Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lydia navigated the cramped kitchen and had a moment of panic when she realized there might not be room for the turkey. Her counter space was limited, but every available inch was covered with some sort of delicious side dish, casserole, or dessert just waiting to be consumed. This year, Sally had brought the crab puffs as promised, and Maria had thrown in an extra pan of tamales just for Zoey, who adored them. It was hardly the traditional spread one might expect for Thanksgiving, but the aromas floating around the room were tantalizing. Lydia’s stomach let out a loud growl.

Charlotte heard it and laughed as she struggled to make room for another plate of food.

“Is that Joan’s Jello salad?” Lydia said in a hushed voice.

“Yes. It’s green beans this year,” Charlotte said, pretending to gag.

“It was sweet of her to make it,” Lydia countered with a slightly scolding look. “She doesn’t have much.”

“None of us have much,” Charlotte said, but she waved her hand over the piles of food on Lydia’s creaking table. “But when we pool our resources, we eat like kings.”

Her daughter Zoey ran into the room, eyeing the tamales hungrily, and loudly stated, “I’m surprised the table hasn’t broken in half with all that food!”

Several voices joined in as their neighbors walked in from the attached living room. It was a yearly tradition they had started two years ago, just after Lydia’s divorce. They all lived in the cramped, close quarters of a low-income apartment building. None of the people who lived there could afford to buy, let alone make, an entire Thanksgiving feast individually, but Lydia realized that if they pooled their resources, they could create their own feast. Everyone gathered around and took their usual seats on mismatched chairs.

Voices overlapped in merry conversation, and as they passed around each dish, Lydia found herself glancing at the faces around her. There was Sally and her husband Johnathan, both of whom worked long hours as city bus drivers. They couldn’t even afford to get married, but they called each other husband and wife all the same. After fifteen years, no one really bothered to protest. Maria and Rojer had transplanted to Maine all the way from Mexico. They owned a small convenience store down the road. It was a miracle they turned a profit at all for the endless generosity they showed towards the growing homeless population and for anyone who had fallen on hard times (Lydia wasn’t embarrassed to admit they’d helped her numerous times when the paycheck was late and they had nothing in the pantry). Then, there was Joan, who was an elderly widow who lived alone. Charlotte didn’t live in the building, but she was Lydia’s best friend and had been adopted into their odd little chosen family.

Lydia felt the sting of tears. Thinking of how much she loved Charlotte just made her miss Lizzie. Charlotte didn’t often speak of Lydia’s oldest sister, despite the fact that they were still close. Lydia wondered if her sister asked about her. But this only made her think of her other sisters, Jane, Mary, and Kitty. And even her parents. She felt the tell-tale signs of grief bubbling up into her chest with a painful, sharp sensation. Lydia shook her head. On such a joyful occasion, it didn’t pay to dredge up old wounds.

“What's wrong?” Zoey asked softly, tugging on her mom’s sleeve.

“Nothing,” Lydia smiled, kissing her daughter’s sweet, curly head. "You have to share the tamales..."

"Never!" Zoey said, grabbing the plate and pretending to run away with them. The table erupted into laughter once more.

The next day, feeling somehow hungrier despite the massive amounts of food they’d consumed last night, Lydia pulled herself and a very reluctant Zoey out the door. They were running late (as usual), and Lydia just prayed their car would be reliable for once.

“Cross your fingers, kiddo,” Lydia said, putting the key in the ignition and turning it.

“My toes, too!” Zoey said brightly, shutting her eyes tightly.

The engine turned over, and they both let out a triumphant shout. “Can we drive by the house, Mama?” Zoey asked after a time.

“Not today, sweetie,” Lydia demurred.

Sometimes, for the fun of it, they’d take a slightly longer detour through the nicer side of town and make up stories about the mansions they passed. Zoey had a wild imagination, even for a seven-year-old, and was always delighted by the diversion. But they were running ten minutes late as it was. She hoped she wouldn’t get another note from school.

After dropping Zoey off, she raced across town to her job. Her ancient Volkswagen beetle churned and chugged as she ascended the slight hill at the entrance to Field Industries. The gear shift suddenly decided not to cooperate, and she found herself slamming on her brakes before she collided with an expensive looking Mercedes-Benz. Horror-struck, she realized who the driver was. Sam Field—the owner and CEO himself. He was giving her a peevish look over his steering wheel, which was a shiny black leather like the rest of his car’s interior. She flushed and struggled with the clutch until it finally hit the floor. She slammed the gear shift back into place and stuttered forward, giving him a sheepish wave as she hurtled towards the employee parking lot.

Lydia clocked in and did her best to avoid the floor supervisor, Ray, as he began to make his rounds. She managed to make it to her station and remove her outer layers before he glanced in her direction.

“You’re late,” Charlotte said as her only form of greeting from the neighboring station. “What’s got you all flustered?”

“Zoey was lost in her daydreams again,” Lydia sighed. Her hands moved on autopilot as she prepped the first shipment box with quick, efficient motions. “And then I almost ran into Sam Field on my way in.”

Charlotte shot her friend a smirk. “I wouldn’t mind doing that myself.”

“What—Charlotte!” Lydia protested hoarsely.

“Well, he’s handsome. You can’t deny that.”

“When did you get so man-hungry?” Lydia laughed as she poured packing peanuts into the top of the box.

“Maybe I had a little too much wine to drink last night,” Charlotte shrugged. “Or maybe I’m finally moving on from William. You could do the same, you know. George was two years ago.”

Lydia frowned. “It’s never really over with George, though. Not in his mind.”

Charlotte decided to change topics completely. “Well, I see a pretty good prospect coming our way.”

Lydia glanced up in time to see Sam Field walking directly towards them. He was gesturing with his hands and pointing out various parts of the factory floor to an unfamiliar and impeccably dressed gentleman. Dave, Sam’s faithful right-hand man, business partner, and friend, followed along like an enamored puppy. Sam caught Lydia’s gaze and gave her a tight, polite smile in the midst of his conversation.

He was handsome. She found herself wondering what his own thanksgiving had looked like. Word around the factory was that he didn’t have a lot of family. She couldn’t help recalling something about his predilection for blonde women, who made excellent arm candy at all his corporate functions—not that Lydia cared. He caught her eye again, but this time he frowned a little bit at her. With a start, she realized she was staring at him.

“That’s enough packing peanuts, don’t you think?” Charlotte said with a snide look.

Lydia cursed under her breath and began to shovel out the mountain of Styrofoam pieces she had made.

As it happened, Sam Field’s Thanksgiving had looked nothing like Charlotte and Lydia’s. He lived in a lavish home in the nicest part of town. He rarely saw or spoke to his own family. He chalked it up to being “too busy with work.” It had been his father’s favorite line growing up, so why couldn’t he use it now that he was an adult? He’d earned it, after all of his successes. No, Sam’s evening had been spent in the arms of Lanie…or was it Linda? Either way, the night had been full of promise until she’d revealed a bit more about herself.

“You’re kidding,” his business partner Dave said, with complete shock. They’d left their guest up in the meeting room to make some calls. They had a free moment to get a cup of tepid coffee and walk off the rather lavish work lunch. “And she didn’t tell you this until after you’d spent the evening together?”

“Nope,” Sam replied.

“Did you have to meet the little monsters?” Dave said.

“No, thank goodness. They were with her ex.”

“So, you told her you don’t date women with kids,” Dave shrugged. “Glad you dodged that bullet.”

Sam gave a non-committal noise in reply. He wasn’t really raring to unpack that particular statement. He felt a little embarrassed, if he was being honest. And speaking of things that made him uncomfortable…

“So, if this deal goes through, how many people will we need to keep on here?” Sam said, coming to rest at the top of the metal stairs leading down to the main floor. He gestured to the beehive of activity below. “Forty or fifty?”

“More like twenty. Everything but the final assembly would be moved to Mexico.”

“That’s a lot of layoffs,” Sam said, sipping his coffee. It was bitter and left an almost metallic taste in the back of his mouth. He liked his efficient, no-nonsense secretary, but she was lousy at making coffee. Still, when the time came, she’d get her raise just like she deserved. She was a good employee. And he was certain a lot of the people downstairs were good, hard workers, too. It left a sick, twisted feeling in the pit of his stomach. And he didn’t often feel this sort of regret.

“Don’t see people,” Dave said, clapping Sam on the back. “See dollar signs. That’s what your old man would have done.”

Sam sighed. He knew this was a huge deal for the company. It would mean more dollar signs than they could even comprehend at the moment. But he’d still make sure they offered severance pay and unemployment to the workers. He just hoped he could push the deal off till after Christmas. He had no interest in playing Scrooge just before the holidays. His eyes drifted over to the packing and shipping stations. Two young women were laughing and chatting as they went about their work with crisp, practiced efficiency.

Down below, Lydia suddenly remembered something and pulled a folded slip of paper from her back pocket. “Oh, here’s that house I wanted to look at! I haven’t told Zoey yet. Don’t want her to get her hopes up.”

Charlotte eagerly snatched at the slip of paper, and then her excitement faded immediately. “Who’s your realtor, Herman Munster?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “It’s in a better neighborhood, and the school would be great for Zoey. I know it doesn’t look like much.”

Charlotte gave her a sympathetic smile. She respected Lydia’s tenacity, especially after a tumultuous marriage and an even rockier divorce. Charlotte had gone through her own troubles after leaving William, and that was how they had gotten so close. Lydia used to be just the annoying younger sister to her best friend, Lizzie. But it was fate (and shared pain) that had brought them so far from home together. They were more alike than they ever thought possible, once they got to know each other. And after how Lizzie and the rest of the Bennets had treated Lydia…

Charlotte shook her head, not wishing to replay old hurts. “How much do they need for the down payment?”

“Ten thousand,” Lydia winced. “I’m going to have to moonlight for a while.”

Charlotte’s eyebrows rose. “Maybe you could ask your new crush for some overtime.” She gestured up to the metal walkway.

Lydia followed her gaze and saw Sam standing at the top of the stairs. She just shrugged, pretending it meant nothing that his eyes had darted away in that precise moment. He was just looking after his assets. “He’s not my type.”

“So, he’s too rich and good looking?”

“Exactly,” Lydia said, watching Sam as he turned and went back to his office. “He’s too perfect.”

Chapter Text

“You told him what?” Sam demanded, giving Dave a death glare.

“Now, listen—it’s a good thing. He’s a family man. He’ll be thrilled that you are, too, and—”

“Where, exactly, am I supposed to get this family?”

“I’ve got an actress I know. And there’s an agency getting back to me about a little kid who did a commercial for Alpo.”

“Dog food? Really, Dave?” Sam paused. “Wasn’t there an actress you dated recently who dumped you? Please tell me—”

Dave’s ruddy face paled, which was a tell-tale sign he wasn’t being completely honest. “Don’t even worry about that, Sammy boy. I’m going to get it all taken care of.” He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and flipped it open, speaking into it even though it never rang with an incoming call.

Sam sank back into his chair. It was humiliating. He couldn’t believe Dave had lied to Mr. Del Campo, the man who was slated to make the deal and transfer a large portion of Field Industries operations to Mexico. And now, Sam couldn’t exactly ask Dave to tell Del Campo he’d been lying. It would look shady and dishonest and probably mean an end to their agreement—which was still not officially on paper. He’d been trained by his workaholic father never to put your hopes on anything that wasn’t written down and signed.

“Always get a prenup, son,” he’d said a thousand times. It was no coincidence that his father had been on his third wife at the time of his death. And that was why Sam had never gotten married. He didn’t plan on doing that anytime soon.

Except he could overhear Dave talking to the acting agency about acquiring a fake wife for Sam.

“Okay, and he likes blondes, so just make sure you send one over since Joanne isn’t available.”

Sam groaned and put his head in his hands.

“Another cup of coffee, Sir?” Janet asked, peeking in from her doorway.

“Yes, thank you, Janet.”

--

Christmas came and went without much fanfare—as it had been for many years of Zoey’s life. Even when George was around, they were barely scraping by, having to rely on odd jobs and constantly battling his spending habits. Lydia stared down at Zoey’s sleeping head beside her on the couch. Once again, George had promised to “swing by” on his way through town, and once again, for the hundredth time, he had failed to do so. Even now, Zoey was probably fast asleep hoping she’d wake up and find her dad waiting to greet her in the year 1997, the new year.

The past two hadn’t been great for Lydia (and neither had many of the years prior to that, if she was being honest) but Zoey was always the bright spot in the center of it. Even in the midst of her rocky marriage to an alcoholic con-man, even during the divorce, even as they still struggled to make ends meet, Zoey was strong.

Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve came to a close, and Lydia turned off the television. It had been the 25^th anniversary of the program. Overall, she had liked ‘Weird’ Al the best out of the performers. She sighed and let her gaze soften as she stared across the dimly lit room. Next to the rotary phone on the table was a new answering machine. It had been a holiday gift to all the employees at Field Industries, and while she had appreciated the gesture, the machine hardly saw any action. She didn’t expect it to get much more after the holidays, either.

She stood slowly to her feet and groaned. What she wouldn’t give for a nice foot massage after a week of pulling double shifts every other day. Lydia leaned down and pulled Zoey into her arms. Her daughter was going to turn 8 soon. She wasn’t quite ready to let go of these moments when she could still carry her to bed.

“Maybe 1997 will look a little different for us,” Lydia whispered softly over her daughter’s sleeping form. She kissed Zoey’s forehead, clicked off the light, and stumbled into bed to sleep for as long as her precocious daughter would let her.

Which turned out to be exactly ten minutes.

“Mom, can we go for a drive? Please?” Zoey said, startling Lydia awake. She didn’t know she had even fallen asleep. “I think people still have their Christmas decorations up. Just for a few minutes. Pleeaaase?”

Lydia gave her daughter a fond smile before rolling out of bed to pull her shoes on.

--

“Hi, honey. I’m home,” Sam said in an overly bright tone as he stepped into his living room. He walked over to the pretty blonde standing by the fireplace. She was flipping through a magazine with disinterest. “What’s for dinner?”

“How should I know? Ask the servants,” she snapped.

A small boy walked over from where he’d been tugging on the Christmas tree in the corner. “Can I get a car for my birthday, Dad? Please?” he whined.

Sam turned and gave his friend a hopeless look.

“Okay, let’s—let’s try this again,” Dave insisted. “You’re supposed to be a loving family. Where are the hugs and kisses?” He turned to the buxom blonde. “You’re his wife. Of course, you know what’s for dinner. And you,” he fixed the snot-nosed kid with a glare. “You’re giving me a headache. You sound spoiled rotten.”

 “I’m playing a rich dude’s kid,” the boy retorted. “What do you expect?”

Dave put his hands on his hips. “I expect Father Knows Best, not Family Feud. Let’s go from the top.”

Sam pulled his friend aside and wiped at the perspiration starting on his brow. “You think I’ll demean myself like this for a deal?”

“Not just any deal, Sammy Boy. The deal. This is the one you’ve been busting your hump for ever since your father said you’d be lucky to make janitor at this company.

Sam’s full lips thinned into a decided line. Dave just had to bring that up, didn’t he?

“Honey, what’s for dinner?” Sam asked, his tone less than genteel as he rounded on the two actor stand-ins for his fake family.

The blonde smacked her gum. “Okay, my agent said nothing about cooking.”  

“I have staff—” he began.

“I missed a New Year’s party to be here. And while we’re at it,” she said, holding out a manicured hand. “If you expect me to sleep with you, it’s an extra 100 a day.”

“And if you wanna spank me, it’s 150,” the kid added.

“This is ridiculous,” Sam protested, turning away from the strangers and pinching the bridge of his nose. He heard Dave giving the actress and her son some well-meaning (but untrue) words of encouragement, saying they just “weren’t the right fit for the project.” He sent them off with a cool, crisp 100-dollar bill before returning to his business partner and friend. The pair left the house, not even bothering to shut the front door.

Sam, already annoyed with an oncoming headache, started towards the front door with a low growl of frustration.

“Listen, it’s late,” Dave said, clearly scrambling to fix the problem he’d created. “We can try again tomorrow.”

“It already is tomorrow. Del Campo will be here in less than 24 hours.”

“We can find another family.”

“What, do you think another one is just going to walk in off the street?” Sam said, gesturing to the front door, which was swinging in the crisp, winter breeze.

And then, like something out of a movie or the Twilight Zone, a young girl stepped through the door. She had wild, curly hair that hung down to her elbows, and she gazed around at the inside of the house with wide, dark brown eyes. Her large front teeth only added to the look of pure, innocent curiosity on her face.

Sam and Dave glanced at each other and then back at the girl.

“Hello,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone before she walked through to the front drawing room. She was tracking snow on the carpets with her small rainboots.

Sam called out for Annie, one of his servants, and hoped hse might know what to do with stray children. At that same moment, however, a woman appeared at the front door.

“Zoey?” she called out. She had long, brunette hair and was wearing a faded beret on the top of her head. It might have looked gauche on anyone else, but she was pulling it off—despite the fact that she was clearly wearing pajamas under her winter coat. “Zoey!” she cried when her eyes fixed on her daughter traipsing back into the hall from a side room.

Lydia caught sight of the two men staring at her. She blinked and then suddenly rushed through an apology. “I’m—I’m so sorry about Zoey. She didn’t realize, and the door was open. I know that’s no excuse, of course,” she faltered. She quickly removed her shoes when she realized she was tracking snow onto the pristine and shining floors—which were probably marble or granite, or whatever rich people used for flooring. “I’m so sorry, I, um…” she let out a small, slightly hysterical laugh as she continued to step towards the two men. “Well, I have to admit, it’s pretty crazy that of all the houses in the city…here we are, in yours.”

Sam stared at her with a growing frown on his mobile features. His hair—dark brown and feathery, which fell in light waves to the top of his coat collar—was a little mussed, as though he had just run his hands through it in agitation. It was a little odd, and she let out another small, awkward laugh. Dave was standing behind Sam, and he was giving her an odd little smile. Her eyes caught sight of movement, and she stared, horror-struck, at her daughter standing stock still in the center of a plush Persian rug. No doubt she had left small, muddy footprints all over it in her admiration of the chandelier hanging over her head.

“Zoey, get back over here,” she hissed, rushing to her daughter’s side. She took her slim shoulders in both hands. “You shouldn’t have come in here without asking permission. We need to go—”

“This is my dollhouse, Mommy!” Zoey cried, staring around in wonderment.

Sam had a nagging, irritating sense that he’d seen this woman before.

“It’s someone else’s house,” Lydia said, taking hold of her daughter’s hand.

“This is where we’re supposed to be!” Zoey protested.

“You look familiar,” Sam said, stepping into the drawing room and ignoring the interested gaze of the young girl. He only had eyes for the mother, for the moment.

“Yes, I work for you, Mr. Field.”

“Really?” Dave said, having followed his friend into the room. His round, ruddy face brightened as though with a sudden idea. “They’re perfect, Sam.”

“I’m—I’m sorry. We should go,” Lydia said, her face crimson with embarrassment.

Zoey was notional and had a wild imagination. She liked to climb trees when she was upset, claiming it helped her to think of things being very far away. She liked to pretend she lived in her dollhouse with the dainty furniture and fake finery. Sometimes, she would close her eyes tightly, cross her fingers, and make silent wishes to her “guardian angel,” but bolting out of the car at a stop sign and running full speed into a stranger’s house—Sam Field’s, no less—was pushing the limits of Lydia’s patience.  

“Now, that is a wife, Sam,” Dave insisted, pointing to Lydia. “And that’s a kid who wouldn’t pick her nose at the dinner table. A kid you could be proud of.”

Zoey looked intensely confused. Lydia stared into Dave’s triumphant face and Sam’s sheepish, flushed one. She had expected bravado, confidence, maybe even arrogance—but her employer was looking decidedly undecided. A woman in a black and white maid outfit, complete with white frilly apron and sleeve cuffs, suddenly appeared out of nowhere with a mop to clean up the mess Lydia and Zoey had made on the floor. Lydia felt a sudden rush of mortification and confusion. This was a different world from anything she’d ever known.

“We really need to go,” Lydia protested. “It’s late, and we’ve imposed enough.”

“Wait, wait, please,” Dave insisted. He took a breath before saying, “We need to rent a family. To do business with somebody.”

Lydia just blinked at him. Sam’s face told her nothing. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s just a couple of days, 1000 dollars, everything absolutely open and above board. Honest.”

“He’s kidding, right?” she said, directing this question at Sam.

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

“Oh, I get it. Your mother coming to town?” Lydia said, feeling confident enough to tease him (or perhaps it was the sleep loss and exhaustion speaking for her).

“No,” Sam said emphatically. Then he turned to Dave as if uncertain. “No?”

Dave shook his head.

Sam looked intensely relieved. “No, it’s not that. An important business associate is flying in from Mexico.”

Again, Lydia didn’t know if her indignation was borne of embarrassment, but she felt herself square her shoulders at her boss and demand, “And what if you like us, Mr. Field? Is there an option to buy?”

Sam’s lips quirked in a brief smile. He hadn’t expected her to be this cheeky. He cleared his throat and sobered as he said, “This is serious business, Mrs…?”

