Spare Me

Chapter 13

T he next evening, Maddy was posted up at the counter in Nadia’s small pastry kitchen half watching her assemble tartlets for the Stewarts’ expat Thanksgiving dinner and half working on graduate school applications. It had started as another one of their baking lessons (Maddy 2.0 item 4), but after she’d almost cost them an entire batch of cranberry filling by getting distracted while she was supposed to be stirring the pot of compote on the stove. Nadia had relieved her of her duties, so she’d brought her laptop up to work on Maddy 2.0 item 2: apply to master’s programs.

She’d always thought she’d like to get a master’s or even a PhD. The transient life of a military spouse, however, had convinced Maddy that trying to make progress on a degree would have been too difficult. The added complication of finding duty stations that were near the right institution had always kept her from applying. She knew if she’d said something to Evan about it, he would have been thrilled for her. Would have done what he could to plan his postings so she could be near a good program. And she knew of other military couples where one person had lived away from a duty station in order to pursue their own careers. But she had grown up with the paragon of Army spouses. Virginia Cartwright would never have left the general to go to graduate school. And so Maddy had dutifully pushed ideas of advancing her own career, of getting a graduate degree, to the back of her mind. Instead, she focused on supporting Evan while working a job that gave her something to do during the day, and had even given her some skills that had proven useful since coming to London, but that hadn’t made her tick. It had been a job, not a career.

But in the last several months of work at the embassy, she’d realized that she did want the degree. She was doing good, meaningful work for Ambassador Stewart, but she also knew that with more education she’d be even better equipped and have a better shot of getting more serious jobs. And even though she knew a lot of master’s degrees were scams, she also had always loved learning. She’d devoured the readings for her American Studies classes at Vassar, had enjoyed the long weekend days nestled in the golden sunlight below the stained-glass windows of Thompson Library studying for exams and writing papers. Maddy had never really allowed herself to dream about what she’d do if she could decide what she wanted to do, where she wanted to live. At first she wasn’t really sure what she even wanted to go to graduate school for. But she figured that even though her sharp pivot into diplomatic work had been purely circumstantial at first, in actuality, it could be an interesting and viable career. And so she’d decided to just try a few applications for programs in foreign service and government. If it was meant to be, it would happen, and if not, she probably had at least fourteen months before the new president was elected and got their ducks in line enough to appoint a new ambassador. That was plenty of time to devise a plan for Maddy 3.0 if it came down to it.

“How’s the personal statement coming?” Nadia asked, her softly accented voice cutting through Maddy’s wandering thoughts.

She sighed. “It’s coming. I think I’m almost there. Pretty sure it helps to say, ‘Well, since I’ve been working in an American embassy for the last four months, I’ve learned a thing or two about what a master’s in the field could do for me.’”

Nadia laughed. “I’m sure it doesn’t hurt. Is the ambassador writing a letter of recommendation for you?”

“No. I thought about asking, but since he’s such a close friend of the family, I don’t want it to sound like nepotism.”

“Good point.” Nadia said as she passed over a spatula covered in cranberry filling for Maddy to lick.

“Mmmm, Nadia, these are going to be amazing,” Maddy moaned around the spatula.

“Have I ever made you anything that wasn’t amazing?” her friend replied, hands on her hips in mock accusation.

“Of course not! I’m just appreciative as always.”

Just then, Maddy’s phone vibrated on the counter next to her laptop. She picked it up and immediately felt her cheeks flush as she read the message.

Mr. Martini

How are you? I can’t stop thinking about you.

Before she had a chance to respond, another came through.

Mr. Martini

And what I wanted to do with you before we were so rudely interrupted yesterday .

Maddy suddenly felt as if the room had grown fifteen degrees warmer.

“Ooooh, who is texting you to put that look on your face?!” Nadia said, keen interest in her voice.

“Nobody!” she squeaked out in a way that immediately betrayed her answer for the lie that it was.

“Uh-huh, sure, and does this nobody have a name? Ohmigosh, is it the guy from the party? Mr. Martini?”

Maddy wracked her brain for how to answer. She trusted Nadia. And as she’d developed a closer relationship with Alex, she’d realized how sorely she’d been missing true friendship. How nice it was to have someone to confide in. She thought, particularly now that she was moving beyond friend territory with Alex, she should try to let Nadia in more.

And yet.

She and Alex had agreed to keep it very casual. On the DL. It was barely twenty-four hours since their first kiss. But Nadia didn’t know that Mr. Martini was Prince Alexander. So maybe she could answer semi-truthfully. “Maybe,” she said slowly, drawing out the vowels, as her cheeks, somehow, managed to flush more.

“Girl, spill!” Nadia demanded, sinking onto the stool next to Maddy, propping her chin on one arm, and looking at her eagerly.

