: Chapter 18

Head on fucking straight, Hopper.

You have things you have to accomplish.

Deals to be made.

Businesses to grow.

There is no need to be doing anything but that.

With Sloane’s hand held tightly in mine, we walk up to the Mayfair Club’s front doors, which are managed by a bellman.

“Good afternoon, sir, ma’am. How may I be of assistance?”

“Hello. We’re meeting with Archie Wimbach.”

“Right this way,” he says as he opens the door, revealing mahogany walls, green-and-blue-plaid carpet, and the smell of old books combined with pine. This is exactly what I expected it might be like inside the Mayfair Club. An old parlor club.

We are led into a study where books from what seems the eighteenth century line the walls. Not a speck of dust on them, yet they look like they haven’t been touched for years. A secretary desk is positioned catty-corner to the window, and a seating area of antique furniture rests in the middle.

“Mr. Remington will be right with you.”

“Thank you,” I answer as the man shuts the door behind himself.

Sloane turns toward me and whispers, “Uh, I feel like I don’t belong here. It’s extremely fancy.”

“This is what money will buy you.”

“Musty walls and furniture that was built in medieval times?”

“Exactly.” I chuckle just as the door opens and in steps a man in a suit. He’s bald except for a whisp of hair on either side of his head and clean-shaven. His glasses barely hang on the tip of his nose, and his bow tie matches his pocket square.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hopper, thank you so much for making it in today. It’s delightful to meet you. I’m Mr. Remington, and I’ll be your advisor regarding your club membership. Please, be seated.”

With Sloane’s hand still in mine, I bring her over to the couch and we sit. She chose a white dress with thick straps that cover the ice-blue straps of the bra I know she’s wearing. She paired the dress with a white hat with a pink ribbon around the base. Her hair is down, and she looks every bit the part she’s here to play.

She crosses her feet at her ankles and sits tall next to me.

“Thank you for having us,” she says. “The club, from what I can see, is breathtaking.”

“Thank you, we take great pride in maintaining the building’s original structure. We were forced to make some renovations after the kitchen fire back in 1942, but other than that, everything else is original, besides some flooring that has suffered wear and tear from heels over the years.”

“Very impressive,” Sloane says as she looks around.

“Thank you. And I must say, your application into the club came with a very high recommendation from Archie Wimbach. His family has been members of the club for generations now.”

“We are very grateful for the recommendation,” I say. “Archie and his family are very good people. We’re honored.”

“They are, and wonderful donors. I see that you’ve put in a donation amount as well.” Sloane glances at me, but I ignore it as I nod.

“Yes, earmarked as well.”

“I see that. For the Brothers and Sisters program, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“Wonderful, and I’ve read your reasoning, which was touching. I’ve brought your membership request to the board, and they’ve all agreed that you would be a superb fit for the Mayfair Club. We’d like to welcome you as members.”

I feel a wave of relief release through me as I say, “Thank you. That means a lot to us.”

Mr. Remington stands, so we do as well. “It’s an honor. And I believe the Wimbachs are waiting for you upstairs. In the Sherry Room. Mr. Wimbach said he’d be delighted to give you a tour.”

“Thank you.” I shake his hand and so does Sloane before we both head out of the room and up the curved staircase.

“What’s the Brothers and Sisters program?” Sloane asks quietly as we make our way up.

“They focus on matching children with mentors, it’s like the Big Brothers, Big Sisters program in the States.”

“How much did you donate?”

“Does it matter?” I ask.

“No, but I’m curious.” Of course she is. She’s always curious. But there is a very good reason I chose this charity, and although I can share part of that with her, the rest? Well, that’s deeply humbling. My brother and sister saved me from becoming like my father. The money to support this cause was not just a means to an end.

“One million,” I say, causing her to gasp. “And before you ask, I chose the program because I know that both of us wouldn’t be where we are today without our siblings in our lives. Our childhoods were different but also very similar in some ways. We lean on those relationships, and I want to give disadvantaged kids the same opportunities.”