“It’s Miss Bennet. Lydia Bennet.”

He glanced down and saw the lack of anything shiny on her left ring finger. He had just assumed she was married.

“You’d be doing Field Industries a huge favor,” Dave interjected. “And loyalty to the company has its own rewards.”

Lydia was overcome with a fresh wave of exhaustion. This was just too much to swallow for one very late evening. “Gentlemen, my daughter and I are not for sale.” She excused herself and pulled Zoey along with her towards the door.

“Okay, 2000 dollars,” Dave said quickly. “But that is my final offer.”

That gave Lydia pause. She glanced back over her shoulder.

“A thousand bucks a day, and you don’t even go to work,” Dave added.

That would go a long way towards that deposit. “All we have to do is pretend to be your family?” she asked, still highly skeptical.

“That’s all,” Sam said, knowing it was a huge thing to ask of anyone, much less a single mother of an energetic young girl. He felt a sense of desperation. He wanted her to say yes. She had to say yes. He—didn’t think she was going to, now that she was almost laughing at him.

“You really think you can pull this off?”

“Absolutely,” Dave said, with all the confidence Sam didn’t possess.

Lydia narrowed her large, hazel eyes at them. Two thousand dollars would go a long way towards paying that house deposit. Except…“Three thousand,” she said with a clear challenge.

“Out of the question,” Dave countered.

“I wish you luck.” She turned towards the door again.

Damn, she is a good negotiator, Sam thought. He stepped forward and ignored the palpable disapproval from his business partner behind him. “Okay,” he said. “Deal.”

Lydia leveled him with her gaze and shook her head. There was a central and most important player in all of this. “I have to talk this over with my daughter first.” She knelt down and met Zoey’s gaze.

Before she could even speak, her daughter cried out, “Mommy, take it!”

Lydia was stunned for half a second before she stood up again. Maybe she had been softened by sleep deprivation and exhaustion, but part of her felt no qualms as she said, “I guess we have a deal.”

“Great!” Dave cried. “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

Sam and Lydia gazed at each other wordlessly. They exchanged a look of mirrored uncertainty. Zoey, meanwhile, was crossing her fingers and grinning up at the ceiling as though offering reverent thanks to an unseen entity.

Chapter Text

Lydia stepped out of their car and stared up at the mansion. It looked even more imposing and perfect in the daytime, especially with the fresh dusting of snow they’d gotten overnight. She had to admit, it had a striking resemblance to the dollhouse she’d built for Zoey. Her daughter clearly had no hesitations about the entire venture and was already making a bee-line for the elegant front door. Lydia quickly pulled their small suitcases from the trunk of their car, which looked even more dilapidated and sad in front of Sam Field’s sprawling home.

She realized Zoey was already inside, having greeted the officious British butler, Hawthorne, with a friendly smile. Her daughter walked with the confidence of someone who owned the place.

Sam was talking quietly to Magda, his interior decorator and stylist, when he heard the front door open. He felt a burst of anxiety sink to the pit of his stomach as Zoey pranced into the room and onto a leather chaise lounge.

Magda certainly wasn’t helping ease his mind when she said, “Rather plain, isn’t she?”

Sam frowned. “She’s kind of cute for a five-year-old.”

“Seven,” Dave corrected, having overheard their entire conversation from his usual position at Sam’s elbow.

Zoey gave her mother a self-satisfied grin and shook her head no in answer to Lydia’s silent reproach. Wordlessly, Lydia reached down and tugged Zoey’s rain boots off with an apologetic glance at Hawthorne, who was already there waiting expectantly for the offending articles.

“And the mother,” Magda was still whispering. “It’ll take a miracle.”

Sam felt that was a rather crude estimation of Miss Bennet. She wasn’t his type, but he had eyes in his head and could appreciate that she was attractive in her own right. She had a nice figure, or what he could tell of it beneath heavy, bulky layers of winter clothing. She certainly didn’t know how to dress herself—but he guessed that ‘looking her best’ wasn’t top of her priorities as a single mother. He also knew what her salary was. He breathed deeply to try and quell the guilt that had joined his anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He promised himself that if Lydia was one of the lucky few who stayed on at Field Industries, it would come with a hefty raise. He couldn’t do much to change the severance packages—those had been established early on with each person’s individual contract.  

He didn’t have time to reproach Magda for her rather unkind remark when Lydia spoke up. “May I make a suggestion?” she said, not relishing standing there being ignored any longer. “Your home is lovely,” she said to Sam, “but it doesn’t exactly look like a family lives here. In fact, it barely looks like you live here.”

Sam regarded her curiously as she continued softly. She had guts. He’d recognized that quality in her almost immediately. Except now, he wasn’t so sure he needed her feedback. And maybe he was feeling just a little defensive. What was wrong with his home? He’d paid top dollar to get it looking just exactly how he wanted it—a mixture of restored antiques and the latest trends. All she needed to do was play the part of a dutiful, loving wife for three days.

“I agree completely,” Dave interjected quickly. Sam blinked at his friend, realizing he had just signed off on the idea of toys strewn about the living room and framed photos on the mantel. Lydia had even brought over a few snapshots.

“Let’s not get carried away,” Sam said, already realizing the futility in trying to say no. It was too little too late. Lydia was on a roll.

“And take the tree for example,” she continued, walking over to the nine-foot live tree that stood in front of the massive bay windows. “It is stunning, but did a designer do it?”

Magda preened from her seat on Sam’s arm rest. “That’s my handiwork,” she said.

“Yes, I thought so,” Lydia replied without any enthusiasm. Magda’s smile fell from her face.

“You’re not going to mess around with my tree,” Sam protested feebly. He liked the way it looked. It was clean and orderly—every ornament placed in precisely the right position for optimum sparkle and holiday cheer.

“It’s just that…if I were really Mrs. Field, I’d want to include some old-fashioned ornaments. I’d want it to look like the family decorated it together.” Lydia knew she was speaking out of turn. But honestly, she couldn’t imagine feeling more out of place in Sam’s house as it currently stood. She didn’t think she was being too unreasonable with her requests.

“Brilliant. Do whatever she says,” Dave declared, gesturing to Magda with the hand that still held a martini.

Magda gave Sam a look that spoke volumes. He knew just as well as she did that Sam was out of his depth. As she stood and walked around Lydia, eyeing her critically, she wondered if she might be out of her own depth for the first time in the twenty impeccable years of her career. “They certainly are a challenge,” Magda said, not bothering to acknowledge Lydia’s affronted look.

“Hey,” Zoey said, getting the attention of the older woman.

“What is it, dearie?” Magda said. Her tone was indulgent, but the words were spoken around a wide, insincere smile. She was about as fond of children as Mr. Field and his old man had been.

“Does your face hurt? It looks so tight,” Zoey said with the tiniest little smirk.

Lydia was visibly biting back a grin. She wasn’t sure if she should be embarrassed or proud of her daughter’s rather clever insult. She decided on the latter, especially when Magda rose to her full, impressive height and tried to look shocked—or as shocked as she could appear with her Botox-infused face.

“Let’s get started,” Magda declared. “We only have a few hours.”

Lydia’s eyes widened. It was Sam’s turn to bite back a smile when he realized Lydia was clueless to the many beauty-related tortures in store for her.

Hours passed, and the house was a flurry of activity. Lydia underwent several painful and, in her mind, unnecessary steps towards her transformation into Mrs. Sam Field. Zoey was spared most of these, and Lydia was adamant that her daughter’s natural curls and long hair remain untouched by scissors or flat irons.

Hawthorne and Sam were busy transforming other rooms in the house. One of the spare guest bedrooms was tipped upside down and turned into a little girl’s paradise with piles of stuffed animals, toys in every corner, and a veritable library of books. Mr. Del Campo’s room was cleaned from top to bottom. As soon as Dave let slip that Del Campo had missed spending Christmas with his family, Lydia might have lost her head and gone a little overboard with the decorations.

“Popcorn and apples? Isn’t that a little much?” he demanded, watching with growing horror as Annie and Hawthorne worked to remove the elegantly coordinated decorations from the tree in favor of popcorn strands and fake apples.

She wasn’t satisfied with degrading his elegant tree, however. Sam followed along behind her as she moved into each room of the house, offering protests as she requested garlands of greenery, poinsettias, and potpourri. But Lydia always managed to get her way. Sam decided not to think too hard on the fact that he was letting her.

 Meanwhile, Dave was overseeing everything and running around like a chicken with his head cut off to ensure each player had their stories straight.

“How long have you been married?” he asked Lydia.

“Eight years,” she said.

“Where did you go on your honeymoon?”

“France and Italy,” Lydia replied. She had to swallow down a sudden rush of envy. If she actually was Mrs. Field, that would have been a lovely trip. She had never even traveled outside the United States.

“Who picks you up from school?” Dave said in his interrogation of Zoey a few minutes later.

“My daddy.”

“What was your favorite family vacation?”

“Disneyworld.” The young girl’s eyes brightened. “Can we actually go?”

“Of course not,” he said emphatically. Zoey was the only wild card in the elaborate charade. She was more outspoken than her mother, and she had a predilection for making up stories, according to Lydia. But no matter. Dave would still find a way to ensure this worked out. The dollar signs were just floating in the air. He could almost grab them.

Except Sam seemed to be more nervous than he’d ever seen him before. “This had better work,” he said readjusting his bowtie for the fifth time. “Are Mrs. What’s-her-name and the kid ready?”

“It will. Of course, it will,” Dave insisted, giving his friend a worried look. “And it’s Lydia and Zoey.”

Sam heard the car pull into the driveway, and as they watched Hawthorne stalk towards the front door, Dave suddenly remembered something.

“The—the ring!” he stammered, and both men began patting the pockets on their suit jackets and pants until Dave found the gold band in his vest. He grabbed Sam’s hand and tried to cram it onto the wrong finger.

Sam swatted Dave’s unhelpful hands away and corrected the mistake. He had one brief moment where he could only stare at the glitter of light against the ring on his hand. It was such an odd sensation to wear jewelry, and one with more significance than a class ring.

Suddenly, the door opened, admitting their guest. Mr. Del Campo greeted Hawthorne as though they were old friends before turning to the two gentlemen waiting on him by the stairs.

“Señor Del Campo,” Dave said brightly, rushing forward and pumping the older man’s hand. “Welcome to Casa Field.”

Sam winced slightly. His friend was laying in on just a little too thick. But he wouldn’t be Dave if he wasn’t diving headfirst into something without thinking twice. Sam quickly placed a smile on his face and greeted the newcomer.

“You have a lovely home,” Del Campo said. “So warm and inviting.” Sam’s responding smile was tight. Dave’s had a hint of triumph. “Ah, and here is your family.”

Sam followed the older man’s gaze. Lydia clutched Zoey’s hand in hers as they descended the long, carpet-lined staircase. She wondered if she looked as uncomfortable in the dress as she felt. She caught Sam’s gaze. Indeed, Sam’s well-trained eye could see the dress wasn’t a perfect fit (a little too baggy around the hips), and Magda had piled Lydia’s hair on top of her head in some sort of bee-hive looking style that wasn’t altogether the best look. It was too severe, too different from how she normally wore it. But the deep magenta was a good color on her. It offset her dark hair and hazel eyes brilliantly. Magda hadn’t caked her face too heavily with makeup, either. The lovely cheek bones and pale skin were still clearly visible, just accentuated in all the right places. Sam had to remind himself to swallow, especially when Lydia gave him a small, hesitant smile.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and held her hand out to the newcomer. “I’m Lydia Field, and this is my—our daughter Zoey.”

Del Campo frowned and replied, “I thought Mr. Herbert said you had a son?”

Lydia and Sam exchanged a glance. She hesitated half a second before saying, “Well, Zoey is such a tomboy.”

Del Campo laughed, and the two other men joined in after half a moment of hesitation. Clearly, it was a good enough explanation to sort out Dave’s little inconsistency. Sam was grateful for Lydia’s quick thinking. As the group moved into the living room, Sam caught Dave by the arm and said under his breath, “A son?”

“Forgot,” Dave said with a sheepish grin.

Sam could only heave a long-suffering sigh. It was Dave’s fault they had to do all this play-acting. He just hoped to God they could pull it off.

Dinner went off fairly smoothly, aside from a few minor snags. To begin with, Dave and Zoey seemed to have developed some sort of brother-sister rivalry.

“What are you staring at?” Dave said under his breath as Zoey gazed up at him with unblinking eyes.

“You have hairs in her nose,” she told him.

“So do you,” Dave countered.

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Grow up.”

“You first!” Dave hissed.

Sam had to stretch his leg under the table and kick Dave in the shin to get them to cut it out.

And then, Zoey almost had a slip of the tongue after she insisted on using the little scraps of Spanish she had learned.

“Muy bien! You speak very well, Zoey,” Del Campo declared, his eyes twinkling. “Who taught you?”

“It was Maria, our—” Zoey said automatically. She hesitated, catching a warning glance from her mother. “My friend from school,” she corrected quickly.

Sam felt his muscles relax. But they only tightened once more when Del Campo turned his attention to him. “How long have you been married, Mr. Field?”

“Eight years.”

“Twelve years.” Lydia and Sam had spoken at the same time. Her eyes widened slightly.

“No, you’re right, it is eight years,” Sam said quickly, trying to ensure his laughter was easy-going and not hysterical. This was all so ridiculous. “It just feels so much longer.” He raised his glass of wine as if toasting Lydia’s health.

Del Campo joined him and then continued, “I always find it fascinating to know how couples first met. How did you meet your wife, Mr. Field?”

“We, uh…well, it’s a funny story,” Sam said, feeling perspiration sprouting at his temples. He realized it was the one aspect of the story Dave had conveniently forgotten to create. “Why don’t you tell it, dear?” he asked Lydia.

She leveled him with her gaze and a slightly teasing smile. There was no hint of panic on her face as she said, with a sweet tone, “Oh, but you tell it so much better than I do.”

“No, really, I—” Sam began.

“An angel brought them together,” Zoey interjected.

Lydia and Sam blinked at each other. Clearly, she had no idea what her daughter was talking about either.

“An angel?” Del Campo prompted.

“Yep,” Zoey said, emboldened by his encouraging smile to continue. “He didn’t look like an angel, because on earth, they wear their wings inside.”

It was only at this moment that Lydia showed the slightest hint of alarm. She knew her daughter’s ability to make up wild stories, and once she started, it was difficult to stop her. This train had already left the station, and it wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

“What did this angel do?” Del Campo said.

“He…” Zoey paused, seeming to gather her thoughts. Lydia knew it was only a matter of seconds, but it felt like an eternity. “He told my mom she was going to meet the man she’d fall in love with, but my mom didn’t believe him because she doesn’t believe in angels. One day, she was at a restaurant waiting for a table, and she heard someone walk up behind her. And she thought, ‘it’s him!’ But she knew it wasn’t the man she was supposed to meet that day. She knew it was the man she would fall in love with—my dad, I mean. And it was! They fell in love, got married, and had me, and we lived happily ever in this house.”

Lydia was grinning as she stared at her daughter. Every one of her stories always ended with a “happily ever after.” It was just icing on the cake for the sweet little tale she’d just told. Del Campo seemed to think so, too.

“Did it really happen that way?” he laughed.

“More or less,” Sam supplied quickly.

“I know another one!” Zoey cried.

“Sweetheart, I think it’s time for bed,” Lydia interjected, knowing that her daughter would continue if undeterred. She urged Zoey to say goodnight to the guest, and it took her half a second before she remembered to add, “And to your dad, too.”

Sam gave Zoey a tight smile as she walked around the table and regarded him cautiously. “Goodnight, daddy,” she said, putting a little too much emphasis on the second word. After a moment of hesitation, she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a tight but brief hug.

He tried to pass it off like it was something they did every night, that it wasn’t strange to have a little person calling him ‘daddy.’ Lydia stood and escorted Zoey from the room. She was more eager than ever to get out of her constrictive dress and into some comfy clothes. Even though it was just drinks and dinner, this was officially the end of their first day of play-acting. She only hoped there weren’t any more surprises in store.

“Goodnight, Mr. Del Campo. Please, feel free to take any books you like to bed,” Sam was heard saying in the study.

It was a spacious area located conveniently at the top of the massive staircase. It overlooked the living room and also had full view of a separate set of stairs leading to the master bedroom and two of the guest rooms, where Zoey and Lydia were staying. Lydia exited Zoey’s room, offered a polite farewell to Mr. Del Campo (who had decided to sit in the study rather than take the book to his own room), and walked towards her room. The moment Mr. Del Campo’s back was turned, Sam rushed up the stairs in a rather cartoonish fashion before taking hold of Lydia and pulling her with him. She opened her mouth to protest, but Del Campo turned at that moment and gave the couple a smile as they disappeared into the master bedroom.

“That was a close call,” Lydia said, staring at Sam who was a little out of breath from running to catch her.

“Yes, it would look very strange to have my wife sleeping in a guest suite,” he said, loosening his bowtie in a quick, practiced movement.

She had a moment where she wondered if he was as uncomfortable in the stiff tuxedo as she was in the unfamiliar dress. He had already unclasped the top two buttons of his shirt. Lydia’s eyes lingered there for a moment before she felt a flush rising to her cheeks. She was standing in his bedroom, and he was looking decidedly rumpled and flustered. Under different circumstances…

“Um, so…can I go back to my room now?” she asked.

Sam met her gaze and came to the same realization she had. The air between them was decidedly awkward. “Yes. Of course.” He moved away from the double doors and gestured to them with a wide sweep of his hand. “Goodnight, Miss Bennet.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Field.” She gave him a tight smile as she opened the door and stepped into the hall. She quickly bolted back inside and shut it again. “He’s still out there.”

Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I guess you’ll have to stay in here until he goes to bed.”

Half an hour later, Del Campo still had not gone to bed.

“I guess you’re sleeping in here, then,” Sam said at last.

Chapter Text

“I beg your pardon?” Lydia said, following Sam through a door to the right. The master suite was clearly made up of several rooms, and she had just walked into the bedroom portion.

“You can have the bed. I’ll crash on the couch,” he said, removing his coat and hanging it on a wooden valet stand in the corner. This room was the only place in the entire house that felt lived in—perhaps only out of necessity.

She gazed around and saw a king-size bed in the center facing a large hearth. The upper parts of the walls had been carved out with bookshelves. In front of the hearth was a plush looking couch.

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable with that,” she finally said, watching as he sat down to remove his shoes and socks. It was starting to feel very domestic.

“Suit yourself, but I assure you, the bed is far more comfortable.”

“No, I mean—I wouldn’t be comfortable sharing a room. My daughter might come in here in the middle of the night.”

Sam gazed at her, dumbfounded, as he tried to gather his thoughts. “May I remind you, Miss Bennet, that this is a business transaction?”

“And may I remind you that I’m a single mother with an impressionable daughter? If she finds us in here together, you will wish you never had a family—rented or otherwise,” she countered, her temper rising. She felt indignation at the term “business transaction,” even though he was perfectly right.

Sam was feeling just as irritable. It was one thing to come into his home and add a bunch of clutter and décor, but it was quite another thing to kick him out of his own bedroom entirely. Without a word, he walked back over to the door and peeked through it. The way he shut it and sighed told her that Del Campo wasn’t showing any signs of leaving soon. Just as quickly, he returned to the bedroom.

“Where do you suggest I sleep, then?” he asked with crossed arms.

She hesitated and pointed into the other room, which she presumed was a rather sizable walk-in closet from what she could see. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, fine. Can I at least have my pillow?”

Lydia walked over to the bed and grabbed one of the many coordinated pillows from the top of the bed, throwing it at him. It caught him off guard, and he fumbled with it, almost dropping it to the floor.

“That’s not mine,” he said with a huff, reaching past her to pull the sheets back and grab the correct one. He disappeared into the closet only to find her walking towards his bathroom when he returned. “Oh, no you don’t,” he protested. “I want in there while it’s still night.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. Clearly, he’d been with far too many women who put a great deal of effort into their appearances. She could easily remove all the makeup, clothes, and accessories in less than five minutes flat. But that reminded her of something as she blocked his entry into the bathroom. “Can I at least have something to sleep in? All my things are in the other room.”

 He was clearly annoyed at the request but complied anyway. He walked over to a large cedar chest against the far wall and pulled out a few items of clothing. Sam dropped these on the bed before disappearing into the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a pert little snap.

Lydia couldn’t help smirking to herself. She kind of enjoyed ruffling his feathers. It was all so ridiculous anyway, being paired off as Sam Field’s pretend wife. He was her boss, and he was paying her to do him a favor. She needed the money just as badly as he needed help with whatever business deal was supposed to happen. And that brought her right back around to his “business transaction” statement. She decided not to dwell on it, for the moment. But she did think about him sleeping on the cold, hard floor of his dressing room.

Several minutes later, Sam reentered the bedroom cautiously, only to find an empty dress laid out on the bed, her borrowed bits of finery neatly laid out on the side table, and no Lydia in sight. He briefly wondered if she had somehow managed to make a run for her own room. With a small thrill, he walked over to the doors and peered out. Del Campo was still there. He had just shut the door carefully when he nearly jumped out of his skin as Lydia bumped into him.

