The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-two

As she hit Boston traffic, Sonya adjusted her mindset and her behind-the-wheel strategy.

And added that to her list of reasons she didn’t miss the city where she’d been born and raised as much as she’d expected to.

Oh, there were things she missed, she admitted. Her mother hit number one with no competition. But she missed the Charles River, the botanical gardens, the Boston Common. No more impulse attendance at Fenway, or trips to her favorite restaurants, cafés, and shopping haunts.

But not, excepting her mother, as much as she’d expected when she’d made the trip in reverse in the deep freeze of winter.

She’d always loved the house where she’d grown up, and every memory inside it. She’d loved her condo, her neighborhood, but she’d always considered that a temporary stopping point on the way to finding her forever home.

But being back, she realized Boston had been another stopping point. An important one, a foundational one, but she’d moved on from it.

And didn’t regret it.

“How does it feel?” she asked Cleo.

“Like we’re visitors. Just the way I feel when I go back to Lafayette. I loved it there, I loved it here. But now? A visitor. You?”

“I wondered, and maybe I worried and that’s why I haven’t come back until now. But I feel just the same way. If all this hadn’t happened, I think I’d have been happy here. But it did, and now I wouldn’t.”

She handled the traffic—it had been a few months, but she’d had years of practice—and finally slipped out of it and into the leafy neighborhood of her childhood.

Dogwoods bloomed, tulips popped, pink blossoms dressed ornamental cherry trees.

“We’ll see this at home in another week or two,” Cleo predicted.

At home, Sonya thought, in the manor by the sea.

Yes, they were visitors here now.

But there was the sweet, two-story house where she’d grown up, with the red maple leafing out in the little front yard, and her mother’s car in the drive.

That would be, always, home, too.

“I told her she didn’t have to take the day off.”

“And you thought she wouldn’t?”

Sonya shook her head as she pulled in behind her mother’s car. “I knew she would. I’m so glad she did.”

Even as she said it, Winter rushed out of the house.

She wore stone-gray jeans, a light sweater in popping pink.

Sonya shoved out of the car, felt her eyes sting as her mother threw her arms around her.

“Oh, I missed you. Missed you, missed you.” Sonya burrowed in. “I didn’t know how much until right this second.”

“My baby. I’m so glad to see you, really see you.” When she drew back, Winter’s hazel eyes were damp. “Oh, and you look so good.”

“I want some.”

“Cleo.” Winter turned to embrace her. “I’m so happy you’re here. You’re both here. Let me get a good look at—Oh! You both look so good! I can’t complain when I see how good Maine looks on the pair of you. My girls!”

She pulled them both in for another hug. “Let’s get your things inside. I want to hear everything about everything.”

“We FaceTimed two days ago, Mom.”

“That’s different. Oh! The displays for your presentation tomorrow. I want to see them. I want to see everything.”

When they hauled a load inside, everything was so wonderfully familiar. The cozy living room where her mother had cleaned out the fireplace for warm weather and placed candles, her father’s painting over the mantel—the path through the misty woods. Spring flowers bright and happy in a vase.

And she sniffed the air.

“Something smells amazing, but I told you not to cook.”

“You don’t get to be the boss of me until I’m old and decrepit, and even then you’ll have a fight on your hands. It’s lemon chiffon cake.”

“My very favorite.”

“Right there with you,” Cleo said.

“We’re going to have a nice spring salad with pretzel rolls first. And mimosas.”

“I just moved ahead of you,” Cleo claimed, “but if I don’t pee pretty damn quick, I’m going to disgrace myself. I’m going to take this up to my room—it’s still my overnight room?”

“Always.”

“I want to hang up my assistant’s dress. Son, you should do the same with your dress unless we want to add ironing to our list.”

“And I don’t. Unpack, then—No, text Trey, unpack, then mimosas.”

“He asked you to text him when you got here? Another mark of my approval,” Winter decided. “Final marks when I finally meet him. Now let’s get you both settled in.”

When they had, Cleo took another few minutes before coming down to give mother and daughter a chance to just be.

“Look at the pretty table. Your best dishes, tulips and baby’s breath, your grandmother’s lace cloth.”

“I liked having an excuse to fuss. Now, I know you said you wanted to take me out to dinner tonight, but—”

“That’s firm.” Sonya pointed a finger at her mother. “You’re not cooking. Neither is Cleo.”

