“This is one of the things I’d love to cover for the magazine. Real people, real lives. Your mother-in-law sounds like such a character, I’d love to meet her.”
“We should go see her today.” Is it Caitlyn’s influence, this impulsivity? First, I’m inviting her to lunch with Mama and now I’m offering to go see Nonna. Or is it just that I want to spend every minute with her? I’m doing my best to behave like an adult, as promised, and yet I want to be next to her, close to her all the time.
“Can we? Oh, I would love to. We’ll have to get my camera from the office. What a lovely idea.”
“But first, you must eat,” says Mama, handing me a basket of bread rolls. “Soup, then pasta, then your favorite lemon cheesecake.”
I have to admit, my first day of working for a living is turning out to be much better than I’d expected. I could get used to this.
Chapter Nine
Caitlyn
Hank’s mother is a delight. She filled up my social calendar for the next few weeks. It looks like Hank and I are going to be spending quite a few weekends sipping free expensive champagne all over the Hamptons. The perks of the job. And the company is not the worst either.
Despite my early concerns, Hank is turning out to be a pretty good co-worker. He’s keen to do what we need to get this little enterprise up and running. And he’s certainly putting in the effort today.
I’ve re-lived that kiss in my mind a million times since it happened, letting my imagination wander as to what would have happened if we’d just let ourselves go. Would I have been simply another notch on the bedpost? Would I be in his arms right now? Who knows? Some things are better laid to rest.
If only my body would be so kind as to agree with my mind. The simple act of sitting next to him in the car or at the lunch table is sending my blood pressure through the roof. He had a certain charisma, like a hormone, that seeps out of his pores and seduces you with just a subtle glance. Logic is fighting it off for now, but I’m going to need something more than that if I’m going to survive the rest of my working life resisting his charms.
His parent’s relationship intrigues me. The other day at the baby shower I’d gotten a headache trying to keep up with who was who. Divorces, re-marriages, double-barreled names. It was a nightmare. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Your parents, they’ve been married for what 40 years?”
“Yeah.” He stretches it out, wary of what I’m actually asking, maybe.
“Is that normal here? I just assumed billionaires got divorced all the time and married younger women.”
He laughs and rubs his forehead in despair. “Why?”
“Because they can.”
“No, why did you think that?” Personal experience, but I’m not ready to share that. I give him the answer that he expects from someone like me.
“I don’t know, TV, movies, celebrity websites.” Cheap magazines called, ‘Yeah’ and ‘Wowzers’ that you found in the dentist’s waiting room.
“Well, my parent’s friends are littered with divorced and remarried couples, sure, but isn’t it like that for everybody?”
“I know a lot of people who’ve gotten divorced, but I don’t know many men who remarried with women half their age. Does that happen a lot?”
“Yeah. It’s not uncommon.” His eyebrows lift, his head tilts to one side, questioning my motives. “Are you suggesting that’s what my dad should have done?” Is he teasing me or being serious? I can’t tell.
Perfect, now he thinks that I think his mother is old and replaceable. “Oh God no, your Mum is beautiful and amazing. He’d be crazy to let her go.”
Hank grins at me like the proud son that he is, letting his gaze linger a little too long. “Thank you.”
“Eyes on the road. Mr. Baresi. Six kids, too. Your mother is a saint. I couldn’t even imagine.” No, thank you.
“You don’t want kids?” Eek. That’s a first date question I avoid like the plague, and we’re only supposed to be work colleagues.
“It’s something I thought I wanted, when I was younger, but now. I don’t know. I definitely don’t want six, that’s for sure.” Can you even imagine? I can hardly look after myself.
“I’ve yet to meet a woman who didn’t have either marriage or kids on her future wish list.” Well, welcome to my dreadful love life.
“I’ve yet to meet a man who didn’t pale at the first sign of commitment, and if I’m not mistaken, you fall under that category too Mr. I-don’t-date-I-just-sleep-with-models.” His cheeks redden; I’ve hit a sore point.
