the locker room. It had taken the gym teacher and football coach to unwedge him from the locker Xavier had stuffed him into.
Family came easily to them. Affection, love, and a fierce acceptance of each member in its fold.
It hit her like an arrow to the heart. This is what she’d wanted growing up. This is what she’d want for a family of her own someday.
After dinner came clean up, in which everyone except Carol participated. Carol took her glass of
wine and sat at the island directing. Once the dishwasher was loaded and running and every surface was spotless, one of the girls produced a Blu-ray of Dark Waters, Waverly’s thriller with Dante Wrede.
“No. Absolutely not,” Xavier said, drawing the line.
“Come on! Please!” Madeline begged. “This is one of my all-time favorite movies, and Waverly is here! It’ll be like having backstage access.”
“A lot of actors don’t like to watch themselves on screen,” Xavier argued.
“Do you mind watching yourself?” Madeline asked, her big brown eyes pleaded with Waverly.
“I’ve done it before,” Waverly said diplomatically. It was impossible for her to enjoy watching a movie she’d been in. There was no way to suspend disbelief after you spent two months on set dealing with thousands and thousands of takes, hours of make-up, shoots that ran right up to dawn, and the inevitable personality conflicts whether it be with a co-star, crew, or studio rep.
“See!” Madeline crowed in triumph. “Waverly, will you watch this with us, pleeease?” Chelsea poked her head over Madeline’s shoulder and they both stuck their bottom lips out.
“Oh, for God’s sake. Haven’t you outgrown that yet?” Xavier grumbled.
“Why would we?” Madeline wanted to know. “It still works.”
“Don’t fall for their shit, Waverly,” Xavier warned.
“What’s this movie about?” Emmett wanted to know. Madeline handed it over without breaking her pouty face. Her father pulled out a pair of reading glasses and perused the back of the case.
“Don’t be such a Grumpy Gus, Zav,” Chelsea mocked.
Xavier playfully shoved her in the shoulder. In seconds it was a free for all with Xavier’s sisters jumping him in a coordinated attack. Chelsea went for the shoulders, and Madeline swept his legs. Xavier put up a good fight but ended up going down and shoving the rolling island a good foot in the opposite direction.
Emmett stepped out of the way of the fray still reading. Carol looked on over the rim of her wine glass. “Children, please,” she said half-heartedly.
They rolled, a tangle of arms and legs, into Waverly, and she went down on top of the pile. Xavier finally clawed his way off the bottom and pinned all three of them beneath him by laying across them.
“Say ‘Xavier is the greatest,’” he ordered. “Ouch! Stop biting, Mad.”
“Girls, what is Waverly going to think about our family?” Emmett sighed.
“That we’re awesome?” Chelsea wheezed. “Oh my God, get your fat ass off of me, Zav!”
“Say it.”
He added tickling fingers where he could reach and had all three of them shrieking the words.
“Xavier Saint, get off your sisters and your client,” Carol ordered. “Do you see why I never go anywhere public with you idiots?”
“Ah, Mom, you love us, and you know it,” Chelsea said, pulling Madeline to her feet.
“Movie time?” Madeline danced from foot to foot.
Xavier slid his hands under Waverly’s arms and pulled her to her feet, checking her for damage. “Let’s watch a movie,” Waverly sighed.
They’d crowded into the family room, pausing for popcorn breaks and what felt like a hundred questions, but Waverly enjoyed it. She’d curled into the corner of the sofa, Xavier next to her and told the Saints everything they wanted to know about the making of the movie. The stunt double that showed up drunk so Waverly performed the jump off the building before the producers figured it out and freaked. The way the director, a charmingly brusque man who knew what he wanted and couldn’t understand why actors just couldn’t deliver it without having their hands held, told her they couldn’t break for lunch until she stopped screwing up a scene. “Just do it better!” Waverly mimicked his bellow and had the Saints rolling with laughter.
And she took pleasure from the fact that Xavier had to cover his eyes during the big kiss scene. While his sisters cooed at the impossible romance of it all, he’d leaned in and whispered in her ear. “I really hate that guy.”
The rest of the family was much more vocal about their approval, and Waverly felt oddly proud. She’d spent so much time over the past few years thinking what she did for a living was silly, it was nice to be reminded that people really did care about her work.