“I still can’t believe Cleo does cook.”

“I’d say it surprised her, too. Not only that she can, but she likes it.”

“And look at you.” After she got the champagne out of the fridge, Winter flexed her biceps, patted it.

“I know, right?” Sonya flexed her own. “Who knew that was there? And surprise for me, I actually enjoy my solo, in-my-own-home-gym, mostly-every-other-day workouts.”

“Well, Maine and those workouts look really good on you. So does being in love.”

“Oh, well…” Smiling, she rolled her shoulders. “We haven’t brought up that major four-letter word yet. It’s a really big word.”

“I know love when I’m looking at it. And it makes me realize I didn’t see it when I looked at you with Brandon.”

If she couldn’t say it all to her mother, then who?

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone else, and more? I really like Trey, for so many reasons. I don’t know what it says about me that I didn’t have that, not really, not honestly, with someone I planned to marry.”

“It says you nearly made a mistake. But you didn’t, and that’s what matters. You told me you thought he’d head up By Design’s presentation tomorrow.”

“I’d be surprised if he didn’t. He’s good, Mom, Brandon’s very good.”

“You’re better.”

With that, Winter popped the cork.

“I heard that!” Cleo came in. “Before you pour, I have something for you.”

She handed Winter a package wrapped in embossed white paper with a pink ribbon.

“A thanks for hauling my stuff up to Maine before I moved, for sending me recipes, and for being, since college, my Boston mama.”

“The first was no trouble at all, the second’s my surprised pleasure, and the third? My absolute delight.”

When she unwrapped the framed painting, Winter teared up again. “Oh, Cleo.”

“When did you do that?” Sonya came around the counter. “You didn’t tell me you did that.”

“You don’t have to know everything.”

The dreamy watercolor showed Sonya, in profile, sitting sideways on the seawall, hair caught in the breeze. Yoda has his front paws on her knee, and she her hand on his head.

“It’s beautiful, Cleo, just so beautiful. Baby, look how content you are.”

“I looked out one day, and there you were, just like that. And I knew then and there it was a gift Winter had to have.”

“I’ll treasure it, and every day when I look at it, I’ll know my baby’s where she’s happy.”

Over lunch and mimosas, cake and cappuccinos, they talked about everything.

At Winter’s insistence, they set up the displays and ran through the presentation.

She sat quietly, face impassive, legs crossed, hands folded on her knee.

At the end, Winter applauded politely, then let out a cheer, jumped up.

“Brilliant!” She hugged Sonya tight. “My daughter’s brilliant! And so’s her best friend. Ryder Sports would be idiots not to go with your campaign. It’s the best.”

“You haven’t seen By Design’s.”

“I don’t need to.” She flicked that away. “Yours has punch and it has heart. And the displays?”

Clasping her hands together, she studied the slick posters that had once been only ideas on a mood board.

“Brilliant again. Cleo, you look fabulous.”

“I just can’t help myself.”

With a laugh, Winter gave her a one-armed hug. “And Trey? Very handsome. And this is Owen, also very handsome. But all of you, all the rest? People, not models, not actors—and that’s part of the brilliance.”

“I’m going into the presentation with my ego pumped.”

“Good. You should. I want you to do something for me.”

“You know I will.”

“I’d like you to order me this display. I want to have it.”

“Sure, but—”

“It’s your work, it’s your art. I want to hang it in my office. And now,” she said, “let’s go shopping.”

That night in the manor, Trey split a pizza with Owen.

“Dobbs wasn’t happy when I came back.”

“Yeah?” Owen shrugged. “Screw her.”

“Clover was. My phone played for half an hour. How’d the cat handle it?”

“She was fine. Jones was a little miffed, but it’s all fine.” He glanced around when the doorbell bonged. “Expecting someone?”

“It’s nobody. The dogs are out, and they’d’ve barked. That’s one of her new deals. It’s gone off—that makes the fourth time—since before you got here.”

“I could turn it off.”

Trey tilted his head. “You figure that’ll stop it?”

“You got a point. How about when we’re done here, we go down, find a flick where lots of shit blows up. That’ll piss her off.”

“Sounds good.”

While shit blew up on-screen, the cat curled on the chair between them, and the dogs sprawled on the floor, the servants’ bell rang incessantly. The doors to the theater opened and shut twice.

Trey ate some popcorn. “Pretty weak sauce from her.”

“Flick’s got better action.”