She pauses at the top of the stairs and looks up at me with those doe eyes of hers. “Are you trying to get me to fall in love with you? Because I will. Keep doing things like that and I very much will.”

“Shouldn’t my wife already be in love?” I ask in a teasing tone, which I know she loves. She’s made it quite clear that she likes the lighter side of me, and in all honesty, I like that side of me too. It’s just harder to show around her since we’re always involved in business.

And I’m always trying to avoid her.

Always trying to keep my guard up to protect her. To protect the both of us. To protect the business.

“She should, but I don’t think you paid her enough.”

“Shhh,” I say on a laugh. “Jesus, trying to give us away?”

“The marriage is real. The rest, well, that’s up for discussion.”

Shaking my head, I lead her to the room on the right that is marked Sherry Room. We walk inside and find Archie and Sheridan talking to a few people. Okay, time to tighten up and put on another show.

When they spot us, large smiles spread across their faces. “Hudson, Sloane,” Archie says, “so glad you could join us. We were just talking about you two. Please tell me you were accepted.”

“Largely in part due to your generous nomination,” I say.

“Ah, well, it was an easy one to write.” Archie shakes my hand. “Welcome to the club. First, can I steal you away for a signature smoke in the cigar room while Sheridan takes Sloane for some tea?”

“Would love that.”

“Let them get all stinky and we shall dine on tea and scones,” Sheridan says.

“Sounds like we have the better end of the bargain,” Sloane says with a little shimmy of her shoulders.

God, she’s cute.

Before she takes off, she comes up to me, presses her hand to my chest, and then, on her toes, kisses my cheek. Whispering, she says, “Your ass looks stunning in those pants.” Then she pulls away and winks. My eyes trail after her as she walks away, sauntering in those fucking heels and looking so damn good that I’m going to have a really hard time keeping myself in check.

“How long have you two been married again?” Archie asks.

“Not very long,” I answer and then turn to him. “But she’s always captured my attention.”

“I can tell. When we were meeting at Maggie’s office, I felt like there was something going on between the two of you, but you maintained professionalism well. I admire that. I don’t think I could be the same way with Sheridan.”

Something going on? Jesus, maybe I wasn’t as sly as I thought I was.

“We make it a point to keep things professional while working. But when we’re home, that’s different.”

“I like that.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Come this way.”

Archie gives me a brief tour of the upstairs portion of the club. Basically, it’s just room after room of parlor spaces where members congregate and talk, drink, smoke cigars. In one of the rooms, hors d’oeuvres are passed around by servers wearing white gloves, while in the courtyard—a lawn space carved out in the middle of the club—members are playing croquet.

Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone play croquet.

Archie brings me into the smoking parlor, and honestly, I’m not much of a cigar person, never liked them, but that doesn’t mean I won’t join him.

We walk toward the far end of the room, where there are shelves lined with cigar boxes and a man at a cigar bar, ready to assist.

“What are you thinking?” Archie says.

“Not to burst your bubble, man, but I’m not much of a cigar guy.”

Archie pauses and then turns toward me. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, but please, feel free. I don’t mind at all. My dad always smoked cigars. I have a time or two, but it’s just not my thing.”

Archie chuckles and says, “Mine neither. I just do it because of my dad.”

That makes me laugh. “Did your dad make you smoke during casual business meetings?”

“Yes,” Archie says. “And it was not the end of the world, but I don’t know, Sheridan is not a fan, and I just don’t have a strong penchant to smoke. I was offering because, well, that’s what I’ve been told to do.”

“You don’t need to with me.”

“If that’s the case, I have the perfect thing for us. Do you like sparkling water with lime?”

I chuckle. “Sounds great.”

Archie flags down a server, tells them we will be out on the terrace, and to please bring two sparkling waters. Then we head down the hall and out two French doors to a terrace that overlooks the courtyard. A bistro table is off to the right, which Archie snags for us.

