18
Devin
I meant what I said about being willing to see where this relationship with Serena would go. If over time, this draw I felt to her remained or grew stronger, chances were that I’d want to marry her. With that said, maybe agreeing to meet the parents wasn’t the best idea. My intentions were good in that I wasn’t using her just for sex. But I think she was right in that her mother was already planning our wedding and her father was ready to interrogate me.
At least Andrew was still around. Maybe he’d protect me.
“Want a drink, Devin?” her father asked. Was this a test? Should I say no, so I don’t look like a lush? Do I say yes to be polite?
“An Irish boy like you probably likes whiskey,” he said.
I nodded. “I like whiskey. You must be Irish too.”
He nodded. “Full bred. Alyse too.”
“Am I Irish, Grandpa?” Andrew asked.
“Through your mom, yes.”
I supposed that meant his father wasn’t Irish. I’d tried to push away thoughts of Andrew’s father. It was crazy how unsettling it was to think of another man touching Serena. And clearly, he didn’t respect her as he left her pregnant. What sort of dumb-fuck would do that?
I’d taught her a lot about sex the week I was with her five years ago, but she’d still be naïve about men, I supposed. And someone took advantage of that. I hated the idea of that too, although I could see she loved her son.
I wanted to ask about the boy’s father, but I knew I shouldn’t in front of him.
“What is Irish?” Andrew asked.
“It’s people who are from Ireland, or born from people from Ireland,” Mr. Moore explained, as he handed me a glass of straight whiskey.
“Are you from Ireland?” Andrew asked him.
“No, but my parents were as were your grandmother’s,” he said.
Andrew turned his inquisitive eyes to me. “Are you from Ireland, Devin?”
I shook my head. “No. My grandparents were. I’ve been there though. It’s very pretty.”
“Did you fly in your plane?”
Inwardly I winced, not wanting to flaunt my wealth. I didn’t want Serena’s parents thinking I felt I was somehow better because I had money and family prestige. “Yes. My ancestors started a pub there over a hundred years ago, and my grandfather moved here, opening one here.”
Andrew’s eyes narrowed in curiosity. “What’s ancestor?”
“That’s like a grandfather,” Mr. Moore explained, finishing off his drink.
“Dinner,” his wife called out. He held his hand out to direct me toward their dining table. Their apartment was bigger than Serena’s which felt too small for her and a small boy, but she seemed to make it work. I wondered if her focus on her career was to make more so she could get a larger place. She might do better to start her own business. Maybe we could add event planning to Roarke businesses. We hosted events set up by others all the time. Maybe we should get rid of the middle man. I wondered if Serena would be interested in doing that for us.
“Devin you sit there next to Serena,” she said. Serena smirked at me.
We all sat and Mrs. Moore made a thing out making sure I was served. “It’s just stew—”
“It’s not just stew,” Mr. Moore said annoyed. “It’s the best Irish stew in New York. The Roarke can’t even beat it.”
Mrs. Moore looked horrified. “Now honey, you know the Roarke has very good food.”
“I love Irish stew,” I said. “The Roarke doesn’t serve it anymore.” It was a change my mother influenced years ago when she decided stew was too low class for the clientele that the Roarke served. In fact, much of what the Roarke served could be best called Irish-ish, because it wasn’t truly authentic anymore.
“See, Alyse, the boy likes stew.”
I took the bread Serena offered me. “Can I dunk?” I whispered to her. My mother would be horrified that I’d dunk my bread into my stew, and I wasn’t sure if that was a snooty rule or not.
“Yes, absolutely,” Mr. Moore said.
I grinned, poking my bread into my bowl and then taking a bite. Delicious flavor of lamb and herbs coated my mouth. I groaned as it teased my taste buds.
“This is fantastic,” I said.
“I use mutton. Most people use lamb now,” Mrs. Moore said, smiling with pride.
“And Guinness,” Serena added.