“I’m—so sorry,” they said simultaneously.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, struggling to keep his voice level.

She pointed over her shoulder.  “I was just fixing you a bed. Sleepover style.”

He blinked at her, confused.

She stared back at him just as baffled. “Don’t tell me. You’ve never had a sleepover?”

He shrugged his slim shoulders. “I went to private school.”

She wasn’t sure if that meant it was a very small school or if he didn’t have any friends at that age. She quickly realized if he had had any sleepovers, they would probably have dedicated entire guest wings to the endeavor. Each precious wealthy child would slumber on their own down-covered bed and not on the floor in sleeping bags, like normal kids. Their upbringing couldn’t have been more contrasting.

She cleared her throat, shifting her weight as she stood in front of him in a pair of his own boxers and a loose-fitting t-shirt. He was wearing an almost identical outfit to her own, and she could actually see his legs, arms, and bare feet. She tried not to think about how odd it was to see him in anything but a suit. He wasn’t as tall as she thought he’d be, either (but she was above average height for a woman), and it was strangely humbling to meet him almost at eye-level. He was the company CEO and superior to her in many ways—but ultimately, he was just a man.

And she was the woman stealing his bed for the night.

She cleared her throat to fill the silence. “Well, goodnight.”

He muttered the same in reply and kept his gaze up high, doing his level best not to notice how nice her legs looked in a pair of his short boxers. He settled onto the cushions and shifted, trying to get comfortable. The three couch cushions were showing an alarming tendency to separate, despite the blanket she had neatly wrapped around them. He’d probably be on the floor by the time morning came. He pulled the spare blanket up to his chin and made a mental note to ask Annie to set up the cot tomorrow.

“Are you alright in there?” Lydia called out to him.

“No,” he said with some asperity. He sighed. “Is my bed comfortable enough for you?”

Lydia smiled, stretching her arms wide against the plush mattress. “Very.”

Zoey was settling into her room quite nicely, too. She gazed around at the toys, books, and brightly colored furniture. It was the nicest room she had ever been in, and she was looking forward to sleeping there, even if it was just for two more days. She rolled over and stared at a framed photo she had managed to smuggle into her suitcase.

“I know you’ll be here soon, Daddy,” she said, kissing the picture. She crossed her fingers, made a secret, sacred wish to the angels, and hugged a faded and well-loved stuffed duck. She was asleep in moments.

--

“You look refreshed this morning,” Charlotte said.

“Thank you,” Lydia replied, avoiding her friend’s direct gaze. She had felt bad for missing work yesterday and not telling Charlotte about it, so she had promised to treat her best friend to some breakfast as an apology.

“I called you two times last night. Can I assume you were out painting the town red with some new man?”

Lydia flushed slightly. “No, you may not. And I think my phone is on the fritz, so I might not be able to answer calls for a few days.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes, speaking with a tone dripping with caustic disbelief. “And you’re just taking some time off work. Which you have not done one single time since I started working with you two years ago. I know you’re keeping something from me, and I’m going to find out what it is!”

“I took off work that one time for the flu,” Lydia protested.

“Yes, because you were literally on death’s door. Does double pneumonia ring a bell for you?”

Lydia winced and nodded. She had had to spend two nights in the hospital, which cost herself a pretty penny. And she hated lying, especially to Charlotte, but she had signed an actual contract stating she would not disclose the nature of her three days at Sam Field’s home. Despite this, Lydia knew she’d fill her best friend in once the whole affair was over and done with. Charlotte asked a few pointed questions over breakfast, but Lydia managed to keep her mouth shut. Instead, they turned the discussion to William, her friend’s penny-pinching ex-husband.

“He claims he was supporting me by paying the rent while I was going to night school. I was going to night school so I could get a better job and allow him to work on his precious novel,” Charlotte said in disbelief. “And if Mr. Collins thinks he can put me over a barrel, he has another think coming, because I put money towards his student loans, for heaven’s sake!”

Lydia winced and gave her friend’s hand a sympathetic pat. “The fact that you called him Mr. Collins even after you were married might have been your first sign that there would be trouble.”

“You’re right,” Charlotte laughed. “Anyway, forget about it. Don’t let me ruin your morning. I’ll figure it out.”

Lydia wasn’t going to let it ruin her day, but she certainly wasn’t going to forget about it. She vowed that she would give Charlotte some of the money she would earn after doing this favor for Mr. Field. It was the least she could do to pay back a friend who had gotten her through some of the toughest years of her life. She couldn’t turn to her sisters anymore. At least, not until she found it in herself to apologize again.

She returned to the Field residence to find Zoey hard at work on a wooden puzzle in the living room. She was more than happy to join her there (and grateful to Annie and Hawthorne for keeping an eye on her daughter). Yesterday had been her first day off of work in months (or years, according to Charlotte), and today, they had a few more obligations with Del Campo, so she wanted to soak up every free moment with Zoey.

Sam’s house made it easy and fun. He had plenty of books to read, without Lydia’s own additions in Zoey’s makeshift room, and he even had a sizable television and VCR in what Hawthorne called the “cinema room.” Zoey liked to imitate the way he said it—“cine-maaaah.” Sam had a massive and eclectic collection of movies with new releases as well as some old classics and unexpected gems. When Zoey fell asleep on the couch watching Hook, Lydia decided to put on something for herself.

Sam came home for lunch—a luxury that he rarely indulged in—and was informed by Hawthorne that “the ladies are in the cinema room.” He poked his head inside and was about to inform them that they needed to get ready for lunch when he saw that Lydia’s shoulders were shaking. She turned at the sound of the door.

“Are you alright?” he asked, alarmed to discover she was wiping tears from her face.

“Yes,” she said, her voice choked. “Zoey’s asleep, and I hope you don’t mind, but—I can’t stop laughing at this. I haven’t seen this in years!”

He glanced up to see a familiar cast of British actors on screen. John Cleese was just demonstrating how to defend oneself against an individual armed with fresh fruit.

“Well, let me tell you something, my lad. When you’re walking home tonight and some great homicidal maniac comes after you with a bunch of loganberries, don’t come cryin’ to me!” John Cleese shouted mere inches into Eric Idle’s deadpan face.

Lydia burst into stifled laughter. Sam couldn’t help joining in. He leaned against the back of the couch but didn’t bother walking around to join her. Zoey was taking up most of the sofa anyway. He had completely forgotten about owning that tape. It had been a very thoughtful and unexpected gift from Hawthorne, who knew better than anyone that Mr. Field rarely, if ever, sat down to watch an entire movie uninterrupted, let alone a series of sketches from a late-night British television show. The next sketch included a rather humorous tidbit where the men of Monty Python dressed as antisocial and misbehaving old ladies (dubbed “hell’s grannies”), and Sam couldn’t hold back his own laughter.

He was thinking how nice it was to just enjoy a moment like this with someone else, when Zoey was awoken from her light nap. The moment was gone as they dove into discussions about lunch.

“Can’t we eat in the kitchen? The dining room is so formal,” Lydia said.

“Which is why I like eating in there,” Sam said.

She eyed him carefully and was on the verge of speaking, but she held her tongue.

Del Campo arrived and greeted Sam, Zoey, and Lydia with several paper bags from the grocery store. “I thought I could cook you lunch since you have been such gracious hosts,” he said. “And maybe we could be a little more casual today.”

“I like that idea,” Sam said brightly, ignoring the smug smile that Lydia was giving him. It wasn’t the first time her instincts about something had been right. And he wondered, with growing consternation, if it would be the last.

Eating in the kitchen ended up being a delightful experience. Sam was aware how much work went into preparing a meal (his mother had, wisely, insisted on him taking cooking lessons as a young boy, even though he had no interest in it), but he didn’t realize it could be so much fun. Del Campo insisted on everyone stepping in to help with some task or another. Lydia and Zoey looked right at home with their borrowed aprons chopping celery for the stuffing. Sam just felt like he was constantly getting in everyone’s way. Eventually, he was relegating to washing the dishes to clear the sink for many more. He wasn’t too proud to engage in such a task, which surprised Lydia.

“You sure you don’t want me to do that?” she asked, eyeing him carefully as he scrubbed at an aluminum pan.

“You think I don’t know how to wash dishes?” he smirked.

She cocked her head to the side and studied him openly. “Now that you mention it, you do look pretty good in a pair of yellow rubber gloves.”

He dipped one hand in the soapy water and flicked some onto her apron. She was surprised by the playful gesture and laughed—fully and genuinely for the first time since she’d arrived.

“You missed a spot,” she said, leaning a little closer to point at the corner of the pan.

And damn it, if she wasn’t right.

Lunch was a feast of pavo navideño, spicy tamales, and volteada de piña. “It’s just a fancy way of saying pineapple upside down cake,” Del Campo insisted, as he tried to brush off everyone’s compliments. Dave was the only one not in attendance, but Del Campo insisted that Annie and Hawthorne join them. This was an entirely new experience for Sam. Years of living with a strict, by-the-book wealthy man like his father, he had to fight against the sense that these types of things just weren’t done. He managed to relax, however, and only made a fool of himself once when he bit into a habanero pepper. In his defense, Del Campo had said it “wasn’t that spicy.” Eyes streaming, mouth and throat on fire, he dove for his water, only to be stopped by Lydia who had rushed over to fetch him a glass of milk. She had been right, yet again. The milk eased his discomfort enough for him to enjoy the food.

After lunch, Del Campo and Sam were supposed to return to the office, but the older gentleman was a traditional man. He insisted they had done quite enough work for one Sunday.

“Today is a day of rest, Señor Field. Surely even you take breaks once in a while.”

Sam hesitated before offering a heartfelt agreement. It was spoken with that tight almost forced smile she often saw on his face, the one where he squinted his eyes a little too tightly. Lydia could see past the pretense enough to know that Sam was just as much a workaholic as his father had supposedly been. And if what Charlotte had said was true, maybe Lydia wasn’t much better. Yes, a break was exactly what they both needed.

“We should go to the park!” Zoey declared. While the adults were far more content with the idea of lazing around the house after such a lavish meal, it was hard to deny Zoey’s sweet, pleading face (and she knew it, too).

“I have not yet seen the city, so I would be delighted,” Mr. Del Campo said.

Soon, they were bundled up and driving down familiar streets towards their destination. Zoey had insisted on their favorite park, which was not on the nicest side of town.

“Why this particular park?” Sam whispered to Lydia while Del Campo and Zoey were busy speaking to each other in scraps of Spanish and English.

She winced. “I go there all the time with Zoey. We—live close by.” She didn’t know why she was feeling embarrassed about it. She wondered if he had ever been to this side of town before. It was “the other side of the tracks,” but she hoped, with the money she’d make from this crazy venture, that she could get herself and Zoey someplace nicer. Somewhere safer. “I think Hawthorne should park a few blocks away, or maybe even just drive around. This is a really nice car for this part of the city. It’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

Sam’s brown eyes fixed on hers for a moment, and she could tell he’d never had to take such precautions before. He leaned against Lydia slightly as he spoke to Hawthorne over the partition to the front seat.

When he turned back around, he saw Del Campo studying them with a soft but curious smile on his face. “You two look quite cozy together,” he commented.

“Thank you,” Lydia said for both of them, as Sam said nothing and glanced out the window.

Zoey insisted that Del Campo should push her on the swings, and once she had been assured that the Señor had no complaints, Lydia found herself alone with Sam. They circled the small playground on a paved walking path, at first in complete silence.

“So, Miss Bennet,” he said, clearing his throat. “I seem to recall on your file that you used to go by Wickham.”

“Have you been looking at my personnel file?”

He winced. “It was a bit of a necessary evil. Upcoming changes and all that.” At Lydia’s widened gaze, he rushed to add, “Nothing you should worry about. Just business stuff.”

While she resented being left out of the loop (though she had no right to pry, really), she relaxed a bit more and took a deep breath before replying. “I used to be married. It—was an impulsive thing. I was very young when George and I met, and I was swept off my feet. No one had really given me much attention, though I didn’t make it that difficult. I was a bit of a flirt.”

Sam gave her a curious look. “I can’t picture that.”

She laughed drily. “I was a complete flirt. I was just—holding my heart out there for anyone to come along and take it, I guess. Pretty foolish.” She sobered and shook her head. “Anyway, George began to show his true colors pretty soon after we were married. He can’t save a nickel and is always planning some sort of get-rich-quick scheme. He’s a bit of a con man, I guess you could say.”

Sam had several follow up questions, but he remained silent, giving her the space she needed. She was still pretty guarded, keeping a lot of details close to her chest and glossing over the finer points. Perhaps he didn’t have a right to ask in the first place, but he couldn’t help being curious.

“George’s schemes and spending habits meant that we were always tight for money. I think my family got sick of me asking for help. I’m…embarrassed that I couldn’t see George for who he was. I just kept going back to him whenever he’d reappear in my life. Zoey still idolizes him, and I just—” She paused and gave him a startled almost panicked look. “I’m rambling, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” he assured her, but he could tell the walls were going back up again. She put a smile on her face and shook her head, insisting that they talk about anything else.

Sam wasn’t too keen to tell his own life story, but he gave her the bare bones details. It wasn’t that interesting, really. He had been born into money, was an only child, and had inherited a large fortune upon his father’s death. His mother lived in Cabo with her latest young lover (to his intense embarrassment), but she seemed happy, despite the fact that he hadn’t given her any grandchildren yet. Sam was a pretty open book, but Lydia could tell by the look on his face that that particular topic—and his father—was strictly off limits.

Zoey suddenly rushed up and insisted she was too cold to play anymore. Del Campo looked a bit chilled as well, and so they all walked back to where Hawthorne had parked a few blocks away.

That night, Lydia was hopeful that she’d be able to sleep in her own room. But once more, Del Campo decided to camp out for hours in Sam’s study in full view of the doors to the master suite. Once again, they were forced to share the room. At least Annie had set up the cot for Sam in the dressing room so Lydia felt a little less guilty stealing his bed. They were still getting used to sharing a space, however. It led to a few awkward encounters in the bathroom when one of them (Sam) was about to spit mouthwash into the sink, and the other (Lydia) had walked in to wash their face. Sam had turned towards the sink, nearly collided with Lydia, and ended up having to spit it in the bathtub to avoid spraying her.

Still, for the second night in a row, Lydia was alone in the bedroom and found herself calling out, “Are you alright in there?”

Sam hesitated, rolling onto his back on the stiff mattress. It was still an improvement over the couch cushions, but his pampered back certainly wasn’t used to the cot. “Better. You?”

“Yeah,” she said, feeling her eyes drooping already. Two full days off work, and her body was still greedy for rest. “Yeah, I’m wonderful.”

Sam stood to his feet and hesitated before walking towards the bedroom. He knocked gently on the door frame and peered into the darkened room. “Lydia?” he said softly. He waited, but he could hear the sounds of deep, rhythmic breathing from the bed. She was fast asleep. He rushed back to the cot and was almost relieved she hadn’t been awake. He wasn’t sure what he had been about to say, but it would likely have been a bad idea.

This was a business transaction, he reminded himself. Just one more day and we’re done.

But he didn’t like the stab of disappointment this thought sent into his chest.

Chapter Text

Sam parked his car in the driveway and breathed a sigh of relief. He felt light as air, even though his briefcase was about a pound heavier with all the paperwork inside. His steps faltered only once when he reached the front porch. It had been a late meeting, which meant Del Campo had sent for his suitcases in order to catch his flight home in a few hours. There would be two more suitcases waiting by the door tonight.

Hawthorne answered the door with a long-suffering expression, and it didn’t take Sam long to realize why. Zoey was wheeling around the polished floors in some sort of electric tricycle made up like an old-fashioned car. She was bumping furniture and walls with reckless abandon as she enjoyed one final hurrah in the mansion. Lydia was nowhere to be seen. He couldn’t help being a little snappish with the young girl currently wreaking havoc on his good mood.

He stood in front of her vehicle and got down on her level. “That’s a really big toy for a little girl. You know what big toys do? They break things.”

Zoey shook her head at him. “I’m not going to break anything.” And then promptly drove the surprisingly heavy tricycle over his foot.

Lydia appeared at that precise moment, unaware of the injury he’d just sustained. “Did Señor Del Campo get to the airport okay?” she asked.

“Yes, he did,” he replied, meeting her gaze.

Sam noticed she was back in her old clothes. He knew she wouldn’t be taking any of Magda’s carefully crafted wardrobe home. What need would she have for a black evening dress or a pair of Versace heels? He wondered if he could convince his stylist to part with the lovely silk foulard Lydia had worn that morning for a last breakfast with Del Campo. He was suddenly reluctant to say goodbye. Until Zoey came crashing into the room.

“Sweetie, there you are,” Lydia said, throwing an apologetic look towards Sam, who backed away from the approaching tricycle. “Get your coat, Zoey. We have to go.”

 “Mommy, we can’t leave!” the young girl cried with a whiny, wheedling tone.

“Zoey, what did I tell you? Now, come on.”

Sam was impressed with Lydia’s ability to get Zoey to listen. He could never get the knack of it—not after the young girl had purposefully hidden one of his nicest pens from his study (he didn’t know how she’d found it) nor when she had unwrapped a strand of popcorn and began throwing it all over the living room. No matter how cute or endearing she could be, he always thought of Lydia’s daughter as a miniature tornado, tearing things up in her wake with very little effort.

“Thank you, Zoey. You did great,” he called after the young girl as she stomped up the long staircase. “She really did,” he added, turning to Lydia. “You were great, too, Miss Bennet.”

“Thank you, Mr. Field,” she said, taking his extended hand and shaking it. There was a pause, and she wondered if Sam was about to say something else. He was wearing that plastered-on smile again. “Well, I guess…Hawthorne?” she turned and called out for the butler, who was already approaching with the bags. “Would you mind taking those to our car, please?”

“Certainly, Madam,” he said in his crisp, cool voice. He smiled at her before making his way to the front door.

Sam blinked at his butler. Hawthorne rarely smiled at anyone, not even his employer. His butler was as stony-faced as Buster Keaton. Lydia was one of a very select group of people to have earned such a privilege.

Lydia turned back to Sam and carefully slipped off the gorgeous engagement ring and wedding band. She held them one last time, running a thumb across the cluster of diamonds on each piece. They were the nicest pieces of jewelry she’d ever worn. Far nicer than her own wedding bands had been. She smiled at Sam as she placed them in his outstretched hand. “How did it feel being a family man?” she asked him.

The question took him so off-guard that he said the first thing that came to mind. “Completely terrifying,” he replied, pulling the wedding band off of his own finger. And then he tried to laugh it off as though it weren’t the complete and honest truth.

“Well, it’s been—” Lydia began, but the front door opened.

“Good evening, Sir,” Hawthorne said, greeting Dave and Mr. Del Campo as they walked into the house.

Sam quickly passed the rings back to Lydia, and they were quickly replaced on each of their hands.

“Great news, everyone,” Dave said with a wide grin. “Del Campo has decided to stay until negotiations are completed.”

“Of course, that would require extending my visit another two weeks,” Mr. Del Campo said in his gentle, slightly gravelly voice. “I wouldn’t dream of imposing.”

Sam and Lydia exchanged a brief look, but it was Dave who spoke first. “No, of course not! As I told you, Sam would be more than happy to have you stay. Su casa is mi casa, right?”

Mr. Del Campo was far too polite to correct both the incorrect syntax and his horrendous pronunciation (the ‘s’ sounds were said like ‘z’) and merely laughed as Dave led him into the living room. Lydia could tell Sam was having trouble keeping the smile on his face, but to his credit, he managed to reply, “We’d be delighted, Señor. Wouldn’t we, darling?”

Lydia met his gaze and saw the anger and frustration swimming behind his brown eyes. She managed to offer a word of agreement before Sam insisted that he and his wife needed to talk to the cook. Quite unexpectedly, she felt his arm slip around her shoulders and pull her along beside him. They didn’t make it two steps.

 “Señora Field,” Mr. Del Campo said. They turned around to face him again. “I noticed your luggage by the front door. Are you going somewhere?”

Lydia’s mind went blank. She tried to stall for time, but Sam came to her rescue. “That’s just some old stuff for Goodwill,” he explained. “Hawthorne, take care of that, will you?”

The butler offered a curt reply and stowed the offending articles in a nearby closet. He was grateful he hadn’t thought to bring Miss Bennet’s car around to the front. That would have been nearly impossible to explain away.

Sam gave one last smile to the unexpected guest in the hall before tailing along after Lydia towards the kitchen. Sam and Lydia dove into their conversation immediately, and despite their lowered voices, two very eager sets of ears were tuned in. The staff had naturally been filled in on the strange circumstances, and they were naturally curious.

“Our deal was for three days!” she demanded in a hushed tone.

“I’m not any happier about this than you are. Five thousand,” he said, raising the agreed upon payment.

“Ten.”

“Ten!” he shouted. He quickly lowered his voice when Sarah and Annie glanced up from behind the kitchen island. “Ten thousand? Are you crazy?”

