CHAPTER EIGHT
Scarlett
The clicking of Amelia’s heels on the marble flooring announced her arrival into the penthouse before she made an appearance.
I got up off the couch in the drawing room just as she sailed through the door. Amelia beamed as soon as she saw me and rounded the sofa to give me a hug.
"Well," she flopped down on the couch, "Rachel Jeong is not happy with me. I just blew off our brunch to come to see you."
"Oh, you didn't have to do that." I sat down beside her, tucking one leg under my butt to get comfy. Xavier said he'd send up some tea and scones for us. I think we both had a feeling Amelia was going to be here a while.
It was the day after the Thanksgiving charity event. To be honest, I couldn't remember much of anything I said to anyone at the Wellington's home because Griffin didn't let me out of his sight all evening. And the bastard was so touchy-feely and kissy-kissy all night, my whole being felt like it was pulled tighter than a violin string.
“Of course I did.” Amelia shrugged out of her coat and threw it over the arm of the couch behind her. “I’d much rather spend brunch with you, you know.”
“I thought Rachel was one of the few women in your circle you genuinely like?”
"Oh, she is. She's a doll. But my bestie Scarlett needs me right now."
I tried not to laugh at her using the word ‘bestie,' not because it wasn't lovely or I didn't feel that way about her, but because it was kind of adorable coming from her. "I do?"
"You're smiling right now, but last night I was looking closely. You were in pain and not because of those gorgeous silver stilettos you were wearing."
I grimaced. “Am I that obvious?”
“No, you did really well.” She assured me. “I just know you better than those people do.”
Not sure I wanted to know but weirdly needing to at the same time, I sighed. “Are they still gossiping about us?”
Amelia smirked. "With the way Griffin was all over you? Yes. Half of them think he really did cheat and now he's desperate to win you back. The other half think you left him for some reason and now he’s desperately clinging on to keep you from leaving again.”
I rolled my eyes. “My goodness.”
“You can’t really blame them for speculating,” she mused, settling back against the couch. “My God, even I was getting hot and flustered at the way he kept looking at you and touching you. I nearly burst into tears watching him hold you on the dance floor. None of us have ever seen Griffin Mandeville be so tender. What did he say to you?”
I pursed my lips, trying to forget what he said because it just… Goddammit, it made me want to forgive him long enough to be held.
To feel safe again.
To feel loved.
But I had to remind myself that I would feel that again.
Just not with him.
I shook my head. “Nothing worth repeating.”
"Well, I don't believe that for a second.”
“He keeps saying that he wants to explain everything but now isn’t the time,” I suddenly burst out, exasperated. “That I’m not ready to hear what he has to say.”
Amelia considered this. “Has it occurred to you he might be right?”
“Perhaps.” I shrugged. “But I’ll probably never be ready to hear what he has to say so he might as well just say it.”
She reached over to pat my hand. “Just give him some time.”
“Ugh.”
The sound of the elevator and then a teacart rattling along the floor stopped us mid-conversation, and we waited for Xavier to appear with the food. He set down a teapot and teacups with plates of finger sandwiches, scones, and cakes. Once I'd thanked him, he left us to our privacy.
“So, Friend, enough about me. What’s going on with you?”
Amelia tensed as she reached for a scone and then she seemed to force herself to relax. "Oh, I'm dandy. I just missed my friend."
I narrowed my eyes, watching as she bit into a scone. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not lying. I did miss you.”
“Don’t be cute, you know that’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, Scarlett, You don’t need to hear about my problems right now. You have a lot going on.”
"Amelia, I'm trapped in this penthouse indefinitely. Give me something else to think about beyond the fact that the man who broke my heart currently has me under house arrest because the Irish mob is after me."
She snorted and then looked appalled. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny. Not at all.”
I burst into laughter. “But it kind of is. You couldn’t write this stuff.”
We broke into somewhat hysterical giggles until we were wiping tears from our eyes. For some reason, I actually felt a little better. I nudged her with my knee. "Come on. Tell me what's going on."
Amelia took a sip of tea, and it almost seemed as if it was for fortification. Finally, she met my gaze, and I momentarily stopped breathing at the sadness in it. "Quentin and I are struggling to conceive."
