When I reach the kitchen, El takes the bottle from me, and I hand over the flowers to Mrs. Alcott. “Oh, how lovely,” she beams.
“Hi, James! Glad you could join us. This is my wife, Susan.”
“Thanks for having me.” I smile warmly at Mrs. Alcott, who’s still admiring the bouquet of assorted flowers. I shake her hand delicately and then shake Alexander’s in greeting. “Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Alcott; you have a beautiful home.”
“Why thank you. And thank you for the flowers and wine. But you must call me Susan, or Sue, of course. None of that formal stuff here in my home. I’m sorry that it’s taken six months to finally get to meet you.”
“Yes, it’s long overdue,” her husband agrees.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask the couple, and El looks at me—almost surprised that I have manners.
No, El, I wasn’t born in a barn. If she only knew the fine upbringing Aunt Taffy gave me. But I imagine her perception of a Texan boy is quite different.
“No, thanks, I’ve got it all under control. Why don’t you kids go into the living room and have refreshments while I get everything set up in the dining room?” she suggests.
I love how down to earth this family is. The fact that she called us “kids” doesn’t irritate me in the slightest. El and I head to the living room and are greeted by an assortment of appetizers and beverages lining their massive mahogany coffee table. To be polite, I fill a small plate and grab a glass of bourbon to help me chill out. Although, I need my wits about me tonight since this is still business-related, and I’m at the home of my boss. My wits need to stay intact too when it comes to his daughter, so a small amount of liquor will have to suffice.
Noticing she doesn’t eat anything but instead fixes herself a cup of coffee from the carafe, I comment, “You’re not eating?”
“No. My mom always puts out an amazing spread, but it’s too much—I need to leave room for the meal. Just wait until dinner. You’d think we’re having the entire company come over. But that’s just how she is.” She shrugs.
“Well, I suppose it’s a bonus that you’ll have leftovers.”
“Actually, Mom and Dad set aside half of what they make to take to a shelter. They also donate to a food bank. You know my dad’s ever the philanthropic one.” She smiles affectionately.
This I knew about him, and I’m not surprised by their generosity. I know for a fact he donates to many charities because of the events and functions he attends.
“You have amazing parents, El. I must say I’m quite jealous.”
Her brows furrow after she swallows her sip of coffee. “Why would you say that?”
“Because my parents are dead.” Shit. It came out more bluntly and harshly than I intended.
She gasps, “I’m…I’m sorry. I had no idea. When? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I’m the one who brought it up,” I say less harshly. An audible breath through my nose helps calm me. You want her to know you, my conscious reminds me. “I was five. They died in a freak accident on vacation. My great aunt took me in and brought me to Texas from New York. She provided me with an amazing life, though. Now I want to do right by her in these final months.”
Her hand shakes as she sets her cup down on its saucer—the rattling of the china reverberates throughout the quiet room. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she licks her lips. “I take it your aunt isn’t well?”
“She has her good days and bad days. Moving her from Texas was probably too selfish on my part, but I wanted her near me—we’re all each other has. A part of me will forever feel guilty for moving in the first place, but your father gave me a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity I couldn’t refuse. See, when he interviewed me, I guess he reminded me of my dad.” I stare off into the far distance and admit aloud to myself, more than to her, “It’s strange considering I barely remember my parents, yet I felt this connection to your father, like they embody the same character.”
Taking a swig of the amber liquid swirling in my glass so I have something to do, I decide not to look at her. I need a minute. Maybe revealing this shit was the wrong way to go.
We sit in silence for what feels like eternity. Neither of us gaze upon the other. She resumes sipping her coffee, just as uncomfortable as I am. It’s fucking awkward, to say the least.
Then, finally, her mother announces dinner is ready. Thank God!
7
Elodie
I’m not good at this type of thing—at feelings, or at knowing the right thing to say in a situation. It’s best to remain silent at times.
Handling emotions is a foreign concept to me. Of course, I feel terrible about what he revealed, but I struggle with how to react. Showing sympathy is something I need to work on. Showing warmth and opening up to someone are not what I’m accustomed to. It’s not as if the background check I ran on him unearthed any delicate information.
He’s growing on me, and I don’t like it—it’s that unwelcome vulnerability again, clinging to me. The feeling of my body being covered in honey—like a sticky coating—and I can’t remove the thick film from my skin no matter what I do.
I freaking wore my hair down for him! Putting on this dress and showing him that I’m not always this power-hungry bitch was probably stupid on my part. What it comes down to is James is making me really like him. Damn him!
Long ago I told myself I’d never fall prey to a man. Never would I splay myself open and bleed in front of a man—swearing them off was the only way to protect myself. But James is making me experience things I don’t want to feel. The initial hate so quickly morphed into attraction and lust practically overnight. Now, good Lord, now he’s wanting me to experience a piece of him—with genuine emotions—and expecting me to form some sort of attachment. Doesn’t he realize I’m broken?
I thought it was noticeable right from the start that I’m damaged goods to a womanizer like him. My bitchy, unfeeling, cold side is the mask I slip into place so I don’t get attached to anyone; my parents are the exception.
This is moving too fast! For six months I’ve loathed and detested him. For six months I spit on the very ground he walked on and cursed his existence in the office. How could one day magically change everything? The answer should be clear: it can’t!
At a loss to offer anything to this conversation, I’m saved when my mother calls us for dinner. James seems disappointed in me; I don’t blame him. My reticent tongue is necessary in this case as speech eludes me.
We reluctantly sit across from each other at the dining room table, and my parents immediately engage us in conversation. “How’s your aunt doing, James?” my father asks.
My head whips to the side where my dad is seated to my left. How does he know about his aunt?
James clears his throat. “She’s doing as well as can be expected. She’s stubborn and a fighter. New medication seems to be helping. Her cardiologist is optimistic. As per usual, I’m visiting her this weekend.”
“Good to hear. You let me know when you need time off for an extended visit.”