When we both take a seat and get settled, I look around and say, “I can see why this is such a hidden gem and an exclusive club. Having a piece in the city like this, where it’s calm, it’s truly breathtaking.”

“It is. I’m excited to be over here full-time.”

“Is that happening after the wedding?” I ask as our drinks are set down at our table, along with some cookies—or biscuits as they call them here.

We both thank the server and Archie says, “Yes. We’re going to Fiji for our honeymoon and then headed back to the States to wrap up some packing, but after that, straight to London to be closer to my dad and family.”

“How is he doing?”

Archie looks out toward the sky. “He’s hanging on.”

I can tell how uncomfortable he is talking about it, so I quickly move on, not wanting to make him upset. “I’m glad to hear it. I’m assuming you’ve already secured a flat?”

“We have,” he answers, looking grateful for the quick change in subject. “It’s currently being renovated, so we’re staying with my parents, but we were able to take a peek at it yesterday, and they just finished installing the wallpaper.” Archie smiles to himself. “Sheridan was brimming with excitement.”

“That’s great.” I sip my sparkling water.

“Hey.” Archie nudges me. “Yesterday, with Devin, everything okay there?”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to be nonchalant. This is business; I shouldn’t be inserting my personal grievances, but then again…this is the perfect segue into making sure Devin stays as far away from Sloane as possible. “Why?”

“Just seemed tense between you two.”

I take another sip and then set my drink down. “Can I level with you and you not hold it against me?”

“Of course.”

“Devin and Sloane used to date casually, and he had an impact on her life that I don’t care for—not a bad one but…just an impact, if you know what I mean.”

“Ah, yes,” he says in understanding.

“I’ve received the impression from Devin that he has zero boundaries when it comes to Sloane being married.”

Archie nods “Yeah, I get that. He’s always been that way. Flirtatious and pushing the limit. I had a sense that he was doing that last night.”

“He was, and I didn’t appreciate it, but I tried to remain calm and collected at dinner.”

“But inwardly you wanted to bash his brains in?”

“Pretty much.”

Archie laughs. “I’m impressed, mate. You held it together. You’re a better man than I am, because if it were me in that position, I don’t think I would have taken too kindly to what he was saying.”

“I didn’t want to cause a scene, mainly for the both of you but also for Sloane.”

“That’s very dignified of you.” He picks up a biscuit and takes a bite. “If you want me to make sure they’re not dancing partners at the wedding, I can do that.”

“It would be much appreciated.”

Archie laughs. “Consider it done.”

“Have you ever played before?” Sheridan asks, handing Sloane a wooden mallet.

“Never.” Sloane lifts the mallet to examine it. “Why do I fear I’m going to hurt someone?”

“Why do I fear it’s going to be me?” I say as I lower her mallet below her waist. “Keep that thing there.”

Sheridan laughs and says, “There’s no reason to be hurting anyone if you’re doing it right.”

“Hear that?” I say to Sloane. “You don’t need to be hurting anyone if you’re doing it right.”

“I heard her,” Sloane says in a teasing tone.

I don’t want to jinx anything, but fuck, today has gone incredibly well. Archie and I bonded more than I thought we would, talking over business, the pressure of being the oldest sons; we even talked about Stanford and our college days. He opened up a little more about his dad, which brought us to Sheridan’s father and how he has been hard to navigate for Archie but Archie also values his opinion for the most part.

Archie explained some of the history of the Mayfair Club as he showed me around. I was interested in the philanthropic work that has become the main focus of the club. They didn’t want to exist only as a place for rich people to congregate; they wanted like-minded people with big hearts and open wallets to discuss the good they can do in the world.

It made me think of my father and how he so desperately wants to be a part of this club but how he doesn’t have the charitable heart to fit in.

