CHAPTER ELEVEN

By the time they made it back to Will’s mother’s house, Joyce was up and painting at her easel in the living room.

“How was the carnival?”

Angelina opened her mouth to ask how Joyce could have possibly known that they were at the fair, but Will reached for one of her hands and held it up. “Pink hands. This stuff is impossible to wash off. She always caught me when I tried to sneak junk food.”

“Which was, if I recall correctly, every single day,” Joyce added, trying to assume a repressive motherly look and failing.

Angelina laughed, enjoying the interaction between Will and his mother. Still, she couldn’t help but think that she should have been working with her client all this time. “I’m sure you didn’t fly me all the way out here to ride roller coasters and eat cotton candy with your son, so if you will just give me a moment to wash up, we can get started. If you’re up to it, of course.”

“Go ahead and take your time washing up. I need to clean out my brushes anyway.”

When Angelina had left the room and closed the guest bedroom door firmly behind her, Will said, “If she only knew how wrong she is,” he muttered.

“Speak up sonny-boy, old ladies are present.”

Will barked out a laugh. “Playing that old lady card again, are you? As if you won’t be able to outrun me the day you get out of that wheelchair.” Noting the smug look on his mother’s face, he turned the tables. “All I was saying was that you did, in fact, fly her all the way out here to ride roller coasters and eat cotton candy with your son.”

Joyce tried to affect a bewildered look, but when Will said, “Just admit it,” she let it fall away.

He would have said more, but his cell phone rang and he excused himself to answer it outside on the front porch.

Joyce breathed a sigh of relief that she had been saved by the bell. Not that she felt she had anything to apologize for, of course. From everything she had seen so far between her son and Angelina, it seemed that her matchmaking plan was working quite well indeed.

* * *

Angelina washed her hands with soap and hot water in the guest bathroom and wondered about the glowing woman staring back at her in the mirror. Her eyes were brighter with something stronger than sugar or carnival rides.

She looked like a woman who was falling in love.

She loved the way Will cared for his mother. She loved how hard he tried to be the man of the house when his father left. She loved the way he made her laugh and how he held her tight when she was frightened on the roller coaster.

And, oh, did she love his kisses.

Alarmed by the strength of her feelings, Angelina splashed her face with cool water then let it run over her hands until they were practically numb.

She hoped she could mask her feelings from his mother, even though she was pretty sure it was a pointless endeavor. Joyce noticed everything around her—so there was no way she could be blind to the way Angelina felt about her son.

Joyce was just laying her last brush down to dry in the kitchen when Angelina stepped into the living room.

“Where should we start?”

Angelina quickly scanned the room and noted that Will was gone. “The kitchen is just fine.”

Angelina hoped they could get through the open kitchen, dining and living room before Will reappeared. She had a terrible hunch that if he was in the room, she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything at all.

Working on the main rooms in the cottage ended up being a quick affair, just as Angelina had thought it might be. They moved a rocking chair to a different corner in the living room so that people wouldn’t trip over it. Then they put up a small mirror behind the stove so that Joyce would be able to see what was going on behind her while she was cooking.

When they moved into the guest bedroom, Angelina said, “Joyce, this watercolor above the bed is one of the most beautiful paintings I have ever seen.”

“I agree. Will has more innate talent than any painter I have ever known.”

Angelina’s mouth fell open. “Will created this masterpiece?” Quickly, she put two and two together. “He painted the watercolor ocean-scape in his house too, didn’t he?”

“He certainly did,” Joyce replied, full of pride. “He was only twenty-one.”

Before Angelina could remind herself to keep a professional distance, she said, “But Joyce, Will told me today how he wasn’t good enough. How he had to accept his lack of talent and get a normal job to earn a paycheck. But you know what? I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t. Not when I heard the passion for art in his voice. I saw his love of painting in his eyes.”

She looked up finally, realizing she had just aired all of her private thoughts – and feelings - to Will’s mother.

“Forgive me,” she said, feeling horribly embarrassed. “I don’t mean to be babbling like this.

I’m just so surprised.”

Joyce patted her hand. “No need to apologize to me. I know exactly how you feel. The day he came home with all of his brushes and canvases packed up in a crate, telling me he was finished painting, saying he was done fooling around, it broke my heart.”

As they made their way through the rest of the house, Angelina couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the boy who had wanted to be a painter, but gave it up to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders instead?

* * *

They had just walked back into the kitchen when Will stepped inside, stuffing his cell phone back into his pocket. It was clear to both women that something was very wrong.

He ran his right hand through his hair. “I’ve got to get back to California right away.” In answer to both women’s perplexed stares, he said, “Looks like the new CFO is trying to convince the board to have me removed.” Turning to his mother, he asked, “Will you be all right without me?”

Joyce patted his hand. “I’ll be fine. I’m just glad you were able to come at all. Soon you can come back out for a vacation.”