And at three, Trey stepped out on the balcony. Owen opened his window, leaned out.

Together they watched Dobbs jump.

Trey looked over at Owen. “See you in the morning.”

“Yeah.”

Trey went inside; Owen shut the window.

And the manor settled into quiet.

The next day, Sonya put on the coral dress, Cleo’s gold beads, her twisty hoops. She spent twice as long on her makeup to be absolutely sure it wasn’t overdone or underdone.

She’d skipped breakfast—her stomach wouldn’t take it.

Cleo walked in with a tray holding half a bagel, a small bowl of berries, and two Cokes.

“I know,” she said before Sonya could refuse. “Didn’t I room with somebody who couldn’t eat if she was worried about the exam she was about to take? But your presentation’s not until two, and you need something in your stomach before that.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right. I swore I’d get done with the nerves before today. I’ve failed.”

“Still time. Now sit. I’m doing your hair.”

“Which also takes me back to college. You know why Mom went to work this morning?”

“So she wouldn’t hover and make you nervous, and make herself nervous because she made you nervous.” Cleo sighed. “I love Winter.”

“So do I.”

Since they were there, she ate a couple of berries, then decided she could, at least, nibble on the bagel.

“I texted Trey this morning. He and Owen stayed at the manor last night. They did pizza and a movie.”

“I texted Owen to see how Pye did. He texted back: ‘Fine. She slept on my ass.’ You know, she doesn’t sleep on mine, but his? It’s a little annoying.”

Sonya watched the magic in the mirror as Cleo’s long artist fingers worked.

“I feel, as his cousin, I can say this without sexualizing. He’s got a great ass.”

“I have noticed that truth.”

“Plan to do more than notice? I’m talking about this to distract myself, so indulge me.”

“That was still under consideration until Dobbs had one of her wild tantrums. He came after me and Pye, and he didn’t bitch about it. He said he’d have done the same thing. So I plan to try him on when the time seems right, and see if we fit in this elemental area.”

“I suspected as much.”

“No rushing in. I think, I really think, what needs to happen at the manor needs all four of us. Since I firmly believe that, I’m not going to mess it up for sex.”

“I think you’re right about the four of us, and I don’t think you’ll mess things up.” After another bite of bagel, Sonya reached for her Coke. “He doesn’t strike me as the type, any more than you are, to let sex interfere with friendship and family. The four of us are both.”

In the mirror, Cleo smiled at Sonya. “We are, aren’t we? And that’s what’s going to beat her. And this hair? If I do say so myself, is perfect, and is going to add another reason they’ll want to hire you.”

“The hair’s great, and you were right about eating something. Also—you’re on a streak—right about the outfit, even though I now have to put these murder-my-feet shoes on.”

Cleo patted her shoulder. “Suck it up.”

Sucking it up, Sonya put on the shoes and rose to study them both side-by-side in the mirror. Cleo had gone with a mustardy yellow that brought out not only the varied tones of her hair but her eyes.

And worked—like magic again—with Sonya’s coral.

“I see the genius in your plan. Female, but not soft. We look like spring done in strong colors.”

“Nothing stuffy or expected. Smart women who know how to take the time to put themselves together well.”

“And now I’m not as nervous.”

“Look confident, be confident,” Cleo declared. “Let’s get this party started.”

What nerves remained, Sonya knew she’d handle. The drive to the Ryder building gave her time to settle into herself. She knew what to do and how to do it, so she would.

The rest? Out of her control.

She parked in the underground garage of the many-storied brick-and-glass building, shouldered her laptop case as Cleo shouldered hers. Between them, they carted the displays, the box of folders for the attendees to the elevator.

“What song do you think Clover would play now?” Sonya wondered.

“Ah… Let’s go with Kesha and ‘Woman.’”

“That’s it. That’s the perfect one. We’re motherfucking women.”

“Baby, that’s right.”

Buoyed, they rode up to the lobby.

Sonya remembered it from her previous work for Ryder as steeped in tradition. The Ryder logo flew behind a small reception counter; the tile floors in a soft, smoky gray worked well with pale blue walls. Two navy chairs flanked a table, and over it hung a portrait of the founder.

Sonya signed in, then, as directed, they took the elevator to the seventh floor.

As they rode up to seven, Cleo hummed “Woman” and made Sonya laugh.

“It’s the day you’ve been working for, my friend.”

