She put her head back on my shoulder. “You’re the best mother ever.”

“Mm. Tell that to Sadie.”

“I do. And she doesn’t have to be me, Mom. All the love you gave her isn’t wasted. It just doesn’t show up the same way.”

“You’re a wise woman, honeybun.” I stroked her silky hair and kissed her head. “Don’t tell her about your dad, okay? It would break her heart.”

“I won’t,” said Juliet. “She’s been great this whole time. And look at her, sending us off, taking charge. She sent us flowers, even!”

“And we smell so good, too. I might never shower again.”

We started laughing, and then we couldn’t stop, that wonderful, unstoppable laughter that made me run for the gorgeous bathroom, which made us both laugh harder.

Maybe it was the champagne. But I didn’t think so. I think it was relief, and a little exhaustion, and most of all, love.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Juliet

Sadie knew a thing or two. The two nights in Boston had been heaven.

Juliet hadn’t cried so much . . . well, ever. But they were the good kind of tears, the kind that washed away the dirt from your soul. Mom was magical. She could make every situation better just by her pragmatism, her dry sense of humor, her conviction. If the woman Juliet most admired in the world thought Juliet was the bomb, who was Juliet to disagree?

Even so, she felt nervous when she got home. Oliver could well be furious with her. When she texted to say she was going away for a couple of nights with her mom, his response had been, “Have fun.”

That was it.

He was home when she got back . . . His car was in the garage, at least. Sloane swarmed her at the door, full of questions, wondering what presents she was about to receive. Juliet gathered her up and smooched her cheeks before doling out the gifts—a fake Boston Police Department badge, since Sloane wanted to be a cop, and a T-shirt that said Chowdahead. For Brianna, she’d bought a replica of the statue that showed Mrs. Mallard leading her ducklings through Boston Common.

“I loved this book when I was little,” Brianna said.

“I know.”

Brianna looked at her. “I’m not little anymore. Here, Sloane. You can have it.”

“Yay!” Sloane said.

“I got you a T-shirt, too,” Juliet said, holding it up. Wicked Smaaht.

“Thanks anyway.”

Okeydokey, then. “Where’s Daddy?”

“Daddy!” Sloane bellowed. “Mommy’s back! She brought presents!”

He came up the stairs. “Hello, darling.”

“Hi.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

“Brilliant.” His voice was tight. “Girls, would you mind going to your rooms?”

“Are you fighting?” Brianna asked.

“Not at all,” Oliver said. But his eyes were not happy. “Darling, shall we go up to the deck?”

“Sure!” Too enthusiastic. Shit.