“How would you like a ride back in my private jet?” Will asked Angelina. “It’s waiting for us at the airstrip.”

Angelina looked back and forth from Will to Joyce trying to make up her mind. “Your mother already purchased a first class ticket for me and I don’t want to waste her money.”

“Don’t worry,” Joyce said, a grin on her lips. “I used Will’s money to pay for your tickets. It's the only time I’ve ever used that ridiculous trust fund he set up for me. I should really give it to charity.

Go with him. His private plane is really fun.”

As soon as Angelina left the room, Will spoke softly. “Thanks, Mom, for bringing Angelina here.”

Will couldn’t say anything more. Not until he and Angelina talked about their future—a future he wanted more than anything.

Joyce wheeled up to Will and kissed him softly on the cheek. “You’re welcome.”

Angelina hugged Joyce goodbye and ten minutes later she was walking up the small flight of steps that led to the interior of Will’s private plane. It was more sumptuous than anything she could have imagined. He gave her a tour and she was amazed to find that the jet even had a bedroom on board.

Moving back into the seating area, she remarked, “This is even better than first class.”

Will laughed. “It’s not bad.”

“Take it for granted, do you?”

He looked around at the thick leather seats, the huge entertainment center on the wall behind the cockpit, the decked out bar, and the bookshelf full of current magazines and his favorite books.

“No, I don’t. It’s more like I don’t always feel that I deserve it. Does that make sense?”

Angelina cocked her head to the side. “Do you really feel that way?”

Instead of answering, Will helped her get seated and then popped his head into the cockpit to give the pilot the go-ahead.

“What can I get you to drink?”

“Whatever you want,” Angelina said, intent on their conversation. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”

He poured each of them a glass of Merlot, then sat down and buckled in. “Sometimes it feels like the life I’ve built for myself isn’t the one I’m supposed to be living. It’s funny, isn’t it,” he said,

“how one day we wake up and wonder why we’re where we are?”

Angelina nodded and took a sip of red wine for courage. Throwing caution to the wind, she said, “Your painting in the guest room is absolutely stunning.”

A myriad of expressions crossed Will’s face—surprise mixed with pride, finally ending with a shuttering of his eyes, which had been so open to her just moments before.

“My mother told you.”

Angelina knew she had hit a tender spot, but she refused to back down so easily. “During our consultation, I couldn’t help but let her know how much I loved her work, especially the painting in the guest bedroom. She told me you were the painter. Your art is so wonderful, Will. How could you have stopped painting?”

“I never stood a chance out there in the art world.”

“And just what evidence do you have for that?”

“What was I supposed to do? Get some galleries to hang up my paintings in the unlikely chance that someone would want to buy them, while my mother worked day and night to support me?”

Angelina swallowed hard, but held his gaze. “Yes. I think that was exactly what you were supposed to do.”

* * *

Angelina could see that Will was uncomfortable with the way their conversation had gone. She felt bad for pushing him, knew that was one of her greatest faults. A Feng Shui consultant was simply supposed to observe and make suggestions. She'd always been far too invested in what her clients ended up doing.

More than anything, she wanted to see Will happy.

“I'm sorry,” she said in a soft voice. “I shouldn't have said that.”

He was silent for a long moment. Finally, he said, “You surprise me at every turn, Angelina. It's not a bad thing. Not at all.”

She reached out for his hands, but holding them wasn't enough. The kiss that came next wasn't enough either.

Since the moment she'd met this man, she'd been fighting her attraction to him. But now, it was more than pure desire that drove her. She was falling in love with him.

And she wanted more.

She stood up. Holding her out her hands to him again, she waited until he was standing in front of her.

“I'm so glad I saw your lake. Your paintings. That I was able to meet your mother.”

“I am too, Angelina.”

Slowly, she led him away from their seats, toward the back of the plane.

To the on board bedroom.

* * *

They spent the next several hours kissing, touching, giving and getting pleasure in the small bedroom. There were no words of love between them, but Angelina tried to convince herself that they didn't need to speak them aloud.

Not when they were saying everything they needed to with their bodies.

When the pilot’s voice came on over the intercom, telling them they would be landing in twenty minutes, they dressed quietly, and buckled themselves back into their seats without a word.

“Just in case I get too wrapped up in dealing with the mess at the office, I want you to know I’m thinking of you. Always.”

Angelina nodded. “Me too,” she said, too caught up with emotion to say anything more.

“My legal counsel is already here,” he said, apologetically, as he helped her down the steps to the tarmac. “Do you mind if I have my driver take you home?”

Angelina regretted that their idyll had come to an end. The real world had intruded much too soon.

“That's fine.”

Will bent down to give her a kiss filled with promise, then walked her over to his limo. And as he watched her drive away, more than anything he wished he could go home with her instead of driving straight into corporate warfare.