Lydia shrugged her shoulders. She felt it was a perfectly reasonable ask for two weeks of more play-acting and pretending. She had to think of herself and Zoey. Without a word, she turned as if to leave him.

“Fine. Fine!” he sighed. She had him over a barrel. “Ten thousand. But you stay as long as it takes.”

“Fine,” she said. And then she grabbed his arm before he could turn to leave. “Mr. Field, whatever happens, I need to be sure I have a job to come back to when this is all over.”

“You’ll be taken care of.” He paused, and the left side of his mouth lifted in a very slight smirk. “And you can call me Sam.”

She wanted to smile at him but she just rolled her eyes and stalked back into the living room. Sam glanced up in time to see Annie, Sarah, and Hawthorne watching the proceedings with keen interest. They all looked away simultaneously. Sam sighed and decided he might as well begin to tackle the mountain of work waiting for him in his briefcase. Success came with a price—his time.

But it seemed his efforts to chip away at the massive contracts were going to hit a few snags. He was speaking into a tape recorder noting the changes that Janet needed to make.

“Paragraph two, it still reads incorrectly. The line should read—”

A shout of laughter from down below caused him to stop and re-record what he had just said.

“And section B paragraph three, I see a few errors with—”

More giggling from below.

His study had a balcony overlooking the living room. With a sigh, he set aside his tape recorder and stared down at the three figures below.

“Right foot red,” Lydia was saying, reading off of the Twister spinner while she held an aluminum package of popcorn over the fire.

Zoey was giggling furiously as she and Del Campo contorted themselves in order to achieve the requirements of the game.

“Right hand yellow? Are you sure?” Del Campo said, his head nearly touching his knees. Zoey was cackling in earnest, especially when the older man fell to the floor.

Sam tried to reconcile the image of the older gentleman playing a children’s game. It was an odd juxtaposition after an entire day spent discussing every little detail of an acquisitions contract. They had removed some of the Christmas decorations (it was almost January 10^th, after all), but the tree was still in place. Hawthorne walked in and set a tray of cookies on the side table. With the glow of the fire and the Christmas lights, it looked like a Norman Rockwell painting. Sam was of two minds. He could go downstairs and join them, or he could keep working. For the first time, he had a sense he would feel out of place with either venture. It was a lonely sentiment.

Just as he turned to go back to his chair, a small voice cried up to him. “Come play with us!”

He glanced over the railing and met Zoey’s eager gaze. Her cheeks were rosy with the exercise and laughter, and her long curls fell in a wild, frizzy mess around her face.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said quickly.

“Why not?” Lydia’s question surprised him.

“I’m not good at games,” was the only thing he could think to say.

“It’s not about skill. It’s about fun.” She smiled up at him. She had an answer for everything.

“There’s much more to life than work, Señor Field,” Del Campo added. After falling down, he had chosen to recline against a pile of throw pillows on the floor. He was the picture of ease and contentment. Sam envied him.

It took all three of them, but Sam was finally convinced to come down and join them. Zoey declared that she wanted a turn with the spinner, and Del Campo wanted a break. Which meant Lydia would be playing with Sam.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Lydia protested, looking a little uneasy.

“What’s the matter? Afraid you’ll have a little fun?” Sam rolled up his sleeves.

She saw the challenge clear as day on his face. And with a touch of the old Lydia peeking through, she felt she couldn’t back down from this particular fight. Soon enough, they were on the Twister mat. They both tried to keep their distance, but that was next to impossible. It seemed as though Zoey was purposefully choosing positions that brought them closer. When she wasn’t focused on maintaining her balance, Lydia watched closely as Sam’s face relaxed into a genuine smile.

“Left foot red? Piece of cake,” he was saying as he worked to lift his leg up and over Lydia.

She cackled when he almost fell backwards. But she was learning something else about him. He was competitive.

Zoey called out the next move for Lydia.

“That’s it?” he demanded when she was able to accomplish this task with very little effort. “Give me an easy one, Zoey.”

Zoey smirked and called out his next move. His arm went behind Lydia’s back, and he teetered slightly, his face moving closer to hers. They blinked at each other for half a second. Lydia’s hair was down—something he’d only seen a few times, usually just before she went to bed. It tickled his nose as she suddenly turned her face away from him, her cheeks flushed from the activity, he presumed. Zoey called out the next move. Lydia realized she’d have to slide her leg between Sam’s. It would be so much easier if…

“Can you move your knee a little?” she whispered. Their faces were close again, and she saw the way he narrowed his eyes at her, shaking his head. He wasn’t going to make this easy.

But she was competitive, too. She slid her leg along the slick, plastic mat and thought she had him—until her right wrist, which was sore from holding an awkward position for so long, finally gave out. She teetered wildly, knocking her knee against his shin, and brought them both to the floor in a laughing heap. Everyone shared in the merriment, but Sam’s voice could be heard saying, “I won!”

He felt giddy with his own victory, as silly as that sounded. God, when was the last time he’d played a game with someone? Chess with Dave didn’t count, because his friend was hopeless at it and always lost. He’d certainly not had that much fun in a very long time. Despite the late hour, Del Campo fell into the same routine as always. Sam and Lydia didn’t even bat an eye anymore as they walked to the master suite arm in arm. As soon as they were inside, they split off to change into their clothes in separate rooms. Sam bent over to take off his socks and let out a small cry of pain.

“What—are you okay?” Lydia asked immediately.

“Just showing my age,” he said, glancing up to find her standing in the doorway of the closet. “I either hurt myself playing Twister, or the cot is doing a number on my back.” He regretted saying it as soon as the words came out. He wasn’t that much older than her, but it made him feel both decrepit and spoiled. He saw the frown between Lydia’s brows and knew she was feeling guilty.

Before he could rush to correct it, she said, “Well, why don’t you sleep on the couch?”

“I was just joking, Lydia. Honestly.”

She smirked. “You weren’t. You don’t tell jokes.”

“You’re saying I’m not funny?” He couldn’t help feeling a little indignant. His work associates always seemed to enjoy his conversation. They certainly laughed a great deal. Unless they were just trying to placate him, since he was their superior…

“I didn’t say that,” she corrected. “You’re funny in your own way, but not because you tell jokes.” She shook her head, clearly regretting her own word choice, too. “Just—it’s fine. You’ll be more comfortable there.”

“What about Zoey?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” she said with a dry laugh.

Wordlessly, he changed into his pajamas and followed her into the bedroom. He felt like he was the one intruding this time and not the other way around. It was a strange feeling. He decided not to investigate it further and quickly tucked himself under a blanket on the couch. This way, at least, he couldn’t see her lying in his own bed.

“Goodnight, Sam.”

“Goodnight, Lydia.”

The light clicked off, but neither of them fell asleep for a long time.

--

“Two weeks? Two weeks?” Charlotte’s voice screeched on the other end of the line. “Okay, that is it, Lydia. You are telling me the full story. I’ll notify the police and trace this call if I have to, but I’m not—”

“Shh, alright, alright,” Lydia protested, cradling the hall phone against her shoulder. Sam’s house was very echoey. She didn’t want to be overheard potentially breaking the non-disclosure contract she had signed. “Listen, meet me at Beans and Brew on Cumberland.”

“What the hell are you doing on that side of town?”

Lydia insisted she would tell her friend as much as she could. She’d also pay for lunch, since it was Charlotte’s only day off. She made sure Annie and Hawthorne were amenable to watching Zoey for the afternoon. She put on her coat, and stepped into the crisp wintry air. The coffee shop was within walking distance of the house, and she was glad of the excuse to get out of the wealthy neighborhood for the first time in a few days. She began to feel a bit more like herself, especially when she saw Charlotte waiting impatiently at a table inside.

Without preamble, Charlotte demanded to know the full story. Lydia waited until they had taken their drinks and food to the far corner table before she explained what was going on.

“So, you have been sharing a room with our CEO for the past three days, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I couldn’t say a word,” Lydia insisted, lowering her voice. “And you can’t either. Technically, we haven’t been sharing a room. Until last night, I guess…”

“What—what?” Charlotte spluttered.

“It’s nothing. The cot was bothering his back, so he slept on the couch. It’s just business. And it will get me enough money to put a down payment on that house.”

Charlotte looked skeptical. “I hope you know what you’re doing. Do you even know what this big deal with Del Campo is?”

Lydia realized she hadn’t bothered to ask. She’d been far too distracted trying to play a dutiful and loving wife to someone who was basically a stranger. Now, it was all she could think about. She’d do her best to wheedle the information out of Sam, if she could.

--

A taxi pulled up alongside a block of remarkably plain apartment buildings. The passenger handed the driver the fare and a meager tip (earning him a glare from the driver) and stepped onto the curb. He readjusted a bag of golf clubs and stepped up to the front door of the nearest building. His long finger pressed the buzzer to a specific apartment. No answer, not for a solid three minutes. He was on the brink of trying the fire escape when someone from a different apartment walked through the door.

“Forgot my keys,” he said to the individual, who was more than happy to hold the door for him, no questions asked.

Once inside, he went up the stairs two at a time until he reached his destination. But here, he was met with nothing but silence on the other side of the door.

“Can I help you?” a low, feminine voice said behind him.

He turned, and a quick smile filled his face. He was handsome, but there was a hungry, unsatisfied look about the eyes.

Maria knew who it was in an instant, though she had only seen him a few times. “You have some nerve showing up here,” she said.

 “I’m sorry,” he said, but it was without any real feeling. “I’m just looking for my wife and daughter.”

“Ex-wife,” Maria snapped, beginning to shut her door.

He surged forward and stopped her with a desperate plea in his dark eyes. “Please. I want to see my daughter, and I don’t know where she is. I’ve called Lydia so many times, but she won’t answer. Please. Por favor, Ma’am.”

Maria bit her full bottom lip and frowned. He was the child’s father. And Lydia had not left instructions for what to do in this situation. Surely, she could at least give him one piece of information. He had a right to know they were both safe and unharmed. “She gave me a phone number but only for emergencies.”

“Thank you so much,” he said, his smile broadening.

Maria sighed, stepping back into her kitchen to transfer the information on a piece of paper. It was just a phone number. No name or address. Surely, that was okay.

“Thank you, Señora,” George Wickham said again. His smile was impossible to ignore, and so she returned it gladly. And perhaps she understood—just a little bit—why it had taken Lydia so long to leave this man.

Chapter Text

Sam had been in a lousy mood all day. Lydia didn’t know if it was something to do with whatever business deal was happening, and she didn’t bother to pry. At least, not yet. It was nothing overt, nothing Del Campo would notice (she hoped), but she caught his foul humor in the imitation of a smile on his face and the dark circles just visible below his eyes. She saw that he was less forthcoming with his polite laughter at one of Dave’s jokes. Twice, she caught him eyeing Zoey with irritation. This rankled Lydia. Sure, her daughter could be a little loud and boisterous, and she sometimes was rash with her movements and bumped into things. But it was never done maliciously. Sam had little to no experience with kids, clearly. He’d have to get used to it soon, or else this plan wasn’t going to work.

Sam wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand it. He had thought about paying Lydia the 10 grand anyway and making up some imaginary trip that she and Zoey needed to take. He had considered all the possible options available to him, but short of telling Del Campo the truth and threatening the tenuous deal between them, he didn’t see any option but to go through with the plan. Though, that was proving to be more difficult with each passing day. He wanted his home back in its usual orderly fashion. He wanted to sleep in his bed again and stay as late as he wanted at the office instead of having to bring it home so he didn’t miss “family dinner.”

He was exhausted after a long day of endless meetings, and he just wanted to take care of a few things before dinner. He heard commotion in his study, and his heart sank when he saw Zoey sitting behind his once-pristine desk. She had managed to create some sort of sculpture out of pens, paperclips, and Scotch tape. He would have been impressed if he didn’t feel immediately annoyed by her presence there. His papers had been moved around, and it looked like she had been playing with the small wet bar cart nearby.

“Oh, hi!” she said brightly, as if she hadn’t been up to any mischief at all.

He took a deep, steadying breath and gently coaxed her out of his chair. “Sweetheart, would you do me a favor and not touch anything?”

Instead of leaving immediately (which he had expected), she stood beside his desk and stared at him. “You don’t like kids, do you?” she asked him, point blank.

He should have been used to her forthrightness by this point, but he needed a moment to gather his words before he replied. He busied himself by gathering the jumbled paperclips and putting them back in their box. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with kids, just like there’s nothing wrong with broccoli. Some people have a taste for it, and some people don’t.”

“Do you like broccoli?”

He paused. No one had ever asked him that. “No,” he said finally.

“Me neither.” It was, perhaps, the first real thing they actually had in common.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Lydia said as she walked up the stairs towards them. “Where’s Mr. Del Campo?”

“Dave took him to a restaurant,” he said. He groaned when he saw Zoey pulling books off of the nearby shelf. Some of them were limited edition and very old. She dropped one on the floor in an attempt to pile as many as she could into her small arms, and he jolted forward to take them from her. “Look, do you think you could keep her out of here?”

Lydia felt her mama bear protectiveness stirring at the way he was yanking the books from Zoey’s grasp.

“This is not a playroom, and these are not toys,” he said, leaning down and staring into Zoey’s face until she looked at him.

“She won’t bother anything,” Lydia said. She knew she was being overly defensive, but he needed to understand that children worked differently than adults. Zoey, in particular, was the type of kid who desperately wanted approval and affection, especially from those who seemed to give it the least. She was a bit like a cat, seeking out the one person in the room who wasn’t too fond of the animal and pestering them until they loved her.

“Could you tell me something? How do you get her to listen to you?” he asked helplessly, watching as the young girl walked over to his wet bar cart to touch absolutely everything.

Lydia walked around and began to straighten the little messes Zoey had left. There were stuffed animals all over the coffee table, and his decorative throw pillows had been tossed haphazardly on the floor. She turned to her daughter with a stern look. “From now on, this room is off-limits. Do you understand?” When Zoey nodded her head, Lydia just shrugged as if to say, see? Piece of cake.

Sam gave her a wry smile. He didn’t often smoke, except for the celebratory cigar here and there, but he sometimes found it relaxing. Now was precisely the time to pick up the habit again. Except, when he removed Zoey’s cherished stuffed duck from inside the lid of his cigar box, he was met with a horrific sight. It really was the last straw for his temper.

“You—you cut up my cigars?” he demanded, raising his voice in his own growing anger.

“They’re bad for you. Mr. Hawthorne told me so,” Zoey said, matter-of-factly.

Lydia was mortified and was about to offer to pay for them when Sam suddenly shouted, “These were Cuban cigars!”

“Don’t yell at her!” Lydia said, rising to her feet.

“Do you know how much these cigars cost?” He continued, unable to stop himself. Zoey seemed possessed by a spirit of mischief and had picked up a glass soda water dispenser from the wet bar. “Put that down!”

His shout startled her, and she bumped one of her small hands against the nozzle. Fizzy water sprayed everywhere—on the carpet, his leather chair, and (most unfortunately) on his desk. Before Lydia could intervene, he rushed over and grabbed the bottle from Zoey. He fumbled with it and sent it crashing to the top of the cart in a spray of shattered glass.

“That’s just great,” Sam continued. “Why is it that everything you touch gets broken?”

Zoey had backed up against the wall in fear, but her startled gaze turned to anger as she shouted back, “You’re not my daddy!” She bolted up the small staircase to the guest bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

Lydia was embarrassed and incensed. The latter emotion won out, however, as she rounded on him with a look of fury. “This little arrangement does not give you the right to yell at my daughter.”

“If you’d teach her some boundaries, she might know better,” Sam said. He knew it was a dumb thing to say—hell, what did he know about raising kids? But he was just as mortified and upset by his own knee-jerk reaction.

Lydia called him out on his bullshit immediately. “Oh, that’s great advice coming from a man who rented a family!”

“Could you leave me alone now?” he said, not sure he could stand to look at the two of them until his temper had died down.

“I can do better than that,” Lydia said. With horror, he watched as she removed the rings from her left hand, threw them down on his water-soaked desktop, and stormed after her daughter.

He had to sit there, stewing in his own anger and stupidity, and watch as Zoey and Lydia returned moments later with packed bags. They didn’t even wait for Hawthorne before they bolted out the front door. He heard the engine struggling to turn over in their ancient Volkswagen, and with a roar of grinding gears and exhaust, they were gone.

Zoey was quiet and withdrawn the entire drive back to the apartment. She didn’t speak until after Lydia had fixed them dinner (peanut butter and banana sandwiches—the only things readily available) and changed into her pajamas for bed.

“It’s my fault we left,” Zoey said.

“None of this is your fault,” Lydia said, sinking down beside her daughter on her bed. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten us into this, and I’m so sorry, Zoey.”

“Don’t be sorry, Mommy. I know we needed the money.”

Lydia let out a choked sound like a sob and managed to hold back her tears. She desperately wished her daughter didn’t have to be so aware of their financial issues. But it was hard to avoid. She was about to speak when there was a knock at the door. She expected it to be Maria coming to check in on them, since they weren’t expected back for another week and a half. Instead, she opened the door, saw who it was, and tried to close it again.

“Wait, please,” Sam said, putting a hand up to gently stop the door. “I know I was a jerk. I just need a chance to apologize.”

Lydia saw that he was genuine, even if he looked completely terrified. She did nothing to ease his conscience when she just replied, “To Zoey. You’ll say sorry to her.”

“Okay,” he said, his voice tight and pitched a little too high. God, he was completely out of his depth.

He was ushered into the tiniest apartment he’d ever seen. The main living area—which tripled as the kitchen, dining room, and living room—was sparsely but practically furnished. He did his best to be respectful of her privacy and did not try to peer into Lydia’s room, though he was tempted. Sam followed Lydia to Zoey’s room, which was only slightly bigger than his dressing room. He felt the guilt piling on top of itself in his stomach, making him feel queasy.

Zoey turned her back when she saw who had arrived. Sam swallowed.

“I’m sorry, Zoey,” he said, waiting for some signal from the small figure under the blanket. When she said nothing, he tried again. “What can I do to get you to forgive me?”

“A pony would be nice,” Zoey said.

“A pony? Heck of a negotiator, just like your mom. I could use you with Del Campo.” He chuckled softly. When Zoey said nothing, he continued. “Look, I’m really sorry. I was—”

“Dumb?” Zoey offered.

“Yeah. Real dumb. Can you forgive me?”

She hesitated. “I guess so. I’m sorry for messing up your desk.”

The guilt only sharpened at the quaver in her voice. He had to swallow hard before speaking again. “Oh, that’s okay. It’s just water.”

She finally turned and regarded him with her wide hazel eyes, so like her mother’s. “Can we go back to the house now?”

Sam glanced at Lydia who gave him a soft smile. “Yeah, we can go back.”

Zoey was ecstatic at the news, and Sam was relieved. He put a hand in his pocket and held out his palm to Lydia. She glanced down and saw the wedding bands. The small, wordless gesture made her want to laugh. George had been drunk when he’d asked for her hand in marriage. Even though this was nothing more than a business transaction, it was still the nicest marriage proposal Lydia had ever experienced. She took the rings from his hand and followed him into the living room to wait for Zoey. His eyes scanned the walls, and he recognized now that it was covered with various canvases and pieces of drawing paper. There were oil pastels of landscapes, pencil sketches of faces, and a gorgeous oil painting above the fake fireplace and mantle that depicted a historic stone-clad house.  

“That was really nice of you, Sam,” she said, coming up behind him.

“Don’t let it get around,” he teased. “It could ruin my reputation.”

“So, we’ll come back and stay until Del Campo leaves,” she said, pocketing her hands in her high-rise jeans for lack of knowing what to do with them. She couldn’t just stand there idly in front of him.

“Thank you,” he said, his gaze softening. “You’re saving my neck, you know.”

“Your neck isn’t my concern. I have plans for that money.”

Ah, yes. The money. How could he have forgotten? He nodded his head, realizing he hadn’t thought about why Lydia had been so willing to go along with Dave’s ridiculous plan in the first place. Rather than discuss it, he changed the topic, pointing to the nearest painting. “Are you the artist?”

She nodded, giving him a sheepish grin.

“They’re amazing. I mean, really, they’re terrific,” he emphasized, hoping she knew he meant it.

Lydia couldn’t help being flattered. No doubt he came across many fine works of art in his day, given the circles he was likely part of.

“Have you ever thought of doing this professionally?”

She shrugged, and he could tell there was a lot of pain contained in that one gesture. “I wanted to study in Paris and live abroad for a while, but…I got married. And had Zoey. After George left for the last time, and after the divorce—everything changed.”

Sam regarded her with renewed respect. “It can’t have been easy for you to walk out like that tonight.”

 “Everything is for Zoey now.”

He nodded, unsure that there was an appropriate response to that. Zoey’s bold entrance made that unnecessary. She pranced into the room, her wild hair tucked into a baseball cap, and said, “I’m ready! Let’s go home.”

Lydia’s eyes widened. She would have to discuss that little slip of the tongue with Zoey later. Sam, meanwhile, was stuck somewhere between confusion and amusement.

