Page 4 of Xander

I looked around the office. Like the rest of the house, it was luxurious, but I had opted for function over frippery here. It had to look professional on camera when I had Zoom meetings with clients, so I had arranged for a wall of hardwood bookshelves filled with carefully sourced antique clothbound books. “Perform whatever womanly touches you must with the furnishings,” Henry had told me shortly after our wedding. “It’s like a mausoleum in here.”

I had redone the house in Hollywood glam, with everything white and gilt. When the sun was pouring into the rooms of his estate, the light reflecting off all that brilliance could be blinding. Maybe there’s something self-referential in that, I thought. My husband would also like to be a brilliant, shining beacon who forces others to turn away.

When we first met, my eyes were wide with hopes of starting a family with this man. He already had two sons from a previous marriage. I had envisioned them as two towheaded boys who would love me as much as they would love the future children Henry and I brought into this world.

Far from being the angel-faced young boys I had expected, both Xander and Jasper turned out to be grown men. With expressions of hostility firmly etched on their faces, they resembled a pair of Elgin Marbles. It was painfully clear Henry had told his sons very little about me and equally clear they resented him for remarrying. They thought I was a gold digger.

After our wedding, Henry became unceremoniously distant. He frequently went away on business trips and rarely took the time even to say goodbye. These days, it felt like he was always going to conferences and meetings abroad.

His seemingly callous and impersonal responses were also extremely worrying. I wanted to start a family, but how could we do that if we barely spent time together on the same continent, let alone in the same room?

Our whirlwind courtship had left me dizzy, but not as dizzy as his increasing absences. I knew he was busy—I respected it in the beginning because I valued my independence and career—but it quickly got lonely, especially after shrinking my mid-size firm to a home office, a few select clients, and a virtual assistant.

I missed those early days of our relationship when I used to believe Henry was merely blunt, an aftereffect of being a businessman. I thought I could help him the way I fixed things for my clients.

Not everything could be fixed.

“You’re right,” I said belatedly. “These old walls muffle everything. I suppose I can leave the door open when I’m not taking a call.”

A subtle grimace. No matter how peripheral, he didn’t like any references to his age. Or perhaps he felt like I was attempting to defy him.

I sidled closer, smoothing down the tweed Louis Vuitton skirt. “Did you need my help with something?”

“Xander is coming to visit.”

My smile faltered. “What?”

“His last game wasn’t far, and he had a break in his schedule.” His delivery of this was wooden as if he couldn’t care less.

Xander was Henry’s firstborn and a ruthless hockey player in the NHL. Seeing clips of him out on the ice, one got the impression that he was doing his very best to send everyone to hell. With his tousled black hair and brooding green eyes, he looked like a Greek god forged from stone. Or more appropriately, the god of war.

Once upon a time, we had a decent relationship. Then the tide turned abruptly, and he turned against me with it. I’d never forget the way Xander glowered at me before abruptly leaving his father’s wedding. He wore an unexplained mien of betrayal that I couldn’t shake even years later. Furious. Hateful. Cold. I imagined for some of the players he faced down, that look was the last thing they saw before he slammed them against the glass.

“Oh,” I said in a forcibly bright tone as I tried to put the violent images and the frisson of unease out of my mind. “Well, that’s nice. When is he coming to visit?”

“Tomorrow,” Henry said bluntly. “So, get Jenna off her ass. This place is a mess.”

I bristled but shoved the feeling down. I’d rather conserve my energy to prepare mentally. This was Xander’s first visit after he cut me out of his life. It’d be a lie not to admit that his hurtful decision left a gaping hole in my heart that I hadn’t been able to heal. Things had never been the same after he walked out.

“Tomorrow,” I repeated forcefully, mentally listing items I needed to accomplish before his arrival. Arrange for the staff to air out Xander’s old room. Stock our big industrial freezer with things he would eat. Organize a welcome home dinner.

“The eyes of his fan club will be glued to us during the visit. Don’t do anything to embarrass me while he’s here,” were Henry’s parting words.

With a final sneer, he slammed the office door closed with a resounding thud that was echoed by my heart.

I became a one-woman welcome committee over the next twenty-four hours. Xander liked whiskey, so I ordered a case of Cabernet Sauvignon with a structured tannin profile. The notes of cherry and leather would supposedly appeal to any whiskey aficionado. I paid extra to have it arrive early and told our chef we’d have filet mignon for dinner tomorrow night, along with green beans almondine, and glazed carrots. Dessert would be a peach cobbler paired with a Vidal ice wine from Niagara. I’d found a dusty bottle in the cellar, possibly a gift from one of Henry’s clients. The sweet, strong wine would help ease the tension I anticipated. Or so I hoped.

I Googled Xander off and on throughout the day. He didn’t have an active social media presence beyond videos and stills of his games. There were a few photos of him: the obligatory shirtless gym selfie to show off his toned physique, a craft beer at the beach, and another of him buttoned into a designer suit that looked as if it could barely contain his massive frame. There was a noticeable lack of women in the photos. Henry hadn’t said if Xander would be bringing a girl home. Going off his socials, it didn’t seem like it.

I wondered if I should ask Jenna to set up an extra chair, just in case.

Between arranging dinner and overseeing the deep cleaning of the house, I dealt with another one of my clients. This one was a comedian who had responded very poorly to his audience’s heckling.

By “very badly,” I mean he had thrown the microphone at an audience member’s head.

“I’m a comedian,” he kept saying. “Part of being a comedian is being edgy.”

“How is throwing a microphone at someone’s head edgy?”