Maddy scrunched her face up and tried not to squeal. She’d forgotten what it felt like to have a crush. To get to share it with a friend. Had she ever felt this way about Evan? Their relationship had morphed so gradually from friends to more that there hadn’t ever really been a “crush” phase. Just a slow deepening and shift.

“Well, it turns out his name is Alex.” His first name was common enough that she felt comfortable using it without worrying Nadia would make the connection. “He texted me after he sent the flowers asking about my dry cleaning bill… an d… well, I guess we just started texting after that?” Just as she’d never really done the whole “crush” scenario, she’d never really done the whole “spilling to a friend” scenario and suddenly wasn’t sure what to say. Luckily, Nadia took over.

“And? Is he cute? Can I see a photo?”

“I don’t have any photos of him.” At least none that she’d taken. “But yes,” she said, trying to stifle a grin and utterly failing, “he’s very cute.”

“How many dates have you been on? Is he a good kisser?”

“Not many—we’re keeping it casual.” That was true, too. “Maybe like three? We’ve been to dinner a few times, and he took me on a really lovely walk and a picnic yesterday. And yes. He’s a very good kisser.” Remembering the way he had held her while driving her crazy with his mouth yesterday caused heat to pool low in her stomach.

Her phone vibrated again.

Mr. Martini

When can I see you again?

“Maddy, you have a man begging to see you again? You little minx! Walking around here all innocent in your pantsuits. Are you secretly a freak?”

“No!” Maddy giggled. “But, yeah. I won’t lie, it’s kind of nice to have a guy who is not shy about telling you how into you he is.”

Nadia pushed herself back to standing. “‘Kind of nice’? Maddy, that’s the dream! Does he have any friends?”

“I can ask,” Maddy said with a smile, and turned back to her phone.

When do you want to see me again?

His response was immediate.

Mr. Martini

Now. Preferably in private. Ideally naked.

Tell me how you really feel, Alex

Mr. Martini

Can you come over for dinner on Thursday?

Sorry, Thursday’s Thanksgiving.

Mr. Martini

I hate to break it to you, Mads, but Thanksgiving isn’t a holiday here.

I know that, you dork, but I work for the American embassy. *We* are still celebrating Thanksgiving.

Mr. Martini

Did you just call a member of the British Royal Family a dork?

It would appear that I did.

What are you going to do about it?

Mr. Martini

You’ll find out

Okay, well if Thursday is out, what about something later on Friday? I have to make an appearance at a cocktail reception, but it shouldn’t be late.

That works for me. But won’t they feed you there?

Mr. Martini

I’m not really supposed to eat at those things. It gets in the way of the gladhanding .

Maddy looked up at Nadia. “Nadia, do you think there will be leftovers after Thursday night?”

“Do I think there will be leftovers?” Nadia laughed. “Maddy, have you seen the turkeys—yes, plural, turkeys—that Pierre bought? We have like seventy-five pounds of potatoes. And this is only my first batch of forty-eight tartlets. Yes, I think it’s safe to say we’ll be drowning in leftovers for days.”

“So you think it’s safe to assume I can bring some to Alex Friday night?”

“Oh, absolutely. Any guy who makes you smile like that gets his choice of leftovers.”

Maddy smiled, “Have I told you you’re the best lately, Nadia?”

“Yes, but I never get sick of hearing it!”

Ok, Nadia says there will be tons of leftovers. Why don’t I bring over a Thanksgiving feast for two?

Mr. Martini

Is this the same Nadia who made those brownies from the meeting?

She’s the only Nadia I know.

Mr. Martini

I’m still thinking about those brownies.

I did happen to notice you enjoying them that day. You ate in *that* meeting!

Mr. Martini

Yes, and I wasn’t really supposed to, but those sweets looked so good I couldn’t help myself!

They *are* really good. I think she’s making more for Thursday, so I’ll be sure to bring some. But the cranberry tartlets she’s making right now are to die for. We’ll be well provisioned, either way.

What time should I come over?

Mr. Martini

7ish? I should be back by then?

If I get there early do I get a better chance of seeing you in a tux?

Mr. Martini

She likes a tuxedo, does she?

*puss in boots sad eyes.gif*

Mr. Martini

Well, unfortunately it’s not that kind of reception, but I am definitely filing that information away for later.

How was your day? What are you doing?

Day was fine. Spent an unreasonable amount of time cutting out feathers for a stupid turkey craft for the dinner Thursday night. This is what they pay me the big bucks for.

And now I’m sitting on my ass watching Nadia make mini pies.

Mr. Martini

Mm, but it’s a very nice ass.

She felt her cheeks heating again and was glad that Nadia had chosen that moment to turn around and put the tray of tiny pies in the oven.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that blush!” her disembodied voice said, floating over from where she was bent over the oven. “You’ve got it bad , Maddy.”

She sighed. Much as she didn’t want it to be the truth, she was afraid Nadia was right.

