Page 21 of Xander

There had been no opportunity to check in with him afterward. By the time Henry released me from an embarrassingly inappropriate kiss following our vows, Xander was gone. He never visited us again.

Given my determination to maintain a semi-cordial relationship, I opted for an honest answer.

I sighed. “I spent my twenties building my company. By the time I turned thirty-three, it seemed everyone else had already gotten married and had kids, and I had somehow missed the boat. Guess that’s what happens when you aren’t paying attention. Life kind of passes you by. I had given up on having kids, but then I met Henry. I was going through a rough patch and had recently lost my family. He was there for me and said he wanted a new family with me.” I shrugged. “I thought we were a good fit.”

Xander seemed to be making a monumental effort to stifle a scoff. He clearly knew something that I didn’t.

Something told me I wouldn’t like the answer, but I still asked, “Has your father never mentioned wanting more children?”

“Not to me,” he replied bluntly.

My stomach dropped, and my fingers bit into my thighs. “You think it’s pathetic to hold on to this hope, don’t you?”

He turned his head. Though he had previously seemed filled with sarcasm, whatever he saw on my face softened his stance.

“I know what it’s like to want something more than anything else,” he said resignedly. “All I do is slave over hockey, photo shoots, and advertisements. But I never once considered the idea of giving up, even if it came at the expense of everything else.”

We stopped at a red light.

He tilted his head, eyes moving over my face. “I don’t think it’s pathetic to hold on to hope.” Something in his tone set me on edge when he added, “I only wished it was with the right man.”

The brutal honesty was startling. At least I didn’t detect any malevolence in his tone. My answer had fed his curiosity, and he had reverted to a mellower version.

Relaxing a little now that the conversation was moving in a better direction, I joked, “Unfortunately, we’re not all perfect like you.” He smirked at that. “Why do you let hockey take over your life?”

“Hockey’s seasonal, and while training can be intense, it blows over like that, and then the games are over in a flash. It’s the brand endorsements that are a year-round thing. That and the fans can be a handful. There’s no work-life separation there. We’re just projections of whatever they want us to be. Some of them want to fuck us. Some of them want to be us. But they don’t see us as real people.”

I’d heard similar refrains from some of my clients, and to my chagrin, my response was usually a social media hiatus or accepting it as the price of fame. For some reason, my fallback responses were souring on my tongue like bad wine now.

“That sounds difficult,” I said at last. “How are you managing?”

“I avoid social media,” he replied, scanning the congested street for parking spots.

It finally made sense why his social media was sparse. I assumed it was his rep’s doing. “Well. That’s one way of handling it.”

“How do you handle it?”

“Self-curation,” I told him. “I sell the life my clients want—neat, quietly luxurious, and aspirational.”

“That sounds boring.”

I laughed. “Once you get to a certain age, a quiet life has its appeal.”

“Is that what you want?” His gaze was curiously intense. “A quiet life?”

“Oh good, someone’s leaving!” Instead of answering, I pointed at the newly vacated space as Xander executed the world’s smoothest parallel park.

Xander shoved his hands into the pockets of his chinos as he followed me inside, his tall form casting a shadow over me in the afternoon sun.

“You’re going to love the club,” I said, unable to hide the excitement in my voice.

It hadn’t dawned on me until now that I’d be having lunch outside the house after a long time, and I found myself getting more eager with each step. Perhaps I had also been starved for meaningful conversations.

I had shared more with Xander in ten minutes than anyone else in years. I lost touch with my best friend after my wedding, Henry hardly expressed his thoughts, and I never got too deep with my clients. The prospect of a quiet, insightful lunch was exhilarating, though it quickly came to an end when Xander was promptly discovered.

“Oh my god, Xander Maxwell!”

Chapter