He decided it would be best to use his car and leave theirs at her apartment. It was a strange sensation riding in the same leather-lined Mercedes-Benz she’d almost collided with nearly a week ago. Zoey sang and danced along with the “Macarena” on the radio. The two adults in the front couldn’t seem to find much to say to each other.

“Welcome back, Sir,” Hawthorne greeted Sam at the door. “Ma’am,” he directed at Lydia, and then he did something he’d never done before—at least, not in the 35 years Sam Field had known the officious butler. Hawthorne first reached out and pressed his hand gently against Lydia’s upper arm, and then he pat Zoey on the head two times.

“Ah, the Fields! Back from their evening drive,” Del Campo said, raising a glass of brandy from his position on the living room couch. “Care to join me in some refreshments?”

“Yes,” Lydia and Sam said simultaneously. They were both in desperate need of a stiff drink.

The next few days went smoothly. Zoey went to school, Sam went to work with Dave and Del Campo, Lydia enjoyed the work-free luxury of entertaining herself, and at the end of the day, they all reunited again for dinner. After dinner, they enjoyed drinks and board games in front of the fire. Sam joined them more often than not. After that, Sam and Lydia retired to “their bedroom” where they kept their conversations surface level before eventually falling asleep. One evening, however, Del Campo brought a refreshing change to their repetitive routine.

“Some entertainment after a trying week.” He gave Sam a sympathetic look.

Lydia had noticed, over the last few days that Sam was growing restless and distracted. She didn’t know it, but his work kept him up at night. The stresses of the decisions they were about to make were weighing heavily on him, but he didn’t feel like he could confide in Lydia. He shouldn’t. It was getting too dangerous, lately. Too vulnerable. Something had shifted between them since their fight over Zoey, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

“Ice skating!” Zoey cried happily as the limo pulled up alongside the curb.

It was a small, privately owned outdoor rink that was closing the next night. The winter decorations and leftover Christmas lights were clearly hard to resist as it was crowded.

While the adults rented their skates, Zoey rushed over to a fake reindeer slowly waving its head side to side.

Dave approached with a tight smile. He and the little tike hadn’t gotten off on the best foot, so he hoped he might try again. Besides, he needed to give the impression to Del Campo that he also liked kids. “Hey, I bet that one’s Donner.”

“It’s Donder,” she corrected.

“Donner.”

“Donner are the people who eat each other. We studied it in school,” Zoey said, and though she was only approximately four feet tall, she leveled him with a steady, unflinching gaze.

Dave was a rational man. But he was also incredibly proud of his own intellect (or what he thought of it). Having a seven-year-old to try and upstage him was too much for him to handle, and he resorted to childish tactics.

“As if you’d know,” he said snidely.

“I’m right!” she insisted.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes, times infinity!”

“No, times double infinity!”

She looked at him like he was a complete imbecile. “Infinity is forever. You can’t have double forever.”

Dave was stunned speechless. He had no immediate retort, and so, Zoey rushed away in triumph.

Sam approached, having overheard the entire exchange. “She’s right, you know. It’s Donder.”

“I can’t stand that kid,” Dave said, pointing after Zoey’s retreating figure.

“You rented her,” Sam countered before running to catch up with Del Campo. “I hope you’re not too cold, Señor. I know you’re not used to this weather.”

“Oh, I find it very invigorating,” Mr. Del Campo said. “And I enjoy watching your wife and daughter having so much fun.”

Sam followed the older gentleman’s gaze and was just in time to witness Lydia and Zoey spinning in a circle on the ice, laughing at each other as they tried to keep their balance. Lydia broke away to do a quick, practiced twirl, and he couldn’t help feeling a sense of pride—even though she didn’t actually belong to him. That was a sobering enough thought, and he stalked off to go put on his skates (even though he had no intention of embarrassing himself tonight).

Sam was practically glued to the wooden partition surrounding the rink. He didn’t mind watching the others have fun. At least he was away from the house, away from work. He could just relax, and—

“Señor Del Campo told me to help you,” a voice said. He discovered Zoey smiling up at him.

“Oh, he did, did he?” he said with a resigned sigh. “I can’t skate.”

“Yes, you can,” she said with complete confidence. “Mommy taught me, and I’ll teach you.” With that, she tugged on his arm and kept pulling until he lost his hold of the railing. Despite his protests, Zoey continued to pull him forward. He struggled to gain purchase with his skates and sent himself in a wild spin, stopping only when Zoey caught hold of his arms.

“I couldn’t skate when I was a kid, and I can’t now,” he said, sounding a little childishly disappointed in himself. “I’m going to fall and make a fool of myself.” He glanced up and caught Del Campo and Lydia watching with mirrored smirks on their faces. They were surrounded by people, too. He didn’t used to think he was so vain.

“Don’t worry, I’ll catch you. I promise!” Zoey cried, keeping a firm hold on both his arms.

He met her keen gaze and finally felt himself relax. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart!” She said, making an X motion over her chest.

Across the small rink, Del Campo and Lydia watched as Sam moved forward cautiously, aided by plenty of encouragement and advice from Zoey.

“I’m very impressed with your husband’s business,” the older gentleman said to her.

“Sam is a very ambitious man,” she replied. “There’s nothing he won’t do to get ahead.”

Del Campo had heard this before about other great men, and he always considered it an odd sort of compliment. Some might even consider it a detriment in someone’s character rather than an element to be praised.

Zoey was close enough to be overheard as she said, “Come on, you can do it!” She held her small arms out as wide as they would go and urged Sam to come towards her on his own.

He glanced around nervously, trying to avoid the swirling crush of people. He put one foot back and pushed off of the ice, sending himself hurtling forwards. He came to a stop only after he knelt down and was caught in Zoey’s arms.

“You did it,” she cried, shaking his shoulders slightly in her excitement. Her grin was earnest and honest, and it was just for him. It sent a warm, unfamiliar sensation in the center of his chest. “Now, watch me!” Zoey cried just before rushing off to demonstrate her skating prowess.

Lydia felt the need for a break and was on her way to a nearby bench. A pretty blonde rushed past her and was clearly making a bee-line for Sam. Lydia couldn’t help standing still and watching. The blonde ran into Sam’s side and apologized profusely. He had to use her arm to regain his balance, and the pair of them teetered slightly before coming to a stop. They were standing quite close.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, giving her an easy smile.

“That’s okay,” she said, smiling back in a way that told him she was flirting. He was vain enough to recognize the signs, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that it happened frequently. “Care to go again?” she asked, still keeping hold of his arm.

He glanced up and caught Del Campo’s eyes on him. “Maybe another time,” he said, pulling off his gloves. Twinkle lights glittered across the gold band on his finger.

She saw it immediately and apologized, turning to leave as quickly as she had come. Lydia watched as his shoulders slumped. She followed him as he moved shakily towards the closest bench.

She took the seat beside him and hesitated before saying, “I think Zoey and I are cramping your style.”

“Why do you say that?” he said.

“Oh, come on,” Lydia said with a teasing smile. “Tell me you didn’t want to skate with her.” She nodded her head towards the pretty blonde, who was now talking to Dave at the hot chocolate stand.

Sam worked on the laces of his skate and frowned, shaking his head. “She’s not my type.”

“Sure.” The sarcasm was heavy on that one word.

Sam regarded her. Instead of examining why her tone bothered him (maybe because she was right), he just said, “You don’t trust easily, do you?”

Lydia met his gaze, startled by his astuteness. And she had no reason to deny it. “I used to,” was all she said, before Zoey called after her to come skate again. She gave Sam one last glance before returning to the ice.

Sam didn’t know what was happening to him. His eyes went back to Dave, who had one of his arms around the waist of the pretty blonde. They were looking very chummy. Normally, this would have made Sam furious, having Dave “steal” a woman he had called dibs on. But he couldn’t call dibs anymore. Until next week, he was still married to Lydia. Zoey was still his daughter. His eyes drifted back to the laughing pair in the center of the ice. Lydia had Zoey in her arms and was spinning around. She set her daughter down and caught Sam staring. She blinked and then smiled, waving at him. He realized he was smiling.

Chapter Text

Their night of outdoor entertainment came to an end when Del Campo had to admit defeat to the cold. Back at the house, they enjoyed cups of hot cocoa before Lydia insisted it was Zoey’s bedtime. Sam expected the young girl to give him a hug before leaving the room, but this time she took his hand and tugged him to his feet.

“I guess I’m going, too,” he told Del Campo as he was dragged from the room. Zoey was holding her mother’s hand, too, and they nearly collided in the doorway with the young girl’s attempt to keep firm grip on both of their hands.

Sam waited by the door to Zoey’s room and listened to the hushed voices inside. He was startled when Lydia reappeared and caught his arm before he could leave. “She wants you to tuck her in.”

Sam blinked at Lydia. He saw, from the expression on her face, that this was a rarely bestowed honor (much like a smile from stone-faced Hawthorne). He walked into Zoey’s room and realized Lydia hadn’t joined them. He pocketed his hands, pulled them out, and then rested them on his hips as he walked towards Zoey’s bed. He felt awkward and let his eyes travel around what used to be a rather stylish guest bedroom. Now, it was all pink and soft with every accessory a little girl could ever dream of. He didn’t hate it this way. His gaze fell on a framed photograph on Zoey’s bedside table.

“Who’s this?” he said, pointing to the man in the photo.

“That’s my dad. My real dad.”

“Where is he?” Sam couldn’t help asking.

Zoey hesitated. She had a familiar look on her face—a little petulant, distant in thought. It was the same look she’d had the first night of Del Campo’s visit, when she had told the story of how Sam and Lydia first met. He knew that what she would say next was a fabrication, borne of her own imagination. “He’s in astronaut school,” she said at last. “That’s why him and my mommy got divorced because he had to go so far away to do it.”

“I didn’t know that,” he said, hoping the tone of his reply was convincing. Maybe someday he’d get the real truth from Lydia. His eyes fell on the stuffed yellow duck she had tucked into bed beside her. “Did your daddy give you that?”

“Yeah,” Zoey said, finally meeting his gaze as she slapped the bed beside her, indicating he should sit down. He did. It felt a little less awkward. “Can I tell you a secret?” she asked. “Promise you won’t tell my mom?”

He heard a soft creak in the hall and was grateful to realize Lydia was probably standing right outside, hearing everything they said. He smiled at Zoey. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

She sobered suddenly. “My birthday is next week. Did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” he confessed. It was probably something he should know, as her pretend father.

“That’s not my secret, but anyway. Last year, my mom gave me a birthday present and said my dad got it, but I know it was really from her.”

“How do you know that?” He felt he was rapidly getting way out of his depth here.

“I’m almost eight. I’m not stupid.” She said with her natural directness. He wanted to laugh, but she continued with a very serious expression. “My mom said it was from him so I wouldn’t think he forgot about me. Don’t tell her I know, ‘cause I know it will make her feel bad.”

Sam nodded his head in solemn agreement.

“I don’t want any presents for my birthday. I just want my daddy to come home.” Her small voice was growing softer and a bit shaky as she continued. “I don’t know what I did that was so bad that my dad doesn’t want me no more.”

“Any more,” he said, automatically. Perhaps it was a bit of a defense mechanism, because he could tell she was going to say more things that he had no clue how to respond to.

“Any more,” she corrected. He had hoped it might stem the flow of her words, but she continued, undeterred. “I just don’t know what I did. I know I’m clumsy and I drop stuff. He calls me butterfingers sometimes. Do you think if I wasn’t so clumsy, he would have stayed?”

Lydia, from her position in the hallway, had to bite back a sob at her daughter’s words. She had no idea Zoey was feeling this way. She wished she could run in there and hug Zoey as tightly as possible.

Sam, meanwhile, was staring into the little girl’s eyes and knew she expected a response. He took a quick, deep breath and did the best he could. He spoke from his own experience, from putting up with a father who was distant and barely present for his childhood. “Everyone drops things, Zoey. That’s not the reason—”

“Maybe I’m just not lovable,” she interrupted, miserably.

Sam felt a heavy stone drop into the pit of his stomach. Oh, God. Hadn’t he grappled with those same worries when he was a child? It made his chest ache to think she was experiencing it, too. And it made him hate George Wickham. He hoped he never met the scoundrel who made this lovely young girl feel so worthless.

In the hallway, Lydia clutched her chest and had to put a hand up to her mouth to stifle her cries.

“Zoey, that’s not true,” Sam finally said. “Some people are just really good at loving others, and some people just don’t know how. Nobody ever showed them.”

“Like I showed you how to skate?” Zoey asked, her eyes brightening with understanding.

“Yeah, sort of,” he said, a little lamely.

“Did your dad love you?”

Sam’s hands clenched involuntarily. This conversation had taken quite a left turn, and here Zoey was asking him the very same questions he’d struggled with most of his life. It seemed she had the same ability to precisely read people just like her mother. “It didn’t always feel like he loved me,” he said, with complete honesty.

“Were you a bad kid?”

He shook his head, struck by the way she viewed things in such a black and white manner. The answers to her questions were always far more complicated. “I wasn’t a bad kid, I just…I wasn’t good enough, not at the things he cared about. He was a college baseball star, and that was really important to him.” He cleared his throat, feeling a rush of unexpected emotions. “I did my best, but I just didn’t have that knack for it. He was really disappointed.”

“Your dad should have loved you whether you were good at things or not.”

He nodded his head. “That’s true, Zoey.” He wanted to say more, to tell her that the same was true about herself. But his words came to a full stop.

Lydia, wiping tears from her cheeks as she quietly slipped down the hallway, felt she understood Sam a little better in that moment. And she knew she had to have some hard talks with Zoey. And George, if he would ever stop long enough to listen. Her chest burned with anger, grief, and pain. She needed some fresh air.

“You should get some sleep,” Sam said at last.

“Okay,” Zoey said, studying him for half a second before she leaned forward and pulled him into an impulsive hug. It took him half a stunned moment to press his hand to the back of her hair in a returning embrace.

“Goodnight, Sam,” she said, her eyes already drooping before he had even left the room.

He smiled at her and then walked down the hall as if in a daze. He caught sight of movement from a set of double doors to his left. It was the upstairs balcony overlooking the back yard, and he recognized the figure standing there.

Lydia heard the doors open and knew, instinctively, who had followed her. She didn’t even flinch when he draped a soft throw blanket around her shoulders. His hands lingered for a moment. It wasn’t until she glanced up and met his gaze that he stepped away, putting distance between them.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Sam had a lot of questions. He had no idea where to start except to say, “Things got pretty heavy in there.” When it appeared that Lydia was about to apologize, Sam rushed to say, “No, listen. I didn’t know what to say. I mean, what can you say when a kid tells you they’re unlovable?”

Lydia saw the helplessness in his eyes, and she couldn’t help reaching out and pressing a hand to his upper arm. “You handled it well.”

“I just—I could have said so much more about my dad.”

“For Zoey’s sake, I think it’s better you didn’t. She absorbs a lot more than I realize sometimes.”

“She’s a bright kid,” he said, resting his hand on top of hers, which was still on his arm.

“Sometimes too bright.” She pulled her hand away gently.  

Sam chewed on his thought for a moment before finally asking, “Where’s her father?”

She sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted and wrung out after the day’s emotional ups and downs. “Florida, the last I heard from him, I think?” She shook her head, fighting back her own anger. “He left before her birthday without saying goodbye, so she keeps thinking he’ll come back.”

“Does he ever see her?”

“He phones now and then.” She hesitated, but she was curious to see if telling him would actually help her feel better. “The last time was about a month ago. He said he’d be passing through town and would stop by to say hello. She fell asleep waiting for him at the window.”

“He never showed?” Sam was baffled.

“No.”

“You should make him see her.”

She let out a soft laugh. “You can’t make someone be a parent, Sam. You, of all people, should understand that.”

He met her gaze—so direct it felt like it was piercing through his protective outer shell. She saw him, really saw him. Sam Field: the eternal bachelor who went through more women than a manicurist. Wasn’t that the line? He knew the gossip around the workers at Field Industries.

He felt the need to defend himself, just a little. “I just haven’t met the right person yet.”

Lydia was so tempted to unpack that line, but she wasn’t his therapist. She wasn’t even really his friend, if she thought about it.

Business transaction.

She sighed, realizing the necessity of discussing a different topic, given his conversation with Zoey tonight. “Listen, Sam. I don’t know if you realize this, but Zoey is becoming very fond of you. I wouldn’t encourage it.”

He was incredulous. “Because…?”

“Because you’re just passing through her life, too.” She swallowed. “I feel bad enough about putting her in this position. So, just let us do our jobs and then let us leave with no hurt feelings.”

Part of him resisted the idea entirely. He didn’t want to end the conversation there, but he realized, looking into Lydia’s determined and guarded face, that he had no choice. “Alright,” was all he said.

She wished him goodnight and then disappeared back inside. Tonight, Del Campo wasn’t in the study, which meant that when Sam went to the master suite, it was empty. His room felt enormous now that he was alone. Even still, he slept on the couch.

--

After days of unrelenting meetings and piles of work, Sam felt like they were finally making progress on the deal. Sure, Del Campo was on board with the idea of moving operations to Mexico, but there was so much minutia to work out before the contract could actually be signed.

At last, Del Campo declared over lunch one afternoon, “If everything checks out, gentlemen, we should be able to draw up the contract in a few days.”

Sam felt a thrill of relief. Secretly, he was hoping it would be over sooner. He felt he was wearing a little thin, especially given the rather tense atmosphere between himself and Lydia. And dammit if he wasn’t becoming fond of Zoey, regardless of what Lydia had said. He couldn’t help it.

“Zoey mentioned that next week was her birthday,” Del Campo added.

Sam was taken aback. He had just a moment to recover and said quickly, “You’re welcome to join us.”

“I won’t be intruding?”

“Not at all, Sir,” Sam assured him. He felt guilty for not knowing the actual day—but in his defense, Dave hadn’t prepped him on that information, and Lydia had made no mention of it.

“Precocious little kid,” Dave said with a tight smile. Sam knew his friend was feeling less than generous at the idea of a birthday party for a little girl who could match wits with him and wasn’t even Sam’s daughter.

Sam was about to respond when the waiter suddenly brought a note and handed it to him. It was written on a white napkin emblazoned with the name of the restaurant.

I have a question for you about my wife. Meet me at the bar. ~G.W.

He immediately excused himself, trying to keep his face from broadcasting his boiling anger. Sam walked over to the metal railing and looked down into the main level of the restaurant. There, sitting at the bar wearing a self-satisfied smile, was the man from Zoey’s photograph. Sam didn’t even bother to try and hide his fury, especially when George Wickham lifted his martini glass in a silent, sarcastic cheers.

Downstairs at a corner table, Sam fixed the other man with a barely concealed glare. “Do Lydia and Zoey know you’re here?”

“No, but I’m seeing them after I find out what you’re doing,” George said with a brilliant smile. He was well-built and almost dazzlingly good looking—and he knew, it too. His impressive height only added to the whole tall-dark-and-handsome thing he had going for himself. The waitress was clearly enamored with him, even as he ogled her openly.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, deciding to play dumb until he could fully size up the man beside him.

“Let me fill you in,” George said, leaning close enough that Sam could smell the vermouth on his breath. “You and Lydia are not married, she hasn’t moved out of her apartment—so why are they living with you?”

Sam’s jaw clenched. Clearly, George had done his research. He had probably cornered someone on his staff and blackmailed them out of the information. That, or he had followd Lydia and was watching the house. It sent a chill up and down Sam’s spine. “Lydia is helping me out with a business transaction,” he explained simply.

“Ha! Don’t hustle a hustler,” George said snidely. “So, how does it feel to be in the middle of closing the biggest deal of your life?”

Instead of backing down, Sam met the other man’s steely blue gaze without flinching. “I don’t see how any of that is your concern.”

“What concerns my wife and my child concerns me.”

“Ex-wife,” Sam corrected.

“Still,” George said, taking another gulp of his dirty martini. “What do you think this Javier Del Campo would say if he learned they’re not your family? I think he’d say, ay, caramba! And hightail it back to Mexico.”

 Ignoring the fact that his impression of the older gentleman was incredibly insulting, Sam just gave George a wry laugh. He knew exactly what this was really about. “How much do you want, George?”

The other man’s eyes brightened. “I just need a little something to tide me over until I get back on tour. I’m a pro golfer, you know.” (Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes.) “Let’s say, somewhere north of ten thousand, south of twenty?”

“Let’s make it twenty,” Sam said, and he was gratified to see that this surprised the con man sitting across the table. “You’ll have it the day after Zoey’s birthday—I’m sure you know when that is. Just one condition: you don’t contact Zoey or Lydia until then.”

“Sam, they’re my family,” George replied acidly, and it was just like him to get on first-name basis with a rich man he was trying to blackmail. “If I want to see them, I’m going to see them.”

“Not until after the 23^rd or we don’t have a deal.” When George showed no signs of relenting, Sam decided to try one of Lydia’s negotiation tactics. He got up from the table and made as if to leave with no further discussion. It worked like a charm.

“Wait, wait,” George insisted, grabbing the other man’s arm. “Alright, deal.”

Sam pulled out a business card and told George to leave his number with his secretary.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Sam,” he said, gulping down his martini before standing to leave.