“It’s wonderful. Really. I usually only have good Irish stew when I get to Ireland. Now I’ll just come here.”
“Come anytime you like, honey,” Mrs. Moore patted my hand.
“Suck up,” Serena whispered next to me.
I gave her a smug smile. Parents usually liked me. I suspected it was the money and family connections, but I could be charming too.
“So, you met through your parents’ anniversary party?” Mr. Moore asked. While Mrs. Moore seemed to like me, I’d yet to earn the respect of her father.
“Yes—” Serena started.
“Actually, I met Serena about five years ago.”
She flinched, giving me the impression, I wasn’t supposed to say anything about our past hook-up.
“Oh?” Her mother said intrigued. “How was that?”
“The St. Patrick's pub crawl.”
Serena closed her eyes, as if she was embarrassed.
“I was smitten and asked her to run away with me.” I grinned at her, enjoying making her squirm a bit.
“Devin is embellishing.” Serena glared at me.
“No, I’m not.” I looked at her parents. “I’m the one you had to talk her out of moving to Europe with.”
Her mother’s eyes widened.
Her father frowned. “When was—”
“Mom, you know if Devin loves this recipe so much, perhaps we can give it to him. He and his sister are looking at opening a club.” She turned to me, her eyes imploring me to shut the fuck up. “Will you be serving food there?”
I was slow on the uptake, but finally said, “We’re still working on the details. I’m all for a traditional pub, but my sister feels they’re a dime a dozen here in New York.”
I studied Serena wondering what I said that was such a big deal. She’d told me they’d been the ones to talk her into staying. Surely, they’d known.
“It seems to me that a Roarke pub would compete well though,” she said.
“What’s a pub?” Andrew said, putting his milk down, after sipping it and getting a milk mustache.
“It’s a type of restaurant and bar. Wipe your mouth, baby,” Serena said.
Mrs. Moore reached over to help Andrew, who turned away. “I can do it.”
“So, what made you return to New York?” Mr. Moore asked me.
“My father was diagnosed with Parkinson’s—”
“We knew that, Graham. It was all over the papers.” Mrs. Moore glared at him. Then she turned to me. “Such a devastating disease. How is he doing?”
“He’s a fighter.”
“So, you’re running things now?” Mr. Moore dunked his bread into the remaining stew juice in his bowl.
“Yes, sir. Mostly. It’s difficult for my father to relinquish control especially since he doesn’t always like my choices.”
Mr. Moore’s eyes narrowed. “Why would that be?”
“Dad, Devin is our guest,” Serena tried to intervene.
“If he’s spending time with my daughter and grandson, I have a right—”
“No. You don’t.”
“Serena,” her mother admonished. “He’s just trying to look out for you, and Graham, butt out.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “I have ideas that my father sees as too new. I want to bring the Roarke and our other establishments into the twenty-first century. He doesn’t agree.”
“Mommy, is my daddy Irish?”
Everyone at the table went silent. Serena stiffened, looking at her parents and then me, before turning her attention to Andrew.
“Let’s talk about that later,
okay baby? Have four more bites of stew and then you can have dessert.”
“Devin is Irish like you and Grandpa and Grandma. I want to be Irish too.”
“You are honey, you are.”
I was surprised at Serena’s apparent distress.
“In the end, we’re all Americans,” I said hoping to diffuse the situation.
Andrew seemed to think on it. “Are you an American, Mommy?”
“Yes. We all are.”
He gave a short nod and then scooped up a piece of meat from his stew.
The rest of the dinner went about the same. Mr. Moore grilling me, Mrs. Moore chastising him for it, Serena rolling her eyes, and Andrew asking random questions. It was odd and at the same wonderful. They seemed to have annoyances with each other like I had with my family, and yet there was a warmth between them, that of course didn’t extend to me, but clearly they were a close family.
I wanted to spend the rest of the evening with them, but concerned I was overstaying my welcome, I got up to take my leave once dessert was finished.
