I could hear Meredith grind her teeth from where I stood. Apparently being reminded that her father was now the duke of the estate was the last thing she needed.
“You can’t excuse my guests, Meredith.” Her father stood up, much steadier than he should have been considering the smell of alcohol coming from his breath. “You heard the man. I’m the duke now.”
“The only thing you’re fit to be duke of is the wet bar,” Meredith scoffed at him.
“I think that’s my cue to leave.” I took a step backward. It wasn’t that I hadn’t seen my share of family drama, but it was another thing to deal with someone else’s.
“Oh God. I’m sorry, Max.” Meredith shook her head and composed her face, but I could see the embarrassment underneath her calm mask. “Thank you for everything.”
“I was happy to help.” I bowed my head. That might be an exaggeration. I was glad that I could keep her from learning about her grandfather’s passing in a horrible way, but I hadn’t been happy to do it. “If you need anything else, please let me know.”
She chewed on her lip for a minute, and I had to fight my fascination with the way it plumped around her teeth. “I had an e-mail from the palace about funeral arrangements. We should be fine.” Straightening her shoulders, she shot me a more assured smile. “Thank you, again. Martin loved riding in the jet.”
“I’m glad I could brighten his day a little.” And that was the truth. Seeing his eyes clouded with pain had brought back a lot of memories. It was nice to be able to give him something else to focus on for a little while. Hopefully Meredith’s father wouldn’t cause too much trouble for what was left of their little family.
“He got to sit in the pilot seat. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to top that.” She smiled up at me, and her smile was so radiant that for just a moment I felt my breath catch in my throat.
“It was the least I could do.” I bowed my head to her and then to her father before turning and leaving. My steps echoed in the hallway, but thankfully there was no more shouting from the sitting room.
“Psst.”
I paused at the door, my fingers gripping the handle, and looked up at the small balcony near the stairs.
“What are you doing?” I cocked my head to the side as I regarded the little boy.
“Are they still fighting?” He looked at me from between the railing of the staircase with narrowed eyes.
“I don’t hear them.” I shook my head.
“That just means they’re being quieter.” He sighed and slumped down on his butt. “They’re probably still arguing.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be in your room?” I let my hand fall from the door and I turned to give Marty my full attention. If his mother was still arguing with his grandfather, I was sure she wouldn’t want him to know.
“It’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair?” I moved so that I could see his little face better, and the tear stains on his cheeks made me wince.
“I don’t want to be alone up here.” He wrapped his arms around his stomach and bowed his head.
I teetered on the bottom step. This was one of those moments when a normal adult would have something reassuring to say, some soft words that would make this little boy feel better. But I was drawing a blank, and, worse, Marty had started to sniffle.
“Hey.” Giving up on my escape plan I took the stairs two at a time and sat down next to the little boy. Okay. I was here, now what? “Hey. Um, I’m sure your mum will be up here to see you soon.”
He just shrugged.
That was no good. I needed him to calm down, and to do that I needed him to tell me what was really bothering him—though I was fairly certain I knew. How to get a little boy to open up to a stranger? I seemed to remember my sister, Cathy, going on and on about using open-ended questions for her school program. Something about asking questions that couldn’t be answered with a yes or no.
“Where is your room?”
“There.” He pointed at a door that was cracked open.
“Um, do you have any video games?” Damn it. That was not an open-ended question.
“Yeah.” He shrugged like that was the stupidest question in the world.
“What kind of games do you like?”
“All kinds.” He peeked up at me through damp eyelashes.
“Racing ones?” I was forming a plan. At least I think that was what was happening.
“Yeah, those are cool. I’m really good at Race Indy Two Thousand.” He wiped his nose on the back of his arm. “You wanna play?”
“You wanna lose?” I bumped him with my shoulder.
“You wish.” He stood up, lightning-quick, and ran toward his room. “C’mon.”
I shook my head as I followed him into his room. The little guy chucked me a controller and took a seat on his bed. I pulled the desk chair out and turned it backward to sit in before looking at the controller in my hands.
“This is going to be a bloodbath.” The little boy chuckled.
I loosened my tie. “We’ll see about that.”
Marty didn’t hesitate to start. We picked our cars and it was go time. The little pooper was good, but so was I. If there was one thing I had never outgrown, it was video games.
“Hey!” Marty cried in outrage. “How’d you know about that?”
I used the hidden power strip to zip around his avatar. “You thought just because I’m old I didn’t know about the speed strips?”