“Why didn’t you say goodbye to Zoey?” Sam asked, causing George Wickham to freeze in place.

His face was a blank slate. Sam didn’t know him well enough to discern if there was any remorse in those cold eyes as he simply said, “I couldn’t.” With that, he was gone.

Sam let out the breath he had been holding. He still had to endure the remainder of lunch with Del Campo and Dave without letting them know anything was wrong. And he still had to decide if he was going to tell Lydia what had just happened. Shit, he really was in the middle of it.

Chapter Text

Lydia had had a rather uninteresting day. She wasn’t sure she liked this stay-at-home business. Zoey was away at school for most of the day, and while Sam’s lavish home was well-stocked with forms of entertainment, she was bored. She felt like a spoiled brat (honestly! Complaining about not working!), but all the same, she was eager for company. She was pleasantly surprised when Sam walked through the front door. He was back home from work early.

“How was your day?” she asked, appearing at his elbow as if out of nowhere.

“Jesus,” he said, momentarily startled. Then, he smiled at her. “It was—fine,” he said, hesitating long enough to make Lydia frown at him. She was too damn perceptive. “Just a long day,” he added, reaching out and squeezing her arm gently. He didn’t know why he was compelled to touch her. Maybe it was the lingering guilt he was feeling over having made a deal with her ex-husband.

“Well, I have a confession to make,” she said as she walked beside him up the stairs.

“What’s that?” he said, feeling a twist of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

“I am bored out of my mind.”

Sam was so surprised that he burst into laughter. Lydia thought he was making fun of her, and she began to rush to her own defense. “I know, I know, I sound like so privileged. It’s just that I’m used to working, you know? I like keeping my hands busy with things, and I’m just—”

“Lydia, it’s fine,” he said with a genuine smile. They had reached the top of the stairs, and he gestured to the master suite. “Mind if I change really quick? I’ll join you and Zoey downstairs.”

“Zoey had a theater club meeting, so Hawthorne is going to pick her up since it’ll be right before dinner.”

He smiled, suddenly enjoying the thought of Zoey standing center-stage, reciting lines in a play. She would be perfect for that. “Okay, so I’ll join you downstairs.”

“O-okay,” she said, unsure why she was feeling nervous. Del Campo wasn’t there, so it wasn’t for anyone’s benefit except Lydia’s. She was uneasy at just how happy this little thought made her. She took a seat on the couch in front of the fire and silently chastised herself. She needed to take her own advice: don’t become fond of Sam.

He appeared suddenly behind her, making her jump. He bit back a laugh, almost spilling the two drinks he was holding. She took the glass he offered, and she saw he had poured a glass of her favorite white wine.

“So,” he said, reclining on the plush leather couch beside her. “How does a woman of leisure keep herself busy all day?”

Lydia snorted and almost choked on her wine, but she scooted a little further away from him, hoping he wouldn’t notice (he did). “No one has ever called me a woman of leisure. Should I start wearing terry cloth robes and house slippers?”

He turned and considered her. “Maybe some pink hair curlers to round out the look.” He reached out and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger.

Oh, shit, Lydia’s mind screamed. I am very fond of this man.

Sam took stock of what he was doing and quickly pulled his hand away. “Seriously, though. What did you do all day while I was slaving away at work?”

She turned and stared at the fire to hide her flush. “Well, I read a great deal. You have a nice library here.”

“You can thank my father for instilling a love of books in me.”

“Did he like to read, too?”

“No, he hated it.”

Lydia laughed at that. “Really?”

“Yes, so I decided to make it my primary obsession. It helped that he didn’t seem to want much to do with me, so I had plenty of time to kill.” He didn’t like the slight bitter edge to his tone, so he tried to add, in an airy tone, “So, I collected as many books as I could get my hands on. All the classics.”

“What’s your favorite?”

He took a swig from his whiskey and met her gaze. “Don’t laugh.”

Lydia smirked and crossed her heart in a very Zoey-like gesture.

“Little Women,” he replied.

Her eyes widened, and he worried she was about to make fun of him. But she surprised him. “Mine, too! I always related most to Amy.”

“Of course, you would.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re almost exactly like Laurie, you know.”

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or not,” he laughed.

Lydia would have replied, except a small tornado (in the shape of her daughter) burst through the front door and into the living room. Sam grabbed Lydia’s glass of wine just milliseconds before Zoey tackled her mother in a tight hug. She was talking animatedly about everything they had done.

“We are going to do Alice in Wonderland!” Zoey exclaimed. “I want to be Alice, but it’s an awful lot of lines.”

Lydia kissed her daughter’s forehead. “You can do anything you set your mind to, sweetie.”

“I played the white rabbit in my school’s production,” Sam said quietly.

“Oh, hi!” Zoey said, as if noticing him for the first time. She leaned over and gave him a tight hug around the neck before resuming their discussion, unhindered. “You played the white rabbit? But you’re way too tall!”

“Not when I was your age,” he said with a chuckle, and he was further stunned when Zoey insisted on sitting beside him on the couch.

She grabbed his hand and held it up to her own, looking at the stark contrast in the size.

“What are you doing?” he asked her with a light chuckle.

“Nothing!” she asked, with a very conspiratorial smile directed at her mother.

“My, my, isn’t this sweet?” Dave said from the doorway, intruding on their conversation without a moment’s thought. “Del Campo will be here any minute.” He eyed Lydia and Zoey critically. “Is that what you’re both wearing?”

“She looks fine, Dave,” Sam protested. “Both of them do.”

“No, no—this is a night of celebration!” Dave protested. “We must have fine clothes! Music! Champagne!”

Sam rolled his eyes and did his best to temper his friend’s enthusiasm. They really shouldn’t celebrate until the contract was actually signed.

“It’s okay,” Lydia insisted. “We’ll be right back.”

“Alright,” Sam said, and he leaned down to press a kiss to Lydia’s cheek. She stared at him for a brief, stunned moment before taking Zoey’s hand and leading her upstairs.

Dave blinked at his friend. “Um…?” was all he could say, gesturing helplessly between Sam and the retreating figures.

Sam just shook his head, answering his friend’s unspoken question. He had no idea, either. He’d moved on impulse without even really thinking about it. It certainly hadn’t been for Dave’s benefit, so he didn’t know why he had done it.

Del Campo entered the house at that moment and greeted both men with a hearty handshake. The older gentleman gave Sam an amused look. “It is usually the custom in Mexico to kiss each other on the cheek in greeting. It seems your wife beat me to it.” To Sam’s intense mortification, the older gentleman pointed to a smudge of lipstick on Sam’s cheek from where Lydia had turned and brushed against his skin in surprise. He quickly wiped it off and tried to laugh as though that sort of thing happened all the time.

Dinner went smoothly, with Zoey at the center of most of the conversation. Eventually, the men retired to a small drawing room to continue the last bits of business for the day. Lydia had a notion to surprise Del Campo with a rare treat, and she was gratified at his response.

“Mexican wedding cake cookies!” he cried, delighted.

She handed the tray to Sam, who smiled and mouthed a silent word of thanks to her. Dave said no to the cookies without even looking at them. He was embroiled in their latest discussion and didn’t bother to watch as Lydia walked towards the door. “Where were we?” he continued. “Right. The contract of sale.”

Lydia stopped in her tracks and spun around. “Sale?” her voice cracked in surprise. “I thought this was a merger.”

She stared into Sam’s face and saw he wasn’t pleased with her interruption. “Not exactly,” he said, and then he gave her his patent pasted-on smile. “Don’t worry about it, darling. It’s just business. You wouldn’t understand.”

He was trying to brush her off, get her out of the room quickly before she caused a scene, she realized. But his words rankled her. “Oh, I think even my dense little female brain can understand the difference between a merger and a sale,” she leveled at him before turning her attention to Del Campo. “Will production move to Mexico?”

“Yes, of course,” the gentleman said. “Which means many of your employees will lose their jobs.” He eyed Sam with some hesitation. Clearly, the topic had been brought up before. “Are you certain that won’t be a problem, Señor Field?”

She could see the guilt plain as day behind Sam’s eyes as he scrambled for an answer.

“It’s not a problem,” Dave supplied. “We have a referral plan in place. They’ll be just fine.”

“They’ll be just fine?” Lydia said, unable to stop herself.

Her job was on the line, and the livelihood of so many as well. She hated herself in that moment, hated that she hadn’t bothered to ask what the deal was before she signed on to this crazy scheme. Suddenly, the ten grand didn’t matter at all. She could live at that apartment as long as it took to get a deposit. She loved their neighbors, after all. It had been Maria’s own recipe she’d used for the Mexican wedding cookies—and she suddenly remembered that Maria’s son worked at Field Industries, too. Sam saw the fury in her gaze, the unshed tears threatening to fall. He had to remedy the situation, and quickly.

“Could you ask Annie if she has some more coffee to go with these delicious cookies, dear?” he said, adding just a touch of emphasis to the last word. It was an unspoken reminder of the favor she was doing for him. He hoped it would help, but…

“Certainly. Dear.” She spun on her heel and was out the door, not bothering to shut it behind her.

She stormed into the hallway, told Annie to get the men some more coffee, and stared around herself helplessly. Suddenly, her eyes fell on a collection of poinsettias near the side door. They were wilting and nearing the end of their lives, and Mr. Hawthorne had been instructed to dispose of them the next day. Lydia suddenly had an idea.

--

The next day, Sam was barely keeping it together. Lydia barely spoke with him last night, and he had moved himself back onto the cot in the dressing room when he couldn’t bear the tense silence any longer. He was fighting with a woman he wasn’t even sleeping with. It was maddening.

Dave had just repeated himself, something about the deferred purchase price, and Sam apologized for needing it repeated once again. Sam was distracted and having trouble focusing.

“I hope everything is alright with Mrs. Field, Señor,” Del Campo said, the concern visible on his face. He was a nice man, underneath all the harsh negotiations he had put them through for this deal.

Sam gave him a tight smile. “We’re fine.”

But it was at that moment that Janet, pink-faced and out of breath, rushed into the meeting room. “Sir, I’m so sorry, but—you’re wanted on the floor. Culpepper says it’s urgent.”

“The foreman,” Sam explained. “I’m sure it’s nothing serious. Please, don’t stop on my account.”

It wasn’t nothing. He came down to the floor, only to find it practically empty. There was a roar of conversation, lively chatter, and music behind one of the many metal shelving units that were situated at regular intervals. He followed the commotion and was stunned by the sight in front of him. Large, rectangular tables were lined up down a huge section of the factory floor, and it was covered in white tablecloths, lit candles, poinsettias, and platters of delectable-looking food. He saw champagne being poured into glasses and—was that Annie and Sarah in their maid uniforms standing among the revelers? The minute his eyes fixed upon Hawthorne’s face, he knew instantly what was going on. It was a conspiracy of the highest form, and he would not stand for it.

“There he is,” Charlotte said, pointing down the long table. Lydia had enlisted her to be the lookout. Before Charlotte could ply her friend for more information, she found herself tugged along gripped by two surprisingly strong and resolute hands.

“Come with me,” Lydia said. “I want to see the look on his face up close.” She grinned a little maniacally at her friend, who was wondering if Lydia had lost her ever-loving mind with this insane stunt.

“Ah, here’s the ringleader now,” Culpepper was saying as Lydia approached. They had had their difficulties in the past (when Zoey was having a particularly challenging time in school last year), but that seemed to be long forgotten. He was holding a champagne glass and raised it as if to cheers Lydia.

She, instead, handed a glass to Sam and reveled, momentarily, in the strained, barely concealed anger on his face. “I thought you wouldn’t want to miss this, Sir,” she said. “This was a really wonderful gesture.”

“Yes, it’s really nice of you to throw this belated New Year’s party for us, Mr. Field,” Charlotte added, playing her practiced part to a tee. “It’s nice to get a break.”

“This is my friend, Charlotte,” Lydia added. “She has been working six days a week since before the holidays. She’s not a single mother, like several of the women who work here (including myself), but she relies on her income just as much.”

“I just wanted to thank you, Mr. Field,” Charlotte continued. “In six months, I’ll have saved up enough to go back to nursing school at night. And it’s all thanks to you.”

Lydia smirked, enjoying how Charlotte’s improvised speech was making Sam intensely uncomfortable. “Lydia—Miss Bennet,” Sam began to protest, but she moved to stand where she could see the crowd and began pointing at different people in turn.

“That’s Sarah. Her baby is due next month. She really should be on bed rest, but she and her husband Quincy had to take out a second mortgage in order to pay for it, so they really need the money.”

“Lydia—”

“And over there is Catherine. Do you know that she’s been here ever since the plant opened?”

“That’s great, but—”

“So, in a way, she has as much invested here as you do. And over there is Mr. Elton, who has a daughter with—”

“Okay, this way,” he said with a tight, forced smile to Culpepper (who was looking more and more confused by their interaction) before practically dragging Lydia along with him to the other side of the nearest metal shelving unit.

Charlotte stared after them, gave Culpepper a telling look, and decided she had earned herself a second glass of champagne. She needed to have a sit-down conversation with Lydia soon. There had been a very specific sort of expression on Lydia’s face when she had seen Sam, and when they were going toe-to-toe in a silent battle of wills. Charlotte knew Lydia was in trouble of falling for their handsome CEO.

Lydia, meanwhile, was still talking, telling him the sob stories of other employees. The only way he could get her to stop was to grab both of her shoulders and gently turn her towards him.  “You’ve made your point. Now, let me make mine—and let me explain to you how business works. It’s a fast track. You either run in front of it, or you get run over.”

Lydia resented that he was talking to her like she was an idiot. She brushed his hands off of her as she fixed him with a glare. She knew how business worked. She’d seen enough of George’s failed ventures crash and burn to know how it should work. “I understand that. I just wanted you to see their faces before you take away their security.”

“There are plenty of jobs for people like them,” Sam retorted. He knew it was the wrong thing to say, but he had been saying it on repeat in an effort to make himself feel better.

“You can’t begin to know what it’s like out there!”

“I know what it’s like. I was there once myself. I worked my way up, and so can these people!” It wasn’t entirely untrue. His father, in an effort to teach his spoiled-rich son a hard lesson, had given him the lowest paid position in the company. At the time, it  had felt like an unjust punishment for something Sam had no control over. He hadn’t chosen to be born into a wealthy family. He wasn’t the one who caved to every one of his son’s whims purely to fill the void of guilt for not spending actual time getting to know Sam. And he had worked his way up. It had taken years.

Lydia knew his story well, but she was also keenly aware that it was still his father’s money and connections that allowed Sam to get to where he was today. “You’ve never really known what it’s like to live paycheck to paycheck, and you’ve never had to stare into the face of a child who was too scared to ask questions. But for a lot of these people—including myself—this job is the only thing standing between them and welfare!”

Sam didn’t like the idea of Zoey in that sort of situation. But no doubt, it had happened. He ignored the hot, sick feeling of remorse in the pit of his stomach and decided on a different approach. “We can make ourselves anything we want. It’s called free enterprise!”

Her eyes widened. “Is that you or your father talking?”

“This has nothing to do with my father.” It felt as flimsy as the excuses he’d been telling himself from the start with this deal—that this was for the good of the company, that the people he was responsible for firing would be okay, that no one would get hurt. It was all about the potential profit. But now, he was staring at someone directly linked to those decisions.

She stared at him unflinching as she said, “You want your father’s approval so badly, you can’t see that he failed in what truly matters.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” he said, without much conviction. He had to turn away from her. Her barbs were too precise in their pin-point accuracy. His father had failed. He’d failed to show love to his own wife and son for the nearly forty years of their marriage before he’d died.

“If you’re not careful, you’ll make the same mistakes he did,” she continued.

Sam saw his way out of this conversation. He’d turn it right back around on her. He spun and took a step towards her. “Ah, now we’re getting into your area of expertise.”

Lydia’s guard was higher than ever as she retreated. “What are you talking about?”

“You are so terrified of repeating your own mistakes that you won’t let another man near you.”

She laughed bitterly. “That’s absurd.”

“Is it really?” he said, catching her arm before she could turn away.

She wanted to pull her arm out of his, but she was frozen in place under his heated gaze. “Y-you just can’t accept that there could be a woman out there who doesn’t want you.” Her stuttering made the statement less convincing.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. He leaned close enough that she couldn’t avoid looking at him. “Tell me you don’t think about me, that you’re not tossing and turning at night, wondering…” He didn’t know how to finish that statement.

Lydia swallowed. She saw the want there on his face, clear as day. She felt the same—and the realization of it hit her fully in the chest. She didn’t feel like she could take a full breath. “I do wonder, Sam,” she said, finally, staring back into his eyes. “Sometimes I feel so close to you, it scares me. Because I’ve already been with a man who would sell out his family and friends for a deal.”

Sam forgot himself for a moment, leaning in, his face just a breath apart. “What are you saying? That, if I make this deal with Del Campo…that you’re just going to walk away?”

“Wasn’t that the plan all along?”

“Yeah—no,” he faltered, realizing his mistake in one fell swoop. It was his turn to retreat. He couldn’t look into her eyes any longer, so much like Zoey’s, with that same spark of determination. “One thing has nothing to do with the other.”

“Of course, it does!” She cried. “Who’s to say if a better deal comes along, I won’t wind up like one of your workers?”

This took Sam a moment to process—first, because she wasn’t entirely wrong about the nature of his character. And second, because it was clear she had thought about this before. But his temper had already been sparked into a frenzy, and he couldn’t keep his cool any longer. “That’s great. That’s really great,” he said sarcastically. “God, you are so impossible sometimes. I can see now why George—” He stopped. But it was too late.

“You can see why he left me, is that what you were going to say?” she asked, her face a blank mask of disbelief. “Tell me, then. Why did he walk out on Zoey, too?”

He opened his mouth, wishing he could swallow his words and take it all back. It wasn’t true. He was just lashing out. But it was too late. Lydia walked past him without a backwards glance. He followed, but she had already disappeared into the crowd of party-goers.

A nearby worker lifted their champagne glass and began to sing, “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.” As one person after the other joined into the song and raised their glasses, Sam felt lower than ever.

Chapter Text

Zoey had loved every minute of Matilda. What Lydia remembered of it (when she wasn’t busy chewing her manicured nails and fretting) was that it was a little bit sad at the beginning with a cheerful ending. She stared down at her barely touched pizza and sighed. It had been a nice thought to pick it up on the way home (buying extra for Annie, Sarah, and Hawthorne, who had helped her with their little stunt at the factory). Zoey had been thrilled at the change pace from the usual fine-dining fare, but Lydia didn’t seem to have any appetite.

She put Zoey to bed, and she realized she could sleep wherever she wanted without Del Campo arriving home for a few hours yet. Dave had promised to take the older gentleman to an after-hours club, purely for the experience (Del Campo was a happily married man, while Dave was always on the prowl for his next piece of arm candy). Zoey went down pretty easily, but despite her own exhaustion, Lydia couldn’t fall asleep. She heard the hall telephone ringing and Hawthorne’s crisp, clipped tone.

“Yes, Sir,” Hawthorne was saying. “They had dinner in the cinema room.”

Lydia considered the possibility that Mr. Del Campo was calling to inquire after the family. But she felt it was more likely that it was Sam, asking if Lydia and Zoey were still there. Admittedly, she had almost packed her bags as soon as she’d gotten home. Her emotions were far too complex. But what had clinched it was Zoey’s statements just before bed.

“Tomorrow’s my birthday,” the young girl said, settling under her covers.

“I know.” Lydia laughed.

“I like it here, Mommy,” she said.

Lydia had to keep her face as neutral as possible. “I do, too. But, Zoey…”

“It’s okay. I know we have to leave after tomorrow,” Zoey interjected. “I’m just excited I get to have my birthday in such a nice house.”

Once she was assured that Zoey was fully asleep, Lydia grabbed a bag from her room and walked back downstairs. She figured it would be a nice touch to have Zoey’s presents waiting under the tree, since her daughter was always so reluctant to take down the Christmas decorations. Sometimes they left them up until February. She quietly slipped out of the room.

Sam had managed to assemble approximately half of a wooden dinosaur before he hit a snag. The pieces had been going together so well until he reached the tail end of the Tyrannosaurus Rex. He tried using a little more force and only managed to pinch his finger. He saw movement from the corner of his eye, and suddenly Lydia was standing in front of him in a plush, quilted housecoat. Her hair was down, but he couldn’t quite read the expression on her face. Wordlessly, she knelt across from him. He was too stunned to speak as she took the assembled tail from his hand.

“I think it goes this way,” she said, turning it over and sliding it into place immediately.

“How did you know that?” he asked, almost reverently. He’d been struggling with the stupid model for at least fifteen minutes.

“I’ve done this sort of thing before.”

“That’s enough of Mr. T. Rex,” he declared, setting the wooden animal to the side.

Lydia could take full view of his figure now that there was nothing between them. His tie was undone, his shirt was unbuttoned partially, and he had even rolled up his sleeves. Though she had already observed him in his boxers and t-shirt several times, she hadn’t expected to see him so disheveled. He had one leg stretched out in front of him and the other bent at the knee, where he was currently resting his elbow. She watched as he ran a hand down his face. He had nice hands.