“When can we go on the airplane?” Andrew asked, as I pushed my chair into the table.
“Let me talk to your mom about that, okay?”
“Don’t forget.” Andrew waved his spoon.
“I won’t. Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Moore. It was wonderful. Nice to meet you, Mr. Moore.” I reached over and shook his hand.
“It was our pleasure,” Mrs. Moore said. Yep, her expression suggested she’d already accepted me as a son-in-law.
“I’ll walk you out,” Serena said, pushing her chair in too. The door wasn’t that far from where we were eating, but I guess it was enough to give us some privacy, although not enough so I could kiss her like I wanted to.
“I’d apologize, except I tried to warn you,” Serena said as I opened the door.
I leaned against the door jamb. “I had a great time.”
“You lie. My father was like the Spanish inquisition.”
I shrugged. “He’s not the first to question my intentions.”
She quirked a brow. “I guess lots of fathers have had a run at you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Your insecurities are showing.” I leaned forward, not caring if her parents could see. I kissed her cheek.
“You do plan to take Andrew to see your plane sometime, don’t you? I hate to hold you to that, but you can’t promise a kid something and not deliver.”
I jerked back, once again annoyed at the type of person she apparently thought I was. “You still think I’m an asshole? That I’d use a fake promise to your son to get into your pants?”
“No. I didn’t mean it like that I just—”
“Yes. I plan to take him for a ride in the plane. If you’re nice, maybe you can come too.”
She looked down. “I know I’m a bitch to you.”
“I keep waiting for you to stop.” I grinned at her to let her know I wasn’t mad. Annoyed, yes, but I was wearing her down, so that was something.
She gave me a wan smile. “I’m not sure why you keep bothering.”
“I like being around your kid.”
I expected her to smile at that. Instead she flinched first, and then she smiled, but it didn’t look genuine. To be honest, sometimes I wondered why I stuck around. If only I could figure out what was going on with her that made her so unreachable sometimes.
19
Serena
I felt like I usually did these days as I watched Devin walk away; guilty. I should be happy that he liked Andrew and that Andrew seemed taken with him. I should feel good that he was willing to endure my father’s scrutiny. But everything in my life boiled down to the fact that I was lying about Andrew and until that came out, I’d never be free of the guilt.
“Serena.” My father’s stern voice called me from where he sat in his chair in the living room. My mom and Andrew had disappeared into the kitchen.
“I should help Mom.” I started toward the table to finish clearing.
“Come here.”
I felt like I was ten years old and about to get in trouble.
“What’s up?” I asked sitting on the couch.
“What was all that about running off with him five years ago?”
“Oh, that?” I waved my hand to show it was no big deal. “It was just a joke.”
His narrow eyes studied me and I felt like they could see right through me. “How was it that you met him?”
I blew out a breath, resolved to have to explain something. “He and his friend came into the restaurant I was working in on St. Patrick's a few years back. He was bored with his usual group so he went with us on the pub crawl. We hung out some the next week and then he moved to Europe.” I made a “that’s all there is to it” shrug and started to stand.
“Sit. I’m not done.”
I stayed seated and hoped my face was impassive.
“Were you going to run off with him?”
“No.” I lied. “I told him my parents said I couldn’t go. I don’t know why you’re harping on this. We were just being silly kids.”
He nodded and I was feeling like I’d dodged a bullet.
“Five years ago. St. Patrick's, huh?”
My stomach rolled. “Hmm hmm.”
He started counting on his fingers I knew I was sunk. He reached the ninth finger. “December. Same month as Andrew was born.”
I closed my eyes as one of my fears was realized.
“Serena.” His sharp voice made me blink open in my eyes. “Is that boy Andrew’s father?”
I looked toward the kitchen, not wanting Andrew to hear. When I turned back, I faced my father’s disappointed expression.
“Yes. But he doesn’t know.”