“Oh, Amelia.” Guilt suffused me. Jesus, she’d come to the library because she needed me and I’d turned her away. “I am so sorry. For all of it. I’ve been a terrible friend.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t know. We’ve been trying for six months. My doctor told me that we shouldn’t worry just yet. There doesn’t seem to be any reason why we shouldn’t conceive. She says if we still haven’t conceived by the end of spring then we should start looking into fertility treatments. It’s just more stressful than I thought it would be and I worry that being stressed is actually a part of the problem. Honestly… I feel like I’m failing Quentin.”
“Oh my God, you know he doesn’t believe that, don’t you?”
"Yes," she assured me. "Of course. He just deserves to have everything he's ever wanted, and I don't want… oh I know I'm jumping the gun. I'm panicking before I should. And I know we have money to do whatever it is that needs to be done… I just… I never even considered the possibility that we might struggle to do this." She gave a huff of laughter. "I thought I'd get pregnant within the first month."
“Sometimes it takes time. Your doctor is right. Don’t panic. And try not to put all this pressure on yourself. If not for you, then for Quentin. He loves you, Amelia, and if he sees you suffering and blaming yourself, that’s going to transfer to him. He’ll start to feel like he’s failing you.”
She stared at me wide-eyed for a second and then she nodded. “Gosh, you’re right. How do you know that?”
I shrugged. “I just know how much he loves you.”
“I’ll try to relax more about it. Let the chips fall where they may or something less cliché.”
We shared a smile and any nervousness I’d felt about talking to her after my treatment of her only a week ago dissipated as we fell quickly back into our friendship.
◆◆◆
A few hours later I'd walked Amelia out to the elevator and bid her goodbye. I wasn't sure I could make any plans outside the penthouse so soon after our little excursion to the ball last night, so we made arrangements for her to stop by the club again in a few days.
After she left, I wandered around the big, empty penthouse, feeling very much alone. I couldn't stay cooped up in here. Something would have to give. The idea of returning to my room made me want to scream. I didn't watch a lot of television, but I did like to watch a movie and had been doing so on my laptop.
It was then it occurred to me that there was a movie room in the penthouse. I’d forgotten about it because when I first moved in I hadn’t felt comfortable leaving my bedroom suite at all, and then when I did I was in an intimate relationship with Griffin. I didn’t have time for movies. Any time I wasn’t writing, I was having my brains screwed out by a sexy Englishman.
Don’t think about that!
I physically pushed my arms out in front of me as if to push the thoughts away.
Then I went in search for the movie room. It was small, dark, with a huge leather corner sofa with multiple footstools. The thing looked like it could sit up to ten people comfortably. Above it was a small shelf with a movie projector built onto it along with a Blu-Ray DVD Player. On the wall opposite it was a large screen. In the far corner was a wall-to-wall bookcase filled with DVDs that I hadn't bothered to pay attention to before.
Griffin didn't cross me as a movie-watching kind of guy so what was he doing with all of these? I crossed the room toward them, just realizing that the hardwood floors in here had been replaced with a thick, deep pile carpet that felt amazing underfoot. Why had I not been in here before? What a waste. In the far corner was a small home bar too.
There was even a ladder on the bookcase for reaching the DVDs at the very top. My eyes trailed over the collection. There was everything here from old classics like It’s a Wonderful Life and Blythe Spirit to Zulu and High Noon. There was sci-fi, action, horror, drama, historical, comedy and most surprising of all musicals and romances.
“Ah, there you are, Mrs. Mandeville.” Xavier’s voice suddenly filled the room.
I spun around to find him in the doorway. Noting his relieved expression, I made a face. "Does Mr. Mandeville have you watching me, Xavier?"
He cleared his expression. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Mandeville.”
I grinned. “Whatever he’s paying you, it isn’t enough.”
Xavier’s lips twitched. “I assure I am very well compensated.”
Chuckling, I turned around and gestured to all the movies. “This is quite the collection.”
I didn't hear him move across the thick carpet, but seconds later he was by my side. "Yes. I do believe I was asked to fill the bookcases with an eclectic mix of movies."
“Why?” I frowned. “I’ve never seen Griffin in here.”
“Mr. Mandeville is always very busy, yes, and rarely has time to make use of this room. But he has in the past.”
“Hmm.” I reached up for one of the DVDs, letting out a little laugh. “And what does he think about you acquiring Dirty Dancing?”
“I was led to believe by the young movie student who helped me with the film collection that it was a classic.”