She cleared her throat and resisted the urge to move away from where his leg touched hers. “You tired?”

“Yeah,” he said, not able to hold her gaze.

“Putting people out of work must be exhausting.” Lydia almost regretted the words once she’d said them. But it was too late. Now, they were going to have to talk about it.

He sighed, and in the light of the fire he looked drained. “I’ll do whatever it takes, Lydia. I’ll make sure those other people find jobs. I’m not throwing them out with two weeks’ notice. I’ll even provide placement services.”

Lydia was conflicted, wondering if she was included in the “other people” category or if this massive favor had earned her a place at the factory after the deal went through. “I appreciate that,” was all she could think to say.

He finally met and held her gaze, leaning a little closer. “And I’m really sorry that I lost my head. I didn’t mean—”

“No, no,” she said, stopping him by placing her hand on his arm. “It’s okay. Me, too. I was way out of line.”

“That was quite a stunt you pulled today.”

Lydia’s face fell into a look of fresh anxiety as she let her hand drop to her side. “I want you to take it out of the money you’re paying me. Please,” she insisted. “I had no right to use your staff without your permission like that.”

He waved a hand as if to absolve her of any guilt. “It’s not important. And a party was long overdue for the workers. Besides, you’ve got my staff wrapped around your little finger, so they would have done it anyway.” He gave her a wry smile and then sobered. “Listen, about what I said. I really didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted, feeling strangely close to tears the more he tried to apologize. “I didn’t mean what I said, either.”

He cocked his head slightly. “I think you did, though. Hit the nail on the head quite a few times.”

She winced. “I can be a little—direct. My sisters always hated it.”

“Sisters? Plural?”

Lydia’s chest tightened involuntarily. “Yes. Four of them.”

“Wow,” was all he could say. He had many follow up questions, but Lydia suddenly scooted away. It was clear she did not wish to broach that particular subject.

As she pulled a few humble offerings out of a plastic bag, she glanced around at the piles of department store bags. There were quite a few from FAO Schwarz. Lydia felt a pang of envy. She’d always wanted to buy Zoey gifts from there, but they were far too expensive.

“I’ve never seen so many presents,” she confessed, feeling that her contribution would easily pale in comparison to whatever designer, top-of-the-line toys Sam had bought. “Del Campo will be impressed.”

“I didn’t do it for his benefit. I did it for Zoey’s.” His words hung in the air. When she said nothing, he added, a little quieter, “I don’t know…I just wanted to give her a nice birthday.”

She turned and gave him a small smile. “That’s really sweet, Sam. Thank you.”

The room fell silent except for the sounds of scissors, wrapping paper, and tape. They fell into a natural rhythm passing the necessary implements back and forth without needing to ask. He was struggling to tie a bow, and she reached over to press a finger in the center of the ribbon.

He thanked her for her assistance, and then he felt the need to fill the silence, even though it was almost companionable between them. “Did your parents support your art pursuits growing up?”

She laughed. “They could hardly be called ‘pursuits.’ My dad was a high school history teacher. He didn’t make much, but he always tried to get one special gift for each of us around the holidays. One time, he got me a nice paint set, and I think I painted everything—even the cat. Mom hung some of my paintings on the fridge. They were both so proud. Made me think I could be an artist for real.”

“Why can’t you?”

“That’s just a dream,” she insisted. “Right now, I have to think about Zoey.”

“You’re really gutsy, you know that?” He didn’t bother to hide the look of awe on his face.

“I don’t have a choice.”

Her matter-of-fact reply was sobering. Their upbringings couldn’t have been more dissimilar. He had grown up with an endless array of opportunities and possibilities at his fingertips. Naturally, he had just done what his father wanted (for his approval, just like Lydia had pointed out), but if he’d decided to do something different, he could have.

In the face of such vulnerability from her, he figured now was as good a time as any to confess a truth that had been eating away at him. “I want to tell you something.”

Lydia looked up, struck by his soft tone. She had a momentary concern that he was about to give her more bad news about the deal with Del Campo. But clearly, that was the last thing on his mind.

“The real reason I never started a family was because I was afraid that I’d be a terrible father,” he said, managing to get it all out in one rush.

One side of her lips quirked in a little smile. She had been able to read between the lines enough and had already pieced that little fact together. It made sense why he was a permanent bachelor and why none of his women turned into long-term girlfriends or wives. But she couldn’t just say, “I know.” It would be too unsympathetic.

Instead, she waited until he had locked eyes with her again. “I’ve seen you with Zoey. I think you’d be an excellent father. I look at you now, and I see…”

 “What?” he prompted, his voice just a whisper.

Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He moved his hand to the other side of her folded legs, bringing himself slightly closer. Lydia was holding her breath, unsure of the strange push-pull sensation happening in the center of her chest. She wanted to lean forward and kiss him. She wanted to run away. Her body and mind were at complete odds. She wanted…Sam. And that terrified her.  

He saw the fear in her eyes, but he also saw the way the firelight shone against her long hair. He would try something small first, just to see how she reacted. He reached up and ran the back of his fingers against her hair, which had fallen down across her shoulder. Lydia didn’t move. But she didn’t pull away in revulsion, either. Her eyes softened as they traveled down to his lips. It was all the permission he needed to lean forward the rest of the way, ducking his head so that he might—

“Mommy, I’m scared!” a plaintive wail sounded from upstairs.

Lydia and Sam pulled away, but their faces hung close enough for her to feel his sigh of resignation. She was so tempted to press her forehead against his, to let the moment linger just a few seconds longer.

“Mommy, please!” Zoey’s cry sounded again.

Lydia’s eyes were still closed as she said, “I should go up.”

She felt, rather than saw, Sam nodding his head slowly. The ruffled, feathery top part of his hair brushed against her face. She leaned far enough away to lock eyes with him. She wanted to speak, but what could be said? There was Zoey in the center of all of this. She couldn’t just kiss Sam and then say goodbye to him the next day. It was too difficult. Even still, there was just a brief moment where she wanted to grab his face and explore his lips with her own. And she might have, if Zoey hadn’t cried a third time.

Sam’s eyes followed her as she left.

“I’m scared he won’t come,” Zoey explained as soon as Lydia arrived upstairs.

She didn’t usually call out for her mother like that, not for a few years at least. But it had been a really chaotic time. Lydia had asked a lot of her daughter, so she understood the need for closeness. Still, the words confused her. “You’re afraid who won’t come?”

Zoey shook her head, her face unusually guarded. “It’s okay. I think I can go to sleep now.”

Lydia stayed and rubbed a soothing hand down her daughter’s back until she was fully asleep.

An hour later, lying on the cot in the dressing room, Sam didn’t know why he had chosen to sleep there instead of the couch or the bed. Del Campo wasn’t outside, so there was no need for pretense tonight. It was silly.

But suddenly, the door to the master suite opened. Silently, without a word, he heard her settle into the bed. Though he had been wide awake only moments prior (his mind reeling with what had almost happened between them), he felt his eyes drooping. For some reason, he always slept better knowing she was just on the other side of the wall. Maybe she felt the same way, too.

Chapter Text

The next morning (after what felt like no time at all), Sam was awoken by the shrieks and cries of a very excited eight-year-old. “It’s my birthday!” Zoey said, mere inches from his ear. She pounced out of the dressing room and accosted her mother, who was annoyingly chipper despite the rude awakening.

“Come on, come downstairs!” Zoey was saying, pulling on Lydia’s arm.

“Wait, sweetie. I need to get dressed.”

Sam’s eyes were barely open as he stumbled through on his way to the bathroom. He stopped and glanced back at Lydia. She wasn’t wearing the designer silk set Magda had purchased, nor was she in the practical, cotton pajamas Lydia had brought from her own home. No, she had clearly opted, instead, to borrow a pair of his boxers and a white undershirt—and nothing else. Lydia turned and met his gaze, and then she blushed a nice shade of scarlet.

“Mommy, why are you just standing there? Let’s go!” Zoey insisted.

He realized he was staring and quickly walked the rest of the way into the bathroom. He hoped to God she would put something a little more substantial on for Del Campo’s benefit. He stared at his own harried reflection in the mirror and realized she needed to do it for his own benefit, too. She just couldn’t prance around in next to nothing, especially not after last night. It wasn’t fair.

“Why was he looking at you funny?” Zoey asked as she watched her mother step into a pair of casual slacks and a t-shirt, which she covered with the silk house coat.

“He’s just grouchy first thing in the morning, you know that,” Lydia said, hoping this would satisfy her daughter. She was not about to explain the previous night’s irrational desire to be close to Sam one more time. It had been a stupid idea, and she hadn’t planned on getting caught. Instead, she asked, “Aren’t you ready to see your presents?”

That was just the ticket to distract Zoey. She immediately brightened and ran downstairs. Her cries of delight had already alerted Del Campo to the exciting proceedings about to begin. It felt more like Christmas morning than Zoey’s birthday, which had been Lydia’s secret hope. Zoey rushed into the living room, staring past the gifts and peering into every corner, even around the tree on both sides. She deflated and leaned against the tree with a forlorn expression.

Del Campo followed Sam and Lydia into the room, and he was the first one to comment on Zoey’s strange behavior. “For a girl who has so much, you don’t seem very happy.”

“What’s wrong?” Lydia asked.

“But…” Zoey faltered, her large eyes studying the faces of each adult around her. “I asked the angels. I thought—”

Again, Del Campo spoke first. “How do you know you didn’t get what you wanted if you haven’t opened your gifts?”

Zoey suddenly grinned at him and pulled her arms from behind her back, where she had her fingers crossed on both hands in a silent wish. Maybe he just hadn’t gotten there yet.

“Ready to get started?” Sam said, almost just as excited to see her tear into the many packages on the floor.

“Mine first!” Zoey cried, and she pushed a few boxes aside to grab one from under the tree. It had festive wrapping and was covered in pre-made bows.

“You got me a gift?” Sam asked.

“Yes, and I wrapped it myself,” Zoey declared. “Open it!”

He sat down and tore at the paper (which was heavily taped and wrinkled), only to stare down wordlessly at a new baseball glove.

“It fits, I made sure!” Zoey cried. “I borrowed one of your winter gloves and put it inside in the store. Mama got me my own, so maybe—even though you didn’t like it as a kid because of your dad—you could still teach me how to play sometime?”

Sam blinked back tears as he turned to Lydia.

“It was all her idea,” she insisted.

“Don’t you like it?” Zoey said, feeling a little petulant at his lack of response.

“I love it,” he said, pulling her into a tight hug. “It’s the best gift I ever got.”

Lydia had to fight back her own tears at the sight. She promised herself she wouldn’t think about the fact that they were leaving in a matter of hours, or that the contract was going to be signed just before Del Campo departed. She didn’t want to think about it, and so she focused on making this day the best one possible for her daughter.

She joined Sam on the couch as Zoey opened her gifts. Del Campo was seated on the floor near the fire, sipping on his coffee and enjoying the experience through Zoey’s enthusiastic eyes.

“You didn’t have to get me a gift,” Sam protested quietly to Lydia.

She turned to him. “I told you, it was Zoey’s idea. Besides, everyone gets a gift on someone’s birthday. It’s tradition in our family.”

“Funny you should say that,” Sam said, and he reached out to pull a long, thin, rectangular box from under the couch.

She glanced at the label and gave him a mildly scolding. He just nudged it gently against her arm until she took it and tore into the paper. Inside was a lavish, top-of-the-line paint set, complete with brushes and all the accessories she could ever need.

“Sam…I don’t know what to say.”

He saw the tears in her eyes and felt a little embarrassed. “It’s funny, because you hadn’t even told me that story last night about your parents and painting the cat. I saw it yesterday and just—just wanted you to have something nice, too.”

“I can’t,” she protested feebly, even while she was examining one of the brushes with an eager eye.

“Just say thank you and accept it, please,” he said, his voice a little desperate. “It’s been a dream of yours.”

“Well…” she said, moving to sit a little closer to him. “Thank you.” It was all she could manage.

The doorbell rang, and Zoey sat up with a start. She had just been admiring the Barbie her mother had gotten her, and she tossed the new toy aside to run towards the front door. “He’s here, he’s here!” she was crying the entire way.

The door swung open, and Zoey’s smile faded immediately.

“Happy birthday, kid!” Dave said brightly. He patted her head and walked past her, carrying a few packages in his hands.

Hawthorne appeared with a trayful of champagne glasses for the adults. Dave had left a message with the butler to have the drinks ready the moment he arrived that morning. He had one thing on his mind, and one thing only.

“I got you a little something, Señor,” Dave said, holding out a small, slim package to the older gentleman.

“A new pen,” Del Campo said with his usual warm smile.

“And wouldn’t you know it? I just happen to have the contract with me right here.” Dave pulled a thick packet from the breast pocket of his leather jacket. “Why don’t we do it now, so we don’t have to wait till this evening?”

Sam exchanged a glance with Lydia. She was giving him a small, sad smile. She knew this was coming, but she wasn’t exactly thrilled it was happening so soon.

Del Campo unsheathed the elegant pen and signed the document. He stood and held out the implement to Sam, who was scrambling for a stalling tactic.

“Can’t we wait until tomorrow? It’s Zoey’s birthday, after all, and I don’t do business on special occasions.”

“You worked the last six Christmases, if I recall,” Dave said, unhelpfully. “How is this any different?”

“It’ll wait, Dave.” Sam insisted.

Dave was astounded, but Del Campo didn’t seem to find this unusual. He did, however, point above them with a small smirk. “I see someone has not taken down the mistletoe yet.”

“Oh,” Sam said, incapable of even a polite laugh or a plastered-on smile. He was taken completely off-guard. “Yeah, that was—that should have been removed a few days ago.”

 “Since you’re standing beneath it…well, isn’t it tradition?” Del Campo asked with a decided twinkle in his eyes.

Sam hesitated, but he supposed it would look strange to Del Campo for a man to refuse to kiss his own wife. He turned to Lydia, who met his gaze and gave him the smallest nod. And with her little sign of permission, he slowly leaned down and brought their lips together. Lydia’s hand moved automatically to his cheek, and he felt himself pull her closer in his arms. It was simple, chaste, but electrifying all the same.

He was tempted to lean in for a second (and the dreamy, far-away look in Lydia’s eyes told him the same), but Zoey was the one to interrupt—yet again. She stood to her feet and suddenly stormed out of the room. Lydia pulled away from Sam, silently chastising herself that she had allowed it to happen in the first place, and ran after her.

Sam, instead of making up a justification for Zoey’s unusual behavior, simply turned to the two men and said, “Would you excuse me? I have something I need to do.”

Lydia was too busy with Zoey to notice when Sam left the house.

“Sweetie, are you alright?” Lydia asked, resting her hand on Zoey’s arm.

The young girl’s lip trembled. “Yes.”

“Then, why did you run out of there like that?”

“I just—” Zoey faltered, trying to put very complex emotions into words. But at just eight years old (as of that morning), she had limited options. “I like Sam. But…I like Daddy more.”

“Oh, Zoey,” Lydia said, lying next to her daughter and wrapping an arm around her small frame. “Sam isn’t trying to replace your daddy at all. He’s just—he’s just a good friend.”

“But don’t you like Daddy anymore?” her wide eyes were rimmed with tears.

 Lydia thought about the best way to answer it. As it turned out, someone had already given her the right words. “Sweetie, there are some people who are very good at loving others, and some who just don’t know how. You adore your father, and I will always love him because he brought you into my life—but he’s not very good at loving us back, is he?”

Zoey considered this for a moment. After a long pause, she slowly shook her head in agreement.

“So, you’re not mad at me and Sam?” Lydia asked quietly.

“No, Mommy. I didn’t like Sam a lot at first, but I do now.”

“That’s good.” Lydia was gratified to know this. Even though it ultimately meant very little. Sam and Lydia lived in two completely different worlds, and she doubted that they would be colliding again after this favor was through—no matter how damn good that kiss had been. “Now, I didn’t get to see you open all of your gifts. Why don’t you show me what you got?”

Zoey brightened again, and she was suddenly eager to return downstairs. She was regaling her mother with a few of the items she had opened (a “Foam ‘n Color” Barbie with color changing hair, and something called a Sky Dancer that Lydia was only vaguely familiar with), when the front door opened.

“Daddy!” Zoey cried, breaking away from Lydia’s grasp to run straight into the newcomer’s arms.

She stared, dumbfounded, as George hugged his daughter close.

“I missed you, too,” he said in reply to his daughter. “And you look just like your mommy.” He leaned around Zoey to fix Lydia with a direct gaze.

His smile—half sneer, half smirk—used to do make Lydia weak in the knees. She used to think that smile was just for her. It used to make her feel special and seen. Now, she hated it more than ever. She knew he was going to turn his charm on Zoey and make today all about how he was actually a good father, and he’d ultimately disappoint her, like he always did. And Lydia would be left to pick up the pieces alone.

Zoey told George that she had his present under the tree, and he was tugged into the living room by an eager hand.

“When did he come back?” Lydia asked of Sam, who had walked through the door after George.

“A couple of days ago,” he said, walking over to her and taking her hand on impulse. He didn’t like the hurt look on her face. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.”

She was about to respond when Dave rushed into the hallway. “Um…daddy? He’s not her daddy.” He was giving Sam a warning look, which Sam ignored.

“Who was that gentleman with Zoey?” Señor Del Campo asked, joining the three of them in the foyer.

“That’s Zoey’s real father,” Sam said.

Lydia glanced at him, wondering if he planned to spin it into something fictitious—that he had adopted Zoey after George abandoned her. But by the look on his face, Lydia knew it was over.

“I’ve got some explaining to do,” Sam added.

Lydia stood in the door to the living room and listened to the conversation happening behind her. She heard Sam explain what had happened and how the ruse had been started on accident (sparing Dave full blame for the charade).

“I’m curious, Mr. Field,” Del Campo said. “Why tell me this now, when everything you want is within your grasp?”

“I don’t know,” Sam sighed. “It was stupid, pretending to have a family.”

“You weren’t pretending all the time,” the older man said, his deep brown eyes moving to Lydia’s turned back.

Lydia felt their gazes, but she was incapable of turning around. Zoey had just given George a hand-drawn picture in a frame she had decorated herself.

“That’s you, me, and Mommy,” Zoey was explaining, proudly telling him how long it had taken to painstakingly glue each button and bead to the edge of the wooden frame.

It meant that she didn’t hear what Del Campo said to Sam.

Dave suddenly stepped into the fray, wanting his voice to be heard while everything was still falling apart around him. “Wait a minute. We still have a signed contract.”

Del Campo agreed, looking to Sam for some guidance. Lydia glanced over her shoulder in time to hear the older gentleman ask, “So, it is up to you, Mr. Field. Do you still want to go through with it?”

Sam’s eyes met Lydia’s, and she saw he was deliberating something. He seemed to come to a decision. Slowly, he shook his head.

“Then, I have no further business here,” Del Campo said, moving toward the stairs to retrieve his already packed luggage.

“Wait, Señor!” Dave protested. “You—you didn’t meet my family!”

“Let it go,” Sam said, patting his friend on the shoulder.

“But we still have the signed contract!”

Sam took the cherished papers from Dave’s grasp and ripped the contract in two pieces. Lydia’s mouth fell open for a moment. She thought it was one of the sexiest things she’d ever seen. She had to compose herself quickly as he turned and put an arm on her lower back, guiding her into the living room.

“So, how long are you staying in town, George?” Lydia asked.

Her ex-husband glanced up, fixing her with one of his patented sheepish looks. She already knew bad news was coming. And Zoey was not ready for it.

“I have to be heading out tonight,” George said. At Zoey’s cry of disappointment, he rushed to add, “It’s a great opportunity, sweetie. I’ve got a way to get back on tour, and I’ll make you proud of me.”

“You can never stay,” Zoey said, her lip trembling.

Sam hated the man even more than ever for causing Zoey so much grief. He also knew the “great opportunity” was partly funded by the 20 thousand Sam had paid him to keep quiet. Blackmail money. Any father with half a heart in his chest would take one look at the tears falling down his daughter’s face and find it in himself to stay a little longer, to just spend time with his own child. But not George.

“You’ll be so proud of your old man,” George insisted, leaning down and pressing his face to the side of Zoey’s. She pulled away and ran to the opposite chair, burying her face in a throw pillow.

Lydia looked even more pissed off than Sam as she said, “Before you leave this time, you better say goodbye.” With that, she stalked out of the room and walked a few steps down the hall. She couldn’t bear to watch it, and neither could Sam. He followed after her.

Zoey pulled away from the pillow and wiped at her face so she could more clearly see her father. “You’re really leaving?”

To his credit, his arrogant façade faded for half a second. There was a look of intense regret on his handsome features as he bent down and put his arm around his daughter. “I have to.” He was glad to be alone with her, because he had no intention of showing such vulnerability in front of Lydia and her new man. “You’re still the best thing in my life, Zoey. I love you. But you and your mom deserve something better, someone who can be with you every day…and I think you might have found that.”