My father’s eyes narrowed even more. “What?”
“Devin doesn’t know about Andrew.”
“You’re telling me that you had Devin Roarke’s child and never told him?”
I looked toward the kitchen again, desperate to not have Andrew here this. “He left and I couldn’t reach him,” I said, knowing it was a dumb defense.
“He wasn’t on Mars. He has family here. Family that could be a big help to you. They can provide things for Andrew that we can’t.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” I said, tersely.
My father jerked back, surprised at my sharp denial.
I leaned forward so I could speak low. “I went to his mother and she told me to never tell him. She even offered me money to go away. Maybe I should have taken it, but it felt wrong.”
“Why that selfish, elitist…” He didn’t finish his statement. He stood, and went to his little liquor cabinet, and poured himself more whiskey. “Why haven’t you told him now?”
Really? After what his mother did to me, he thought I should tell him. “Because I don’t want his mother anywhere near Andrew.”
“That’s not your call. I’m surprised at you, Serena. We raised you better than that.”
I hated disappointing my father, but I’d do that before I risked Andrew’s happiness. “What if she shuns him?”
“What if she did?”
“What if he fought for custody?”
He flinched and inhaled a deep breath. “A father has rights, Serena. It’s not fair to him or Andrew. It’s not your choice to make. He has to know and the chips fall where they may. And if there’s a fight, we’ll help you. The Roarkes have money and influence, but they also have a reputation they’d like to keep clean. It won’t look good that his mother offered you money.”
“They’d have to believe her,” I said, knowing I couldn’t fight them.
“If you think he’s like his mother, why did you invite him to this house?” He sat in his chair again.
“I don’t think he’s like his mom.”
“So let him deal with her.”
“But he might be angry.”
He sighed. “Honey, love is a bitch, no doubt about it. But lying to him is wrong. He deserves to know and you have to accept whatever happens.”
“I don’t want to lose him.” Tears filled my eyes. I knew what my father was saying was right, but I wanted to hold on to this fantasy longer.
“Andrew or Devin.”
I looked my father in the eyes. “Either.”
My father moved to sit next to me. “I wish I could promise you that he’ll handle the news well but I can’t. Whatever happens, your mom and I are here for you and Andrew. You know that, right?”
I nodded and rested my head on his shoulder.
“Serena? What’s wrong?” my mother said entering the room.
“Mommy are you sad?”
I quickly sat up and wiped my eyes. “No. Just tired, baby. Come on, let's get you home and into a bath.”
“Why doesn’t the boy stay here with us tonight?” my father said. I knew he was suggesting I go hunt Devin down to tell him about Andrew, but I wasn’t ready.
“Not tonight.”
“What’s going on?” My mother looked from me to my father. Knowing he’d tell her, and she’d be equally as disappointed in me, I didn’t answer.
I took Andrew’s hand and led him to the door. “Say goodnight to Grandma and Grandpa.”
“G’nite.”
I hurried out before my father could hook me into staying.
The next morning, my mother sent Andrew to the kitchen when I dropped him off.
“Is it true? Devin is his father?” she said in a low tone.
“Mom, I can’t talk about this now. I’m going to be late for work.”
“Serena!” Her terse voice stopped me in my tracks. “Don’t brush me off.”
“Yes Mom, he is. No, he doesn’t know. Yes, I’ll tell him when I find the right time.”
She huffed out a breath. “There won’t be a right time. He deserves to know. That little boy in there deserves to have his father.”
I hated that she was disappointed in me. I hated that I was disappointed in myself. But I couldn’t get past how much I could lose, and so procrastination continued to seem like a good idea.
As I rode the train to work though, I knew I wasn’t just riding on borrowed time, but that the longer I waited, the worse it would be. Devin met Andrew and they hit it off, which meant now was the time to tell him. I guess I’d find out what his limit really was and if we’d hit it.
An Irish Affair Page 14