That night, she lay between crisp sheets while crickets sang outside her open window and wondered if the Saints knew how lucky they were. She fell asleep thinking about Xavier: his heat, his heart, wondering if she would ever find what he already had.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The next morning, Waverly woke with the sunrise as it peeked through the room’s bay window. She lay and listened to the comfortable silence of the house. With the exception of Xavier, the rest of the family were late sleepers, and she realized that for the first time in what felt like an eternity she could be alone and not just by shutting herself in a room.
She tip-toed out of bed and pulled on gym shorts and a t-shirt. She plucked the still unopened Stanford letter from her bag and stuffed it in the waistband of her shorts. Quiet as a mouse, she eased open the bedroom door and tip-toed into the hallway. The silence of the house enveloped her like an old friend.
She paused outside Xavier’s door and, hearing nothing, padded downstairs. She started a pot of coffee and snagged a crackle glazed mug of cobalt blue from the glass doored cabinet.
Through the sink window and beyond the trees, the lake waters sparkled and shimmered, beckoning. She took her coffee and her letter and let herself out the back door. The grass gave way to a forest floor, and she followed a meandering path worn by two decades of family sojourns to and from the lakefront.
A stack of kayaks rested upside down, ready for a day of fun. The lake waters lapped quietly at the rocky shore. A dock jutted out over the water, and two dull red Adirondack chairs faced the waters. She carried her coffee down the dock, feeling the worn wood beneath her bare feet. How many times had Xavier sprinted down this dock to jump off the end? How many fish had been caught here? How many bonfires were lit in the ring on the pebbled shore?
This place would endure with its foundation of memories and stories to be built on for generations to come. The sun, pink and gold, peeked over the far shore’s trees. A new beginning for a new day. It was as good a place as any for Waverly to find out if she too had earned a new beginning.
She settled onto one of the chairs and took a deep breath.
The letter felt heavy with importance in her hands. She’d wanted things before. Parts, mostly. Movies that she just knew were meant to be hers. But this was different. She’d been born into that world. This was a choice she could make for herself. A path to a future that she chose.
She tore open the envelope, shook out the papers inside, and, holding her breath, read the first line. She was out of her chair on a triumphant cry. Stanford University was willing to take a chance on the movie-set schooled Waverly Sinner.
The letter fisted in her hand, she twirled, arms stretched overhead.
“Someone had too much coffee.”
The dry comment came from behind her. Xavier, dressed only in a pair of gym shorts and holding a mug of the coffee she’d made, watched her from the opposite end of the dock.
Embarrassed, Waverly shoved the letter behind her back. Xavier ambled down to her. The only escape, which she always took to noting when Xavier was near, was the black as midnight lake water.
“I didn’t run away,” she said, automatically on the defensive. “I just came outside to be alone for a whole thirty seconds of my life, so don’t even start with me.”
Xavier sipped his coffee and said nothing. Stubble covered his jaw, and his perfect pecs drew her eyes despite her best efforts. Xavier Saint was an Adonis by anyone’s standards, and it wasn’t fair, trying to focus when he stood there looking like every woman’s fantasy.
“You got in, I take it?” he asked finally.
“How the hell did you—?”
He took another sip. He was cocky, confident, and she wondered why she found that so attractive. She was just dazzled by his bare torso, that was it, she decided.
“Don’t let me ruin your celebration. I believe you were squealing and prancing around?”
“There was no prancing,” Waverly insisted. “It was a very dignified celebration.”
“One worthy of a Stanford student,” Xavier teased.
Her lips curved and a smile bloomed. “Oh, what the hell?” She threw her arms around his neck and landed a loud, smacking kiss on his cheek. “I’m going to Stanford!” she announced to the birds, the lake, and the morning sun.
Xavier held his coffee at arm’s length so it didn’t slosh on them and laughed. “Congratulations, Angel. What are you going to study?”
Waverly pulled back and frowned. “I have no idea.”
“You’ll figure it out,” he predicted. “Come on. Let’s go back and make breakfast and wake everyone up. They hate getting up early.”
As they walked back together, Xavier slung his arm over her shoulder and brushed his lips against the top of her head.
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Xavier found himself not saying a lot of things.
He wanted Waverly there, in his family’s home at their table laughing over eggs and bacon and pancakes. He wanted her making plans with his sisters for a lazy afternoon on the lake and sharing secret Hollywood recipes with his mother.
He didn’t want this to be her last visit. But there was no one to confess to. This was the mess he’d created and the one he was tasked with cleaning up. But cleaning it up was getting less and less appealing.