Zoey couldn’t bear to look at him any longer and buried her face in the pillow again. Maye if she stayed there long enough, he’d change his mind and stay. He’d show her that he loved her rather than saying it with empty words and promises.

“You’ll always be my special girl,” he said, his voice choked. “Happy birthday.” He kissed the back of her head, and then he was gone.

Lydia stepped away from Sam, who had pulled her into an impulsive hug in the hallway, just in time for them to see George leaving. He just couldn’t believe the girl’s own father was incapable of staying put for more than five minutes.

  Lydia rushed back into the living room, only to be pushed aside as Zoey bolted toward the front door. The young girl let the door swing open beside her as she watched her father walk away. He must have found Hawthorne and demanded to be driven back to the hotel, and George didn’t even look over his shoulder before disappearing into the back of the limousine. Zoey leaned against the doorframe, her body swaying a little as though this latest disappointment had dealt a physical blow. Lydia was about to rush forward, but suddenly Sam was there, catching Zoey before she fell. The little girl cried into his chest for a long time while Lydia slowly ran a hand down her daughter’s hair in a soothing fashion.

Eventually, she urged Sam to carry Zoey upstairs to her room where she could lie down. Lydia quietly put the framed picture of George into the bedside table.

“Can Sam read me a book?” Zoey said, her eyes drooping as her body caught up with the extreme emotional swings of the morning.

“Sure,” Lydia said, after giving Sam a questioning look. He looked startled but pleased.

Lydia decided not to eavesdrop this time and quietly walked to her room. She didn’t know what to do with herself—she was so bereft and emotionally exhausted, and so she did the only thing that made sense in the moment.

Twenty minutes later, after ensuring that Zoey was fully asleep, he went on a hunt to find Lydia. She wasn’t in the master bedroom, and she wasn’t downstairs anywhere. Finally, he found her.

“What are you doing?”

Lydia turned around, startled by both his question and by the fact that she hadn’t heard him approach. “I’m—”

“Packing?”

“Well…that was the plan, wasn’t it?”

He walked towards her slowly. “I think it’s time we both accept that nothing has gone according to plan.”

She frowned. “You’re angry.”

He huffed a sigh and tried to keep a lid on his temper, but he was struggling. “Not at you,” he insisted. “That—scoundrel.”

Suddenly, Lydia was laughing. She had to chalk it up to the insanity of the past two and a half weeks and the wildly unexpected attraction she felt for the man in front of her. His anger towards George just made her adore him even more. He was about to ask if she was teasing him, but she suddenly stepped forward and pulled him to her in a kiss.

“Ow,” he said, when their lips collided a little too hard.

She immediately flushed to the roots of her hair. “Sorry, I’m out of practice.”

She moved as if to pull away from him, but he held her close by gently wrapping his arms around her. “That’s not a problem at all,” Sam said with a familiar determined glint in his eye just before he led her in a slow, toe-curling, knee-shakingly good kiss.

Chapter Text

The rest of the morning was fairly uneventful. Del Campo insisted on leaving after breakfast, despite Sam extending an invitation to stay a little longer if necessary.

“I have my own family to go home to, Señor,” the gentleman said, eyeing Zoey, Lydia, and Sam with a fond smile.

Family. It was a concept that used to instill anxiety rather than happiness in Sam’s chest. The new sensation attached to that word was refreshing, and he couldn’t help feeling a little giddy.

They said goodbye to Del Campo, and Zoey gave him the tightest, longest hug and said he should come visit next year. The older man just smiled at Sam and Lydia, who still had to work out their own story first.

“I can’t—I just can’t believe you turned down the offer,” Dave was saying, with visible despair, once the front door had closed.

“We’ll be fine,” Sam said, slapping a hand on his partner’s back. They would be talking about this for a while. He just hoped his friend understood why the offer couldn’t happen anymore. Maybe something different would come along down the road. He made a mental note to thank Dave for his idiotic fake-family scheme as he caught Lydia’s smile.

Dave left (he and Zoey stuck their tongues out at each other just before he departed), and Sam turned to Lydia with a wide grin. She was looking a little guarded, however. She offered to let Zoey re-watch Matida in the cinema room, to which the young girl immediately agreed. Sam recognized this was a tactic to allow the two adults to talk. They’d certainly not had much time to themselves earlier. Two kisses, and then Dave had burst in there demanding an explanation about turning down the deal. Once Zoey was settled and assured that she would be fine on her own for a little while, Lydia led Sam into the kitchen where she helped herself to another cup of coffee.

He was growing worried at the stern look on her face. “Am I in some sort of trouble?”

She relaxed a little. “No, of course not,” she told him. “I’m just a little confused about how this is going to work. I mean, Sam…we are from two completely different worlds.”

He frowned, realizing he hadn’t really thought that far ahead. He had just enjoyed knowing that their feelings were mutual.

Lydia pulled a slip of paper from her back pocket and pressed it flat against the kitchen table. “I was going to use that 10 grand to put a down payment on a house,” Lydia said after a long pause. “And do I go back to work for you at the factory? It’s all just a little strange.”

Sam stared down at the dilapidated looking house. It was tiny—not even 900 square feet of space. His heart sank as the reality of their differences settled over him. “But it doesn’t have to be strange. I’m not looking to rush you, but why should you buy a house if you could live here?”

“Sam—”

“And before you say no, just think: you could have an entire wing of this house to yourselves. You wouldn’t have to pay rent at your old place, and if—God forbid—this didn’t work out, you could save up all the money you needed to get a really nice place. Heck, I’d buy you one.”

“I’m not looking for charity,” Lydia said with a startled look.

He reached out and grabbed her hand. “I’m not doing this for charity. I’m doing this because I love you and Zoey. You could keep working at the factory if you want, but you should consider pursuing that dream of yours. I have a room in this house that would make an amazing art studio.”

“We have to be practical about this—” She stopped when she realized what he had said. “You love us?”

He met her gaze and held it. “Yes.”

“But we’re messy and complicated. I have a lot of history with George you don’t know about, and my family…and your family, too. What will they think of us?”

“Don’t worry about my family. I’m an only child, remember? Mom will just be thrilled I’m finally settling down.”

Lydia was still in a state of numb disbelief that this was actually happening. “You’d do that for us? You’d settle down?”

“Yes,” he said, with the same steady assurance as before. There wasn’t the slightest hint of fear or hesitation in his eyes. “And what about you? Could you handle being married to spoiled rich man like myself?”

She gazed around the impressive kitchen and sighed over-dramatically. “It will take some adjustment on my part, but…” she leaned forward and kissed him. “I think I could manage.”

--

“What does Zoey think about all this?” Charlotte said a few days later. “I can’t believe my best friend is moving into Sam Field’s mansion.”

“We’re doing this on a trial basis. Just to see if we’re really suited for each other,” Lydia said, her cheeks flushed.

“Mm-hmm,” Charlotte said with heavy sarcasm. “I knew the day of the belated New Year’s banquet at work that you were done for, girlfriend. So tell me. Is he as good as they say?”

Lydia could only blush deeper. “What?! I’m not going to tell you—we haven’t, anyway, and—that’s none of your business!” she finally managed.

Charlotte laughed and assured Lydia she was just teasing. Though it was curious to note that Sam Field was being incredibly patient, given his reputation with women. Lydia must have really done a number on him. She smiled to herself and then sobered slightly when she asked, “Have you told your family?”

Lydia shook her head. “I don’t think they want to hear from me. I called them a few months back, you know. Just to check in.”

Charlotte could see the pain on Lydia’s face. She knew that the silence and separation between herself at the rest of the Bennets was slowly killing her. But, then again, Lydia probably had no idea what was going on with her family. Charlotte smiled to herself as she came to a rapid decision. She clung to the “do first, then ask permission later” philosophy, and she desperately hoped this wouldn’t blow up in her face.

“Wait, so are you coming back to work?” Charlotte suddenly asked.

Lydia smiled and shook her head. “Not for a little while.”

“You’re living a fairy tale!” her friend said with a groan of jealousy.

--

Lydia, Zoey, and Sam jostled side to side as their ancient Volkswagen navigated the pot-holed back streets near their apartment. She should correct herself and say former apartment.

“First order of business is getting you a new car,” Sam said, rubbing his head where it had bumped against the low roof. He was tall enough that the ride was rather uncomfortable.

“Can we get a convertible, Mommy?” Zoey said excitedly.

“That’s hardly practical in this climate,” Lydia retorted.

“I own a convertible,” Sam said.

“I know.” She said with a teasing smile.

He wanted to kiss that smirk off of her face—but there was hardly room in the cramped car, especially not with Zoey squished into the passenger seat beside him. She pulled up alongside the curb, and Zoey was eager to get out and start packing up the rest of her things from the place. They had managed to sell or donate many of the larger items, but a few boxes of sentimental pieces remained to be transported over. Hawthorne was supposed to meet them there with the more practical (and far roomier) town car in an hour. As for the Volkswagen, Lydia had other plans for it.

She unlocked the front door and walked up the three flights to Maria’s apartment. She knew the older couple would be out for the afternoon since it was a Saturday, their busiest day at the store. She carefully placed the keys in the envelope, alongside a letter with the transfer of title papers, and tucked it into their mail slot. After that, she led them back up one more flight to their old apartment. Lydia was about to say something when she was startled by a presence on the other side of the door.

“Charlotte!” she said, clutching at her chest. “What on earth—?”

“I have a surprise for you. And—I hope you won’t be angry.” She gave Sam a weak wave and a smile before she called out to someone who must have been waiting in the bedroom.

Lydia watched, stunned, as not one, or two, or three—but seven people walked into the living room. And then she promptly burst into tears.

“Oh, my dear,” Mrs. Bennet said as she rushed over and hugged her daughter.

Zoey, meanwhile, cried delightedly as “Grandpop” (Mr. Bennet) pulled the young girl into a tight hug and made a big show of nearly hurting himself trying to lift her.

“We didn’t know how to contact you,” Lydia’s younger sister Kitty said as she stepped forward.

Lizzie suddenly stepped forward to add, “We wanted to, but…well, Charlotte is a very loyal friend. She said you asked her not to tell us for a while.”

Lydia felt a fresh surge of emotion in her chest. “I’m sorry,” she said, meeting Lizzie’s gaze first and then staring around at her family. “I’m sorry for everything with George, and with his money, and—”

“Forget about that, darling,” Mr. Bennet said, reaching forward to take Lydia’s hand. “We are sorry we didn’t try harder to check in on you.”

Lydia bit back a sob as she ran around to hug each person in her family—including Darcy, who was stunned but eventually receptive to the embrace. Lydia gave her niece, Ellie, a kiss on the cheek before Zoey tugged on her cousin’s sleeve and took her to the back bedrooms to play.

“I’m just so glad you’re alright,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Mary is at school, as you know, or she would have been here. And with the baby being two weeks old and all, it was impossible for Jane and Charles to be here, either.”

“A new baby?” Lydia said, glancing at Charlotte who looked a little sheepish.

“You were kind of tied up a few weeks ago,” Charlotte replied, giving Sam a quick glance.

“Yes, who is this handsome young man?” Mrs. Bennet said. She had been studying him openly since they first walked into the apartment.

“I’m Sam Field,” he said, reaching out and enduring a crushing handshake from the Bennet matriarch.

“As in…Field Industries?” Mr. Bennet asked.

“Yes,” Sam said, and he glanced at Lydia for some guidance. He was looking a little overwhelmed (and who wouldn’t be, with almost the entire Bennet brood staring at him?).

“It’s a long story,” she said.

The group fell into easy conversation as questions were bandied back and forth to catch everyone up over the last three years of separation. There was a knock at the door, and Charlotte had apparently ordered pizza for everyone. They all sat on boxes or on the floor while they ate. Sam felt like he’d undergone an inquisition by both Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. He couldn’t blame them for being curious and also a little concerned, given how the last man in Lydia’s life had turned out.

“So, you and George are…?”

“Finished. Absolutely,” Lydia said, in answer to Lizzie’s query.

“Good,” Lizzie said.

Lydia felt a sting of guilt as she began, “I’m sorry I never listened to you about him. I just was so head over heels and blind to his faults, that I—”

“No, no. I’m sorry for being too proud to reach out to you when you needed me.”

Lydia and Lizzie wiped tears from their faces and vowed that was the end of apologizing to each other for a while.

Hawthorne arrived, and Lydia knew the cat was out of the bag when Mrs. Bennet learned he was Sam’s British butler.

“Just how wealthy is this man, Lydia?” Mrs. Bennet said in a hushed whisper.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Lydia said, flushing when she saw that Sam had overheard her.

Later, once they were alone in the town car (Zoey had wanted to ride with Ellie and the Darcys on the way to Sam’s house), she turned to him with a desperate look on her face. “I’m so sorry you were ambushed with my family. And my mom can be a little—focused on wealth. Jane and Lizzie married well, and she’s always wanted the same for the rest of us. I just had no idea—”

“It’s fine,” he assured her. “I like them.”

She blinked at him. “Even my dad? And Darcy?”

He nodded. “Your dad has quite an extensive library of books at home, from what I gather. And Darcy, while a little hard to converse with, was actually interested in learning what we do at Field Industries. More importantly,” he said, putting a hand up to her cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“A little surprised and overwhelmed. I can’t believe Charlotte pulled a stunt like that, but…I’m glad she did.”

“Me, too.” He leaned in and gave her a brief kiss, as they had just pulled into the driveway.

With all the extra hands to help, it took them no time at all to unload the last remaining boxes and inside the mansion.

“Separate rooms, huh?” Charlotte teased as she, Lizzie, and Lydia carried a few things to the guest suite.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “I’m taking things slow this time. No rushing into things.”

“Says the woman who is moving into a rich man’s mansion after pretending to be his wife,” Lizzie said under her breath.

“You told her?” Lydia protested.

“I couldn’t help myself! It was top quality gossip! I only told Lizzie, I swear.”

“And I told Jane, who told Mary, who told Kitty,” Lizzie said with a smirk.

Lydia was mortified, but Lizzie and Charlotte were enjoying themselves immensely as they continued to tease her. It was all in good fun.

Finally, hours later, the house was much quieter once the Bennet family made their polite exit. Zoey had fallen asleep on the couch, exhausted after running wild with Ellie from room to room. Sam and Lydia were enjoying a nightcap in their pajamas. It was an almost nightly ritual to meet each other in the living room, but tonight they had settled on the master suite. Lydia let her gaze soften as she stared into the fire.

“Your mother asked when I was going to propose to you.”

“Oh, my God…” Lydia said despairingly and with an apologetic glance. “She can be so pushy!”

 “It’s fine,” he laughed. “She’s a lot like my mom, actually. And I told her we were in no rush.”

“Thank you,” she said, unable to meet his gaze. She was feeling a little antsy around him for some reason. She chalked it up to the exhaustion and emotional impact of the day. But really, she was wondering if she might be able to move the physical aspect of their relationship forward. She gave herself a moment to consider it. And then she panicked. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the lips before practically darting from the room. Sam sighed and leaned back on his couch. He shouldn’t have said anything about the proposal question from Mrs. Bennet. He knew Lydia wanted to take things slowly, for her own sake as well as Zoey’s. They were already moving into his house, so he had no interest in pushing her too far out of her comfort zone. He glanced down at his left hand and found he missed the feeling of a wedding band on his finger. He had gotten surprisingly used to it while they were play-acting for Del Campo’s benefit.

He finished his drink, brushed his teeth, and was just about to get in bed when he heard the door opening again.

“Forget something?” he said, glancing around to see if she might have left her slippers or something similar.

“Yes,” she said, and his jaw dropped when he glanced up.

“Is—is that from Magda?” he stammered, his eyes taking in the elegant silk lingerie. It exposed her skin in all the right places but left enough covered so that he was eager to see the rest of her. And God, was he ever eager.

“No. This one is all mine.”

“I see,” he said, cautiously rounding the bed so he stood in front of her. His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed. “Are you sure?”

“Would I be uncertain in an outfit like this?”

“Fair point,” he said, before leaning down and kissing her. He was careful to let his arms rest loosely against her body, even though his nerve endings were practically on fire with the restraint it took not to lay her across the bed and take her in that moment. But Lydia would require finesse and a slow pace. She wasn’t just a “good time” for a Saturday night. This was the woman he loved.

 Suddenly, she was the one practically clawing at his shirt in her attempt to be closer to him. He wondered, in the vague, rational part of his brain that still existed, how long it had been for her. When she gently shoved at his shoulders to back him towards the bed, he figured it had been long enough. In moments, she had his shirt off and was pulling at the waistband of his boxers.

“Wait—” he said, resting his hands over hers to still their frantic pace. “You don’t have to rush for me.”

“Sam,” she said, leveling him with a gaze. “I have wanted you for a lot longer than I realized. And it’s been two years since my last encounter with a man.”

“Right, but shouldn’t we—?”

“I’m tired of waiting. I’m ready.”

That was all the permission Sam needed. Their first time was fast, a little awkward at times, and then blissful in its release once they found their rhythm. The second was a bit slower. And the third—well, Sam was still thinking about it several days later. He had no idea it could be like this with a woman. And Lydia hadn’t known passion like this, even with George Wickham—the man who had stolen her heart years ago when she was far too young to know what real love was.

For the first time, for both of them, this was real.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t until a year later that Lydia realized she hadn’t gone back to work.

“They’re managing just fine without you, I assure you,” Sam said, teasing her slightly.

It had been his plan all along to distract her so intensely that she finally allowed herself time to pursue what she really loved. It had started with evening art courses at the local university, then she had entered a few competitions, and finally, he had even taken the three of them to Paris on a short trip where she might soak up all the finest art and return home inspired.

“It’s just—I’m not used to not working,” she protested. She felt a little guilty, actually, as though she was just using Sam for his money (and sex—which was still wonderful, so many months later).

“Are you bored?” he asked, without any judgment.

“Not really. But I like to feel useful.”

He wanted to tell her that she was useful. She made him happy, and she was incredibly insightful when it came to business decisions as well as running a home. She had started a volunteer program at the factory for high schoolers to transition to full time positions directly out of school, especially for those kids whose families couldn’t afford college. There was the monthly food drive she ran as well, and there was also the fundraiser she had started to help out her friend Maria to keep their store from having to close. But despite her energies going so many different directions, she always found space for quality family time with Sam and Zoey. He was so impressed by her. But she didn’t want to hear any of that.

“I overheard Zoey talking about the art teacher at her school. I think she said she’s going on maternity leave soon,” he said, having already spoken at length about this with Zoey only yesterday.

Lydia’s eyes brightened. “Really? I think I could enjoy that. If Zoey wouldn’t be embarrassed by my presence at her school.”

He gave her an exaggerated wince. “I guess we’ll have to see what she thinks.”

What he wasn’t going to tell Lydia was that Zoey was ecstatic over the idea. The young girl was really flourishing at her new school. Her grades, which had been slipping over the past year, had vastly improved. She also loved the larger theater department and was taking on a large role in the upcoming production of The Prince and the Pauper. He was immensely proud of her. What he also wasn’t going to tell Lydia was that he planned to propose to her in a month’s time. Zoey was completely on board with the idea.

“Does this mean I have to call you ‘Dad’?” She had asked, her face twisted into a slight frown.

“Of course not,” he said emphatically, and then added quickly, “Not unless you want to.”

She stared at him with those direct, considering eyes (so like her mother’s). “I think I could manage it, Dad.”

He felt a lump forming in his throat and nearly burst into tears when she leaned over and gave him a quick, impulsive hug. He cleared his throat and composed himself enough to say, “But not until after next month, when we get back from visiting her family. We can’t give away the surprise yet.”

“Whatever you say, Dad,” Zoey replied, raising her voice a little. Lydia was in the next room working on a new art project for her portfolio.

“Cut it out!” he said without a laugh.

“Sure thing, Dad!”

He grabbed a nearby throw pillow and tossed it at her. And that was how, ten minutes later, Lydia came into the den to find the two of them embroiled in a battle of wills, throwing pillows at each other from behind opposing couches. She stood in the doorway and just watched, for as long as she went unnoticed, marveling at the mirrored smiles on Sam and Zoey’s faces.

“Gotcha, Dad!” Zoey cried, and then she caught his startled glance at the doorway. “Oops.”

Lydia pretended she hadn’t heard it. But by the suppressed grin on her face, Sam knew the jig was up. At least she would act surprised when he asked her to marry him.

Before Zoey could make up an excuse, Sam used the momentary distraction to hit the young girl’s shoulder with a pillow.

“Victory!” Sam cried, doing a lap around the room.

Zoey and Lydia laughed openly at him, especially when Lydia grabbed a small embroidered pillow and joined in on the renewed attack against him.

Hawthorne, who had just walked towards the noise with a tray full of hot cider, smiled as he listened to the sounds of a happy family on the other side of the door. He, Annie, and Sarah had taken bets on how long the whole charade would last. He patted his pocket, knowing he was 100 dollars richer for having guessed correctly, having known the moment he saw Lydia and Zoey that their master Sam was a goner. Before entering the room, he quickly assumed his usual resigned, long-suffering look. He would play the part of the officious British butler for as long as possible, because he knew he’d cry at the wedding.