Trying not to laugh at his seriousness I queried, “So you’ve never seen it then?”
“I have, Mrs. Mandeville. I saw it when you were only a twinkle in your parents’ eyes.”
Snorting I shook the DVD case, “And you think it’s a classic?”
“Not particularly. But I’ve been assured of its cult status.”
“That’s true.” I put the DVD back. “Everybody knows about Johnny and Baby. How long have you worked for Griffin?”
If Xavier was surprised by my question, he didn't let on. "A long time. I worked for his grandparents and when they passed his mother hired me." Extreme sadness seemed to age him of a sudden. "She was an extraordinary woman. A very kind lady. When she passed, I found work with another family in upstate New York. Mr. Mandeville found me and asked me to be his butler here at The Patrician. I was only too delighted to be of assistance to him."
Curious about Xavier and fascinated with his connection to Griffin’s family, I turned to face him, leaning against the shelves. “So you’ve known Griff since he was a boy? Why do you call him Mr. Mandeville?”
“Because he deserves that respect as my employer.”
“Xavier…”
“Mrs. Mandeville?”
"Feel free to tell me if I'm crossing the line, but I'm very fond of you, and it shames me to realize I know very little about you other than that you're incredibly loyal and hardworking."
He gave me a small smile. “That’s very kind of you to say. I am fond of you also.”
I grinned at him, but my smile wilted a little as I braved, "Why… What I mean to say is do you not have a family outside of Griff and me?"
Xavier's eyes rounded slightly, and then a slight sheen covered them. Guilt suffused me realizing I had crossed the line and I was about to apologize when he replied, "I'm grateful you think of me like family."
"Oh." I relaxed. "Of course I do. We'd be lost without you here. A place isn't a home, Xavier. It's the people in it, and you make this feel like home."
“Mrs. Mandeville, if you continue I’m going to turn into a blubbering unprofessional mess.” He gave me an affectionate smile. “As for your other question, no, I do not have a family to speak of. I have friends. Wonderful friends. But I’m afraid I was born to parents who disowned me when it became apparent that I had an affinity for men not women.”
Xavier was gay, and his parents had disowned him? Anger for him simmered beneath my surface. "How could they do that?"
“Irish Catholic. I was raised in South Boston in the sixties. Not a good time or place to be gay.”
“I’m sorry.”
He waved off the comment. “I made peace with it a long time ago.
“And lovers?”
He threw me a look.
“Oh God, I’m sorry, that’s unforgivably nosy of me.”
"On the contrary, perhaps you of all people will understand… I," he cleared his throat as it seemed to have thickened with emotion, "I was with a man, an older man, my James, through my twenties and into my thirties. We lived together for fifteen years. The Llewellyn family—Mr. Mandeville's mother's family—were liberal in that they were fine with having a gay butler as long as no one in their society knew about it. And of course, Ms. Llewellyn, Mr. Mandeville's mother, could care less as long as I was happy. After James died, she tried to set me up with her gay friends," he laughed. "I kept telling her if she actually was successful, she might lose her butler."
Sadness enveloped me.
Xavier had lost a man he loved too.
“There’s been no one else since?”
He gave me a pointed look. “I, unlike some, haven’t been fortunate enough to find someone who loved me as much as James did.”
Realizing he meant, Griff, I shook my head. “You can’t truly believe he loves me.”
"It is not my place to say so either way, but I can tell you that I think you are exactly what he needs."
Studying Xavier, I realized that I'd come to implicitly trust this man in the months since coming here. I believed in his honesty perhaps above all others. There was just something so true and steadfast about him that I instinctively felt like he would never steer me wrong for his own purposes. Which is why I found myself asking, "Do you believe Griff is a good man, Xavier?"
He exhaled slowly. "Ordinarily, if I wasn't sure or I believed my employer was not a good man or woman my answer to such a question would be, ‘that is not my place to judge.' But I can say unequivocally that Mr. Mandeville, though flawed—as we all are—is honorable, loyal and fair. And when he fails—as we all sometimes do—to be those things, he feels his failure deeply." Xavier surprised me by putting his hand on my shoulder and squeezing it gently. "He feels many things deeply, Mrs. Mandeville. He's just better than most at hiding it."
Tears pricked my eyes, and I covered his hand with mine. "Thank you for your honesty."
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Mandeville.”