“My family’s money all came from my father’s side. He took over the business interests from my grandfather before my parents were even married, and he’s handled everything ever since. Once my brothers and I were all grown, I think my mother got lost…maybe even a bit resentful.”

“Resentful of what, the conniving harlots of the outside who bewitched and stole her boys from her?”

Xavier lifted his hands. “Easy,” he said. “This isn’t some Freudian family drama. There’s no Oedipal anything here. My mother didn’t get jealous or angry after we moved out. She just kind of…drifted. She kept house, walked the grounds, sort of disappeared inside herself for a long time.”

“And that’s why her invitation to spend New Years’ here surprised you so much?”

“Yes,” he said, coiling his arms around her. “I wasn’t shut out because you and I eloped. All my brothers and I had nothing but radio silence from the home front.”

“Until now?”

“Until now.”

*

Their walk to the dining room was, to Maxine’s mind, more akin to a museum tour than the surveying of a homestead. Every inch of the abundant walnut wood gleamed as though it was encased in glass. The carpet that lined the grand staircase bore the swirl patterns of vigorous vacuuming. The walls all looked to be freshly painted, and the air was fragrant with lemon oil. But these details quickly paled in Maxine’s awareness, which was growing evermore focused on her internal anxieties. She could feel the familiar invisible vise clamping over her lungs, and was relieved when Xavier, perhaps able to sense her inner workings, slipped his hand into hers and lovingly whispered an instruction for her to breathe. He stopped her at the bottom of the stairs and kissed her lips before escorting her into the dining hall.

The room was like a film set, so grand was its elegance, so meticulous its maintenance and design. At first Maxine was so taken with the scope of the French windows that composed three walls of the hall, that she scarcely registered the carved table that seemed to stretch from one horizon to the other, or the highbacked plush dining chairs, or the fire that roared inside a maw-like hearth of green marble. Opera music strained from speakers that must have been hidden amidst the bookcases. The panelled wall bore family portraits in oil. There was a large standing globe and an antique bronze telescope by the spacious windows.

Maxine’s arm found its way around her husband’s waist. She pressed her hip firmly against his; a silent plea for him to not stray from her, not here, not tonight.