His grin is forced. “Who told you that? My sister? Whoever it is they’re wrong. I dated an actress once.” My shocked gasp makes him laugh. “I’m kidding. That really isn’t true, you know.”
“I’m a journalist, I have my sources. Anyway, I’ve had enough of cheats and liars, that’s basically my dating backlist, with the occasional utter bastard thrown in for good measure.”
“You? I find that hard to believe.” My turn to give him a smile, coy though it is.
“Cheats, liars, weirdoes, I’ve dated them all.” I hesitate, bite my tongue for once. This isn’t something I talk about. My terrible taste in men is my problem, but it’s also a reflection on me. I might not want to take action on the feelings that are stirring inside of me, but I don’t want Hank to think badly of me either.
“Like what?”
Despite my hesitation, my mouth operates independently to my brain. “One boyfriend had sex with my friend in the kitchen whilst I slept on the sofa.”
“Holy shit.” Yeah. I know.
“I woke up and went searching for him. Spent a whole minute with my hand on the kitchen door handle, trying to decide whether I wanted to know what they were doing.”
“And.”
“Curiosity killed the cat.” Hank snarls and shakes his head.
“Fuck.” He pats me on the knee. “I apologize for mankind. We suck. Sorry.”
“Then there was the guy who flirted with everybody in front of me. Like a game. He’d bet me whether he could get a girl’s number, even though I was right there.”
“No fucking way. I don’t even want to know. Yes I do, did he get her number?”
“Yup.”
“Holy fuck, Caitlyn. You sure do pick them.” I blame my mother entirely, very little television and a daily visit to the library. She’d filled my head with flowery romantic idealism, making the world seem like the Garden of Eden. She hadn’t mentioned there would be snakes.
“Right? What about you, ever get your heart broken?”
“Nah. Never gave it to anybody. Well, I guess, maybe once. Becky. Then I found out she was sleeping with Chad. That stung.” Wow. Becky gets around. Hank’s lips curl up into a sneer. Something about this conversation is dredging up some strong emotions for him.
“And you’re still friends with them?”
“Yeah. I just, you know, I just hate it when people cheat.”
“Well, I guess karma came back to bite Chad in the butt.” Shit. Shut up Caitlyn.
“What? Why?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. “What? Nothing. I’m sure it’s nothing. I don’t know.” Jesus, though, you have to be blind not to see it.
“What do you know Caitlyn Walsh?” The way he pronounces my name. It melts me. Like he’s so well-spoken most of the time but my name brings out this accent, I don’t know New York, maybe? It tickles me, I love it.
I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t resist. “Well, uh, she’s uh, I might be wrong, but I’m pretty sure she’s sleeping with Jonny.”
His jaw drops for about ten seconds, then he laughs, like a bitter cackle. “You’re kidding me? What? Who told you that?”
“Oh, nobody had to. It’s so obvious. Really, you can’t see it?” Sometimes I wonder if men are even the same species as us women. The sexual tension around those two is, well, about as blatant as the sexual tension between me and Hank, only theirs is more of an afterthought, not
wishful thinking.
“No.” He takes on a serious tone.” You know they’re getting married in July, right? Fuck, I hope you’re wrong.” That look again, on his face. This man does not like a cheater.
“Me too. Wow. Sorry. Really, I didn’t mean to offend. I’ve probably got it all wrong. I hardly know them.” I’d bet every penny I have that Jonny is boning Becky, but whatever, I don’t know them like Hank does.
He shrugs his shoulder, puts a reassuring hand on my knee. “Don’t be. It’s probably a cultural thing. That’s all.”
“Yeah.” He draws up at the dance hall. Thank God. If this conversation goes on any longer, he’ll have to pass me a rope to pull myself out of this massive hole I’ve dug for myself.