Put a smile on my face for a moment, because this is something I have over him. This is something I can say I did not inherit from him but established on my own. Sure, I had to weasel my way into the club by marrying Sloane, but I know I will do good here.

I vow I will.

“Okay, the object is to get your ball through the hoops, or wickets. You start at the pole here.” She points to a stick in the ground. “And then you pass through hoops one and two, then over to three off to the right. We go in a W-shaped pattern until we get to the other pole, and that’s when we turn around. Every time you get a ball through the hoop, you get a bonus hit. If you hit an opponent’s ball, that’s also a bonus hit. First one to get through all the wickets and back to the starting pole, wins.”

“Seems simple enough,” Sloane says.

“I’ll start, then you can follow,” Sheridan says as she adjusts her straw hat and sets her purple ball down. She taps her ball through the starting hoop, then through the second, and then shoots it over to the third, where her turn ends. Archie does the same, following right behind, and I follow suit as well.

When it’s Sloane’s turn, she sets her yellow ball down and says, “Looks like this won’t be too hard.” She lines up her feet to shoulder width, adjusts her hands on the mallet, and winds back like she’s about to tee off at a par five.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say attempting to stop her.

And from here, it’s unclear what happens. Not sure if she doesn’t hear me, doesn’t see me, doesn’t care…but as I approach, all I see is her downswing and my body merging right in the strike zone.

The world around me slows down as everything happens in what feels like minutes rather than seconds.

She downswings, and I leap to avoid being chopped in the ankles.

But it’s the wrong move because I lose my balance and somehow tumble on top of her.

We fall to the ground, limbs tangling, as a resounding rip sears what feels like a deafening silence.

The mallet winds up between our bodies, Sloane clearly loses all the air out of her lungs as she exhales from my large body flinging on top of her, and people around us gasp.

“What are you…doing?” Sloane muffles.

“Fuck, sorry,” I say as I start to get up but then feel a very cool breeze shoot right up my backside. Oh fuck, what’s that?

The sound of fabric tearing.

The breeze…

Did I rip my pants?

“You’re suffocating me,” Sloane says as I grip her and roll us over in a state of panic so I’m on my back and Sloane is on top of me.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asks, her arms clamped to her side, her hat poking me in the face.

“Fuck,” I mumble. “I felt a breeze.”

“Yeah, so do I and I’m the one wearing a skirt with a thong.”

“Shit,” I mutter as I see the skirt of her dress getting blown by the wind.

“Let go of my hands, Husband,” she grinds out.

I release her, and she presses her dress down, but it’s too late because we have caused quite the commotion as everyone out in the courtyard has their eyes on us, including Archie and Sheridan, who are both covering their mouths and chuckling.

Fuck, this is not how it was supposed to go.

Embarrassment stains my cheeks because, sure, Archie and Sheridan might be chuckling, but this is still business. This can still hurt me. We have very few chances to make a positive impression, and this is one that I don’t want to make.

“Was your ass out?” I ask her.

“What the hell do you think? I’m wearing a dress, and you just flopped me around like a fish out of water. My ass is definitely imprinted in the minds of every human out here. All because you felt a breeze. What is wrong with you?”

“Sloane.”

“I mean, if you feel a breeze, don’t make it easier for people to see that breeze take flight up my skirt.”

“Sloane…”

“Especially in such a place of high society. Thank God I lotioned my ass cheeks today, imagine everyone seeing them all dry and pasty.”

“Sloane,” I say in a sterner voice.

“What?”

“I…I think I tore my pants.”

“You ripped your pants? Like in your knee? Big whoop. Sure, it’s less than dignified, but it’s not your entire ass waving hello to the courtyard.”

“Not in my knee. In my butt.”

“Your butt?” She looks down at me and then back up. “So?”

Clenching my jaw, I add, “And I’m not wearing any underwear.”

“You’re not… Oh.” A smile tugs on her lips.

“Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare.”

She covers her mouth, her shoulders shaking in laughter.