“It is, and I want it, Cleo, but I realize it’s not the alpha and omega for me. Visual Art is doing just fine. I’m doing just fine. More than fine. And realizing that takes some of the edge off.”

“Whatever works.”

As they stepped off the elevator, a Ryder staff member greeted them. “Ms. MacTavish. I’m Lauren Cooper. I’ll escort you to the conference room, assist you in setting up.”

“Thanks. Ms. Fabares will be working with me today.”

“Good to meet you both. If you’ll come with me.”

As they started along the hall, bright with windows, with framed displays of various Ryder equipment between, Brandon Wise strode down.

He wore a sharp navy pin-striped suit (thank God she hadn’t gone with the navy), crisp white dress shirt—they’d have French cuffs, she knew, with monograms—and a navy-and-burgundy-striped tie done in a double Windsor. His oxfords exactly matched the dark brown leather of his briefcase.

His blond hair, perfectly styled to suit his smooth “no, I’m not a movie star, but I look like one” face, caught glints from the sun streaming through the windows.

His smile, all charm, spread like the sunlight.

“Mr. Wise, I didn’t realize you were still here.”

“On my way out now, Lauren. Miranda and I started chatting after the rest of the team left, and time got away from me. Hello, Sonya. You look… well.”

“Thank you. I am.”

He gave Cleo the slightest nod. “Cleo.”

She gave him one right back. “Asshole.”

His smile wavered, but didn’t quite fall.

“So how are things in the backwoods of Maine?”

“It’s on the coast, and it’s lovely. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

“If I could have just one minute. Lauren can show your… assistant where to take your supplies.”

“One’s all I have to spare. I’ll be right behind you, Cleo. It’s fine,” she added.

“Let me take those for you.” Sending Sonya a look of apology, Lauren took what Sonya carried. “The conference room is at the end of the hall.”

“Yes, I remember.” As they walked away, Sonya glanced at the watch she rarely wore. “Minute starts now.”

“The hardcase act doesn’t suit you,” he said lightly. “Looks like you’ve put on a little weight. Trying to run your own little company, and away from the action? Can’t blame you for stress eating.”

“I haven’t, and I’m enjoying freelancing. If you want to take your minute to comment on my appearance—”

“Touchy, but you always were. I thought it only fair to let you know, I’ve got this account sewn up. Miranda just confirmed it. I understand Burt has a… let’s be delicate here and say a fondness for you, and pushed to give you this exposure. But I’ve got the account, and that shouldn’t be a surprise.”

She stiffened when he put a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re going to want to move that hand.”

He moved it, and sighed. “I wanted to spare you some embarrassment, for old times’ sake. Stick with your minor league websites, Sonya. Ryder’s big league, and you’re just not. Never will be.”

“I’ll give your advice all the consideration it’s due. Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’ve gone over your minute, and that’s all you’re going to get.”

“All that time together, and I really missed how much of a bitch you had in you. Breaking our engagement was the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Jesus, Brandon, you really are pathetic.”

“You’ve already lost, Sonya,” he called out as she walked away. “You never had a chance.”

“We’ll see about that,” she muttered. “We’ll fucking see about that.”

When she reached the conference room, the displays were up, the packets laid out on the long table. Yet another staff member filled water glasses.

“Ms. MacTavish—”

“Sonya.”

“Sonya,” Lauren corrected. “I want to apologize. By Design’s presentation completed nearly forty minutes ago. I had no idea Mr. Wise remained behind.”

“It’s fine. He wanted to give me some advice.”

“Asshole,” Cleo muttered. “Ambush.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sonya repeated.

“In any case, I apologize. Miranda Ryder and the rest you’ll present to are in the executive dining room. Obviously, Mr. Wise wasn’t. They’re due back in about ten minutes. Is there anything I can get you?”

“Just water’s fine. Cleo?”

“That’ll do.”

They set up the slide show for the big wall screen, ran a quick test.

When Lauren went out, Cleo turned to give Sonya a hug. “I’d ask if you’re okay, but you look more than okay.”

“It’s not my alpha and omega, but I want it. He made me want it more.”

“You’ve still got a couple minutes. Want a quick trip to the ladies’ to kick something in those fabulous shoes?”

“Don’t need it. His— ambush fits—energized me, and I’ll use it.”

Burt Springer came in first, a tall, robust man with threads of gray through dark hair and deep-set brown eyes. He strode straight to Sonya and took her hand in both of his.