Chapter Ten
Caitlyn
“Have you fucked him yet?” She squints at me; balancing precariously on a barstool, ill-fitting wig on her head. Hank’s grandmother has decided that an interrogation is in order.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said have you fucked him yet? Are you deaf girl?” Her Italian accent is strong, but she speaks perfect English, sounding almost like one of those women from the films my grandmother used to watch.
“No.” I swallow my intimidation. “No, I’m not deaf and no, I haven’t fucked him yet.”
She takes a puff on her cigarette holder. Inhaling right down to her gut. Then she blows out smoke rings, one by one, watching them float away.
“Good, well don’t get any ideas.”
“We almost did, once, but he was so high he doesn’t remember. I do though, I remember every single second of it. Are you allowed to smoke in here?”
She raises one solitary, penciled-in eyebrow and blows a smoke ring in my face.
“What are they going to do, arrest me? I’m pretty sure we own the place.”
I resist the urge to cough. “I thought you came here to play canasta and dance.”
“I come here to drink dry martinis and escape my dreary daughter-in-law.”
“Well then…” I sit down on the stool next to her and address the barman. “Two dry martinis please.” For the first time since I started talking to her, Nonna throws me a smile, her face creasing into a million nicotine-stained wrinkles.
“Where’s the boy?”
“He’s taking down the names of people I photographed for an article. The music’s loud and nobody in this place can hear, he’ll be a while.” At least long enough for a Martini and a chat with his dear, sweet grandma.
“Why didn’t you fuck him?”
“Are you always so interested in your grandchildren’s love lives?”
“Only when they sleep with the help.” The help? Okay.
I smile politely. “Because he was too drunk, I didn’t want to take advantage.”
“What are you, Mother Theresa?” If only she knew.
“In my defense, I had no idea he was my boss at the time.” I fell onto him and he fell on my mouth, it’s not science.
“Sure. You didn’t notice the platinum card in his wallet. Or the suit on his back.”
“Surprisingly, no. I do now, though. Do you think if I fuck him tonight I’ll get a diamond ring and a fur coat?” I pause for effect. “Or maybe I should hold out until he gives me my own platinum card. I really can’t decide.” I twirl my olive around the glass and then suck the liquor off it.
“You think you’re smart? Nothing ever comes from people like us sleeping with people like you.”
“Tried it have you?” That shook her. Nonna had secrets. “And yes. I’m very smart indeed and it’s not 1950 anymore. People don’t just sleep with peasants these days, they get ironclad prenups and marry them.”
She purses her lips, contemplating her next move, or maybe just getting her dentures in place before replying.
“Twice. Once, during the war, they sent the men who wouldn’t fight to work in our stables. Severino, he stayed on when the fighting was over. He read me poetry in between mucking out the horses. We made hay, as you say.” She looked away. “Father had him beaten and sent away. Then once again, later. My husband was a good man, but he worked so hard, he was never there. I think he knew. He never said it, but I saw it in his eyes.”
“Did you love them?”
She toys with her glass. “Does it matter?”
“No. I suppose not, if you were happy.” Her thin bony fingers wrap around her glass so tightly I’m scared she’ll break it, but Hank joins us before she can reply.
“Nonna, I see you’ve met Caitlyn, she’s working on my magazine with me.”
“That’s wonderful, darling.” She takes a final, long puff on her cigarette, burning it to the stub and downs her drink. “Dance with me.”
I stay at the bar, sip the rest of my drink. Holy crap. If Nonna is anything to go by, meeting Hank’s dad is going to be a ball.
“What do you want to do to celebrate our first day’s work? A drink? You want to go eat something? I know a great place that sells lobster rolls. My treat.” Our first day of work has so far involved having lunch with Hank’s mom and drinking Martinis with Hank’s grandmother. Okay, I’m the one who had been drinking, but still, it hasn’t been as productive as it could have been. I suppose the second part of the day, as I got some photos and a couple of interviews, might be considered work, but only at a stretch. Hank seems happy enough though, and he’s the boss.
“Oh well, if you’re treating. I wouldn’t mind seeing the beach, I’ve already been here a few days and I’ve yet to see these sandy beaches everyone raves about. Maybe a beach bar that does simple food.”