“Stop. Don’t you dare laugh.”

She leans in closer and asks, “Why don’t you have underwear on?”

“Because the pants were too tight. You could see the outline of my briefs.”

She nods. “Panty lines are a real thing. But have no fear, I can check if you have a hole.”

“Everything okay down there?” Archie asks, stepping up to us.

Sloane waves him off. “Thinks he split his pants. I’m just going to check.”

Fuck, Sloane, don’t announce it!

“No…don’t check.”

But it’s too late. She has my leg in the air, examining between my legs as if I’m at my very own gynecological exam. What the hell is she doing? Has she forgotten where we are?

“Sloane, put my leg down.”

But she’s determined, because to my fucking surprise, instead of putting my leg down, her finger snakes between my legs and pokes me dead on in the balls.

“Motherfucker,” I yelp as I sit right up, shooting my leg down to the ground. But because of where she was positioned, examining me, my leg knocks her to the ground and lands across her back as her face buried into the ground and her ass sticks up.

“What the hell?” she mutters.

“Jesus Christ,” I say as I move my leg, and she sits up, a mud smear across her face and a murderous look in her eyes.

“You just ostriched me.”

“What?” I ask.

Archie now squats next to us, tears falling down his cheeks. “Uh, if you two don’t get it together, they’re going to revoke your membership.”

“You saw that, he just ostrich-ed me.” Sloane gestures toward me.

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“Mate…you most defiantly ostrich-ed her.”

Sheridan squats down too and says, “I saw the ostrich, and it most definitely was a deliberate attempt to collapse her.”

“See.” Sloane gestures toward the two on her side. “I think I have fertilizer in my mouth.”

Jesus.

“You do not.”

“I most certainly do.” She shakes her head. “All because you didn’t want me to beat you at croquet. The audacity.” She stands and adjusts her dress. “Way to ruin a perfectly delightful lawn game.”

“I wasn’t scared of you beating me,” I say as the courtyard starts to go back to what they were doing before this monstrosity of an occurrence. “I didn’t want you to hurt anyone. You had too big of a backswing.”

“I was going for two hoops, a double pointer. Of course I had a big backswing.”

I press my hand to my brow and say, “How about we don’t argue about it now, not in front of our gracious friends who recommended we join this club.”

“I’m grateful they are here, as witness to the ostrich-ing.”

“There was no ostrich-ing,” I whisper-shout.

“There was a little bit of ostrich-ing,” Archie says as he lends me a hand to help me up, but I don’t take it. Not because I’m irritated but because there is still a breeze down below.

Sheepishly, I look up at Archie and say, “Umm, so, I definitely ripped my pants.”

“Oh, he for sure did,” Sloane says as she picks at the dirt on her face. “Tailbone to ball sack, those pants are done.” Leave it to her to give a description.

“Ah, okay.” Archie stands straight and looks around. “Want me to find you a towel or something to cover up?”

“It’s fine,” Sloane says nonchalantly as if she deals with this kind of thing every day. She takes her hat off her head. “I’ll just cover him up with this, but suffice to say, our time at the club is done for the day.”

“I would say so,” Archie says on a chuckle.

“Go ahead, stand up. I’ll protect your modesty due to your lack of underwear.”

Why does she have to put it like that? Does she not remember where we are? That maybe there should be an ounce of class coming from her?

Just wanting to get the hell out, I stand and quickly take the hat from Sloane, covering my backside with it.

“That looks normal,” she says.

I give her a death glare and turn to Archie and Sheridan. “So incredibly sorry about all of this. I promise, this isn’t the norm for us.”

“I kind of wish it were,” Archie says, clearly having a good sense of humor. “Let me call you a car to take you back to your hotel.”

“That would be much appreciated,” I say.

And with Sloane’s hat attached to my ass and a light breeze puffing up between my legs, we shamefully walk through the club, all eyes on us.

Not the best first impression.