“Sonya. I wanted a second just to say I’m glad you’re here, and I’m looking forward to seeing your ideas.”

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you giving me the opportunity.”

“You earned it.” He turned to Cleo. “Burt Springer.”

“Cleo Fabares. It’s lovely to meet you. Sonya’s told me how much she enjoyed working with you.”

“It’s mutual.” Then he frowned. “Why is that name so familiar? Now, I know we haven’t met before—how could I forget? Wait! Could you be the Cleo Fabares who illustrated my granddaughter’s favorite book? Jessie’s Best Day ?”

“I am.”

On a look of delight, he snapped his fingers. “I knew that name. Small wonder. Eva’s four, and she loves that book. I bought a second copy for Grandma and Pop’s house. I can’t count how many times we’ve read it to her. Though at this point, she reads it to us. She loves the pictures, especially the one of Jessie jumping in the ball pit. If I had a copy with me, I’d have you sign it for her.”

“I’ll see you get one, signed by me and the author.”

“That would rank me as best Pop ever.” He took out a card. “Wait until I tell my wife. Are you and Sonya working together at Visual Art?”

“Sonya and I have been friends since college.”

“And currently we’re housemates,” Sonya added. “Cleo’s helping me out today.”

“I don’t have to tell you I wish you the best of luck, but I’ll tell you anyway. And here come the rest. Knock our socks off.”

She knew some of the fifteen who took their seats at the table from her previous work for Ryder, and others by reputation and research for her presentation.

Windon Ryder served as CFO, Lowell Ryder as VP of marketing. And Miranda Ryder, head of the table, as, Sonya knew, head of everything.

She had three generations of Ryders in the room to impress, and twelve others who’d weigh in.

She was ready.

“Good afternoon. I’m Sonya MacTavish of Visual Art, and this is Cleo Fabares, who’ll assist me today. I want to thank you for this opportunity to—”

“I understood you were a one-woman operation,” Miranda interrupted. “Have you expanded your company?”

“I haven’t, no.” Sonya met the steel-gray eyes directly. “Ms. Fabares is a friend and today a volunteer.”

“Before you begin, you understand By Design, a company you once worked for, has already presented.”

“I do, yes. And no doubt, as By Design is an exceptional and creative organization, their presentation met those standards. I believe mine will as well.”

“Why did you leave their employ? Laine Cohen and Matt Berry have, as you said yourself, built an exceptional and creative organization.”

“And I owe Laine and Matt a great deal. They were wonderful to work for. The decision to leave By Design and build my own business was neither easy nor impulsive, but was the right decision for me. Only more so as I relocated to Maine.”

“As a one-woman operation?”

“Yes, which I could never have done without the foundation I was given at By Design. In your packets, as requested, I have samples of work I’ve done since starting Visual Art. I’ve found freelancing both challenging and fulfilling, and I appreciate the opportunity to present my vision for Ryder Sports, a business rooted, as I am, in family and community.”

She glanced at Cleo, who cued up the slide show, and began.

She stayed in the moment, though afterward, all the moments blurred. She fielded questions—those tech questions did come up—and when it was done, forgot her answers.

What she remembered, and always would, was Burt coming out into the hallway to take her hand again, and whispering in her ear:

“Socks knocked off.”

Sonya didn’t speak until the elevator doors shut.

“Was she as tough as I think? Miranda Ryder?”

“Tougher.” Cleo blew out a breath, rolled her eyes. “Scary tough. I liked her. I sort of want to be her in thirty or forty years. Now let me say this, not as your friend, not as your temporary assistant. Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“You. Were. Awesome!”

“I can’t remember it.” Because they felt cold, she rubbed her hands together. “It’s like a big blur now. Maybe later I’ll remember.”

“I was watching, looking at faces when I could. They liked it, Son. They really did.”

“I’m putting it away. I have to put it away.”

“Uh-uh. You’re going to tell me what that asshole said to you.”

“In detail. But I’m going to change out of these shoes so I can feel my feet again, take several long breaths. And I’m going to take you and Mom out to dinner.”

“I’m going to tell you now, your mom has other ideas. She’s home now, and she’s making her famous garlic and sage roast chicken. She wanted you home tonight, Son. Wanted you to relax. For us all to relax.”

“You know what? I want that, too. We did a good job, and I’m letting it go. Doing a good job’s enough.”