Alex was having a nearly impossible time remaining focused on the cocktail reception for some environmental activism fund that he was attending. He cared about the environment. Truly, he did. But he cared even more about finding out how much time remained before he could reasonably leave to go home and see Maddy.

They’d had several additional flirty text exchanges through the rest of the week, but she’d been busy getting ready for their big Thanksgiving celebration and she’d also seemed hesitant enough about getting involved with him that he hadn’t wanted to push too hard. So he’d resisted calling her about four times over the course of the week and just waited impatiently for their Friday night leftovers date.

Every minute of greeting and shaking hands and nodding with a studied look of interest on his face seemed to take roughly six months. Royals absolutely did not check their phones or watches during events to see how much time had elapsed, so when Eric appeared at his elbow at 6:30, Alex almost threw up his hands in celebration. Almost. Thankfully, he managed to control himself, and simply shook hands with the foundation’s chairwoman one more time before striding out a side door and into the waiting Range Rover that would take him back to Kensington.

When he rushed into his apartment it was 6:52. Traffic had been worse than he’d hoped and Maddy had so far been very punctual, so he had very little time to prepare. He’d practically tossed Bertie bodily out the back door to pee and then hauled him back in immediately, like a fisherman reeling in a recalcitrant fish. The dog gave him a decidedly disgruntled look, but Alex didn’t care. He checked his phone: 6:55. He sprinted to his bedroom, shedding the blazer he’d worn to the event and tossing it and his tie over the chair in his walk-in closet before closing the door hastily behind him to hide his mess. Thankfully, the housekeeper had been through that day so his room had been tidied. He didn’t want to get presumptuous, but he also didn’t want to be unprepared for the evening to end in his bed.

Satisfied that his space didn’t look a shambles, he strode back towards the lower floor, unbuttoning his collar and rolling back his sleeves as he went. Much as he found himself uninterested in other women lately, his previous exploits had taught him one thing if they had taught him nothing else: women tended to go feral for forearms. And forearms he could certainly provide.

He was standing in front of the wine rack in his kitchen, contemplating his options, when he heard Maddy’s knock at the door followed immediately by Bertie’s bark—which he was sure was intended to be welcoming and not menacing—and the skitter of claws against the wood floor in his entry way. Alex tried to moderate his pace as he hurried toward the front door, but the absurd desperation he was feeling to see her won out. He leaned down to grab Bertie by the collar as he opened the door to see her standing there, her purse over one shoulder, a large paper sack of to-go containers in her arms, and he felt his face break into what he feared might be a slightly absurd grin. “Hi,” he said, opening the door further and dragging Bertie back to let her in.

She smiled up at him as she stepped through the door. “Hi.” She seemed almost shy. It was very endearing. Maybe she’d been anticipating seeing him the same way he’d been looking forward to seeing her? And he didn’t miss the way her pupils flared when her eyes darted down to his rolled-up sleeves. The forearms did it every time.

She looked down at Bertie, who was pogoing up and down where Alex still held him by the collar. Placing the sack of food on the floor behind her, she crouched to greet the small dog, scratching his ears affectionately and making the cutest little scrunchy faces at him.

“I can take that,” Alex said, reaching past her for the sack before Bertie decided that in addition to monopolizing his woman he was also going to make a pass at his dinner.

“Thanks,” she said, rising and unzipping her long blue coat, shrugging out of it to reveal another pair of those yoga pants she wore that filled him with unbridled lust. She had on a soft-looking red shirt under a long gray cardigan. He loved that she was comfortable showing up at his house with leftovers in casual clothes. Most of the women he’d dated before were constantly dressed to the nines, but not Maddy. When she was off work, she tended towards cozy, soft materials that just made him want to cuddle her even more.

She shoved a cream-colored knit hat into the sleeve of her coat before hanging it on a hook inside the door and stepping out of brown booties. “How was the reception?” she asked, following him back to the kitchen.

“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you,” he said, setting the bag of food on the kitchen island and pulling her to stand between his legs, his hands clasped low behind her back. “I couldn’t get my mind off this gorgeous American girl I knew I got to see afterwards.” Her cheeks flushed a beautiful pink color, and he leaned down to steal a kiss. “Hi,” he said, smiling down at her.

“Hi,” she said back, grinning up at him.

“I missed you this week,” he admitted, pulling back a bit, but not letting her go.

“Me too,” she replied, her hands coasting up the front of his shirt to rest on his chest. “Last night I was kind of wishing I could have brought you to Thanksgiving dinner.”

“But you brought me the next best thing!” he said, turning to start unpacking the large bag of black to-go containers she’d brought with her. If he kept kissing her, he wasn’t going to stop and they were never going to eat anything. At least, not any food.

“According to some people, this is the best thing,” she said, moving to his side to start opening containers. “A lot of people think Thanksgiving leftovers are better than the real thing.”

