Donovan came up behind me and put his arms around my waist. "It will be beautiful in the morning, especially as the sun comes up. Trust me. But right now we have fifteen minutes before dinner. Will you be ready?"
I turned to make a comment about not having my bag yet, but a knock on the door said that Edward was just outside. He came in and placed my luggage on a bench at the foot of the bed, and set Donovan's bag on the floor next to it.
Immediately, I opened up my suitcase and started digging inside for something to wear. I hadn't actually planned on changing for dinner, but now I felt obligated. Thank goodness I'd thrown in an extra couple of outfits so I would be prepared for any spontaneous occasion.
Except even with all the choices, I had no idea what to choose. I was already in an A-line business skirt and jacket. Was I supposed to dress up or down?
"I don't know what to wear," I said, frantically throwing a couple of items over the bottom of the bed to better view my options.
Donovan came back from the closet where he’d hung up his suit jacket. "The Ann Taylor," he said, "with the black. I'm going to wear slacks."
I grabbed the skirt—a feminine floral pattern—my makeup bag, and the sweater in question, turned to him and gave him a quick peck on the lips. "Thank you."
Then I ran to the bathroom to change.
I came out ten minutes later wearing the new outfit, my mascara and lip gloss freshened.
Donovan was waiting at the door, as though he had just been about to knock. He had changed too, and was now wearing slacks and a burnt red pullover that brought out the green in his eyes.
"You're beautiful." His gaze said he maybe didn't want to go downstairs as much as he had just a minute ago.
"But am I appropriate?" I was suddenly nervous, I realized. My throat was dry and my palms were sweaty.
He looked as though he were debating the answer, or at least as if he had something that he wanted to say but wasn't sure if he should say it or not.
But before I could get too worked up about it, he said, "You’re perfect." He glanced at his watch. "And we've got to go."
I slipped on my pumps and followed him out the door, ignoring the gnawing feeling that he wasn't telling me something, an emotion that was hard to distinguish beneath the fear that I was woefully unprepared.
Downstairs, we crossed through the free area we passed when we walked in, then another living area, into a formal dining room with a beautiful cherry wood dining set and an ornate crystal chandelier above it. French doors led out to a patio, and I could imagine that in summer the room could be opened up that way to hold generous banquets.
But it was still winter. It was dark outside, and the table, which had seats for twelve, was set for four. An attractive gentleman with silver hair and a beard sat at the head. Next to him was a stunning redhead with a long neck and green eyes.
The man stood when we entered, and Edward, whom I hadn't noticed standing at the wall, approached to pull a chair out for me at the place across from the redhead. Donovan sat next to me. His father sat again at the same time he did.
There had yet to be any introductions, yet to be any greetings at all, when the redhead—Donovan's mother—glanced up at the gold filigree clock on the wall and said, "Six thirty on the nose. Hmm.”
She was clearly unhappy, though we had made it on time so I was confused as to her demeanor.
"We're here, mother," Donovan said, letting out a breath audible only to me.
"I'm simply so startled that your manners have declined to such a degree. There was a time when six thirty service meant that we were in our seats no later than six twenty. Is punctuality not that important on the other side of the world?" She leaned in toward her husband. "You've been to Japan more than I have. Is that what this is, Raymond?"
Now I understood why Donovan was so anxious to make it down here on time.
Raymond tilted his head from side to side, considering. "I imagine it's more a product of his bachelor status, Susan. They're pretty punctual there in Tokyo."
As he spoke, Edward returned from wherever he’d disappeared to after seating us carrying a bottle of wine, which he poured first into Raymond's glass.
"We are on time," Donovan said, smoothing the napkin in his lap. "We did not make it in any earlier than the designated dinner time, which is a product of traffic and weather, and has no reflection at all on my respect for punctuality. On our respect for punctuality," he corrected, including me the second time.
His mother sat straight-backed and silent, and I thought for a moment she might drop it.
But then she said, "You should have left earlier."
"Are you really going to be like this tonight?" Donovan asked at the same time that I said, "It's my fault. I left my luggage at my apartment and we had to make an extra stop."
Susan looked at me for maybe the first time since we'd arrived, her eyes narrowed as though she'd been approached with a puzzle that she couldn't understand.
"Leave them alone, Susan. Arguing will just delay the meal," Raymond said. His wife seemed to want to say more, but as if her husband was the final word, she pressed her lips into a tight line and didn't say another thing on the subject.
Next to me, Donovan took a long swallow of wine. Raymond signaled to Edward to serve salad plates. And I stared intently at the empty dish in front of me, unsure where to look or what to say. Donovan had told me his parents weren't friendly, but I’d expected to at least be acknowledged. I'd expected my boyfriend to point me out if they didn't.
I was jumping the gun.
Because as soon as Donovan set his glass down, he said, "Sabrina, these are my parents. Raymond and Susan." He shot his mother a daring glare. "I am instructing her to address you by your first names, Mother, so don't get your panties in a wad when she doesn't call you Ms. Kincaid like you've trained everyone else in the household."
"That was awfully presumptuous of you, Donovan. I really wish you would've asked." Susan's green eyes flared when she was angry, like her son’s, I noticed.
But what a thing to be angry over.
I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or tell her off. What I did know was that we hadn't been in their presence very long, but I was already irritated that my date had allowed me to walk in so unprepared. Couldn't he have given me a heads up? Like, hey, my mom's a crazy bitch. Ignore everything she says.
Maybe that's what he'd wanted to say as we were walking out of our room, and given up. Well, I understood that it might be hard to speak ill about your folks, but he really should have tried harder.
"I'm happy to call you Ms. Kincaid, if that's what you prefer," I offered congenially, intending to address her as little as possible.
I could feel Donovan's displeasure with this suggestion.
Susan, however, seemed to like it very much. "Thank you, Sabrina.” To her son she said, “She has manners, Donovan, that's key in a woman.”
It wasn't like she had any to know.
His mother returned her attention to me. "I do appreciate that offer; the gesture says everything about what type of person you are. But my son is right. A first name basis is probably more practical, especially if we are going to be seeing each other from time to time moving forward."