“I know just the place.”
We park up at a beautiful white wooden building on the seafront. It looks like a glorified boathouse, but I’m coming to learn that buildings in the Hamptons are never quite what they seem.
Inside it is a beautifully decorated hotel, classic and simple but so very elegant. A waiter takes us through and out onto a deck with the most gorgeous sea view.
“I should warn you …” Hank says, rather embarrassed, “… it’s open mic night tonight. That means you could sit here and listen to some great music, or you might have to put up with some, uh, not so great music.”
Inside I’m jumping up and down for joy, but I try my best to hide it. I love music. The number of evenings I’d spent around a campfire with my mother, strumming my guitar, listening to her sing. Those were the memories I missed the most. I didn’t much have the heart to pick up my guitar these days.
“Ooh, I love it,” I reply, rubbing my hands together in glee. “Can anybody join in?”
Hank looks horrified. “I don’t really know ...”
“Oh go on,” I add, “I’ll sing for you.”
I’m not quite sure whether this makes it better or worse. He’s only known me twenty-four hours and I’m already offering to serenade him. I guess that would put most people off of their dinner. “Okay, if you really want to, it’s your night out.”
I could hug him right now. “Yay, thank you, thank you.”
Chapter Eleven
Hank
I am not a fan of open mic night. I don’t know if Caitlyn’s quite understands what it’s like to sit in a restaurant and be forced to listen to amateur musicians who can’t get a real gig.
She’s thrilled though, fidgeting excitedly in her seat, and the food in this place is great, so I’ll have to console myself with decent lobster and a table as far away from the stage as possible.
We’re seated in the far corner of the deck, it cost me a few bucks extra in the waiter’s hand to get it, but I’m sure whoever reserved it will turn on their heels when they realize it’s open mic night, anyway. The seats are like little benches backed up against the balcony and I get to stretch out my arms and relax. It’s been a good first day, and Caitlyn is great company. She talks like nobody I have ever met in my life, words just barreling out of her mouth, quite often ones which should have stayed inside and stewed a bit first.
Her openness, her excite
ment about everything, it’s like the world is just one big discovery. I’m the same age as her but she makes me feel jaded, cynical. I used to be like that, when I traveled, but I’ve been home for a few years now and everything feels the same. The people, life in general.
She’s growing on me, stirring something inside of me. That doesn’t happen to me very often. Normally I’m quick to find fault, but Caitlyn’s ‘faults’ are quirks that charm me. I’m growing soft.
We order drinks and a shared starter while we peruse the menu. I’m not hungry, really, I just wanted an excuse to spend more time with her.
“Excuse me,” says Caitlyn, placing her hand on the waiter’s arm as he delivers our food, “are there any free slots tonight, for the open mic?”
“There are five slots, three of which are taken, why, would you like one.”
“Yes please, but I’ll need an acoustic guitar, is that something that could be arranged?”
“Of course, no problem, you go on in about an hour.” He nods and winks in an over-friendly manner. He’s probably not flirting with her, it’s just his job, but it doesn’t sit well with me either way. I’m right here, dude. She’s not my girlfriend, but she could be and you don’t know that.
“So, you sing then?” I ask as Mr. Seduction walks away.
“Yes. My mum taught me to play the guitar when I was little. Is that a problem, me doing the open mic thing? I love singing, sorry I got a bit ahead of myself.” I want to tell her I hate it, I’d rather cut off my ears than listen to amateur singers all night, but her excitement is contagious and she deserves to enjoy herself tonight.
“Sure. You’d better be good though.” She looks over at me and furrows her brows, then catches my smile and laughs. That’s the kind of thing I say to my friends, not colleagues. My guard is down, and I like it.
“I am, I think. I haven’t had any complaints. I used to love singing in public. Busking for fun in town on a Saturday.”
“Busking?”
The Billionaire & the Princess Page 6