“Okay, then,” Alex said eagerly, pulling the last container from the bag. “Teach me. What do I do?”

“Well, Alex,” Maddy began in a jokingly pedantic voice, “these are leftovers. You put them on a plate and then reheat them in the microwave…”

He grabbed her sides, tickling her gently and pressing a mischievous kiss to the side of her neck from behind. She giggled and squirmed in his arms, but didn’t pull away. His heart soared. “I meant, what do we have here, and what’s the order of operations?”

She turned in his arms to plant a sweet kiss on his cheek and then turned back and started pointing. “Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes. All of those should get gravy on them. Brussels. I’m going no gravy there, but won’t judge you if you choose otherwise. If we’re feeling fancy, Nadia said we can wrap the rolls in foil and put them in the oven while everything else microwaves, but I won’t tell her if we just decide to throw them in the microwave for the last 10 seconds with everything else. Then cranberry goes on after everything else is heated up, although I have to tell you, this bougie whole berry stuff is an abomination. The real deal has ridges to show you it’s straight out of a can.” He stepped away to grab two plates and passed her one, watching as she started dishing out her plate, paying attention to which things she took more of ( mashed potatoes), which less (everything else). “And then obviously we’ll come back for dessert later.”

“Obviously.”

“Just don’t forget to save room! There are two kinds of tartlets, plus brownies and gingerbread.”

“Definitely will be saving room. If this woman’s pies are anything like as good as her brownies, part of me wants to skip the dinner part and go straight to dessert.”

Maddy laughed. He loved that sound. “No, Pierre is every bit as good with savory foods as Nadia is with the baking. You don’t want to miss any of it.”

She turned toward the microwave and carried both of their plates there, stopping along the way to grab two paper towels from the roll next to the kitchen window. He found himself just standing there, smiling like a loon, watching her. She was such a caretaker that she couldn’t even stop herself from microwaving his leftovers. She even had a method that involved alternating the plates so that both of their meals would be warm at the same time. He sobered as he realized that, yes, of course, the domesticity of cooking—or, reheating, rather—for two came naturally to her. She’d been someone’s wife. He certainly didn’t want to erase that part of her, but he didn’t love dwelling on it, either.

Pushing himself off the counter, he went back to the wine rack. “Red or white?” he asked over his shoulder.

To his surprise, Maddy’s arms came around him from behind, peering past his bicep to the extensive collection. “I mean, I’m not particular, but I’m generally more of a red drinker.”

“Red it is,” he said, leaning forward, her arms still around him, to select a red blend that went well with everything. The microwave beeped, and she slipped away again to retrieve their food as he set the bottle and two glasses down on the small table for two in his kitchen .

“I thought we’d eat in here if it’s alright with you?”

“Of course,” she answered, bringing their plates over. He marveled at how comfortable she was, finding her way around his kitchen. People tended to tiptoe around him, so to find someone who just made herself right at home was refreshing. He forced the feelings he was having back and tried to stay in the moment. They’d agreed to keep it casual. Thinking of how comfortable their domestic situation would be was the opposite of casual.

“So are these all the foods you had growing up for Thanksgiving?” he asked, forcing himself back into the moment.

“Pretty much,” she said. “The weird thing about Thanksgiving is that it’s so reliant on the food and everyone does it a little different, so you never quite know. Also, since I grew up doing a lot of big community Thanksgiving dinners with my dad’s soldiers, it wasn’t like my mom was always making the same home-cooked meal, so I’m maybe a little less particular than the average American.” She took another bite. “But this cranberry really is bullshit. Don’t tell me he can’t import the good stuff. He’s the freaking ambassador. They can slip two cans in with the diplomatic post,” she grumbled, examining the small pile of whole berry cranberry sauce she’d begrudgingly put on her plate with a face of pure derision.

It was basically the only thing he’d ever seen make her grumpy, besides his inability to take care of himself when he was sick, and now that he wasn’t the victim, he found her disgust thoroughly adorable.

“So, what do you think of your first Thanksgiving?” she asked, smiling over at him. “I should have taken a picture or something.”

“Delicious,” he proclaimed. “Part of me wants more, but I know there’s so many treats to come…”

She sighed contentedly, sitting back in her chair. “I think I’m going to need a break before I can tackle dessert. ”

“Okay, well, what if we take it and the rest of this wine upstairs with us and we can hang out for a bit and then when we’re ready we can go for round two.”

“Perfect,” she said, standing and moving to clear their plates.

“Oh my god, Maddy, you’re not allowed to bring the food, heat the food, and do the dishes. Take this upstairs,” he said, handing her the bottle of wine and her glass, “make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be right behind you.”

“Okay,” she said. “But I really don’t mind?—”

“Go!” he said, swatting at her playfully with a dishtowel.

“Going!” she called over her shoulder.