Her mom smiled. “Since your father’s out of town and it’s just the two of us, I thought I’d keep dinner simple.”
“Simple’s good.” Scarlett washed her hands in the sink and dried them off with a paper towel. “Need any help?”
“Nope. Everything’s ready. You can take the salad and wine out of the fridge.” Her mom turned off the burner. “I’m sure your boss was happy to have you back at work.”
“He was.” Scarlett opened the Sub-Zero refrigerator and removed a bowl of arugula salad and a bottle of white wine. “He gave me more hours like I asked.”
“I bet he did. He makes more money when you’re there singing to customers and giving tutorials on the instruments.”
Scarlett chuckled, grabbing utensils and carrying the salad to the granite-topped center island.
Her mother slid two perfectly seared pieces of fish onto plates and squeezed lemon juice over them. Then she uncorked the bottle of wine, poured two glasses and handed one to Scarlett.
They sat on high stools at the center island and dug into their meals.
After a few minutes, Sherise asked gently, “What’s wrong, baby?”
Scarlett swallowed a bite of fish. “Nothing.”
“Are you sure? You’ve seemed a little quiet and sad ever since you came back from Cincinnati on Sunday. Did something happen?”
Scarlett stared down at her plate. “I had a big fight with my bandmates.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Her mother reached over and brushed her hair off her forehead. “What was the fight about?”
Scarlett didn’t answer for several moments. She’d never told her parents about her affair with Myles. She was ashamed, for starters. And she knew how much it would have upset them to learn that she was sleeping with her manager, who was ten years older. Her father probably would have lost his shit and killed Myles. Which, in retrospect, didn’t seem like such a bad thing.
“Scarlett?” her mother probed.
She took a long sip of her wine. “We had a creative disagreement.”
“Regarding your next album?”
Scarlett hesitated, then nodded.
“I’m sure you guys can work through that.”
“I don’t know,” Scarlett murmured. “It was pretty bad.”
“How bad? Bad enough to break you up?”
Scarlett swallowed hard and whispered, “Maybe.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that,” her mother scoffed.
“But—”
“You’ve been friends with those boys since you were eighteen. I’ll never forget how excited you were to bring them home to meet us. It was like you’d gone off to Berklee and found your long-lost brothers. The five of you have always been kindred souls. Hell, you’re closer to those boys than you’ve ever been to Luke.” Her mom’s voice softened. “I don’t know what your disagreement was about. But this isn’t the first big argument you’ve had, and it won’t be the last. Your friendship can weather any storm you’re willing to ride through.”
Scarlett stared into her wineglass, tears blurring her vision.
“Besides,” her mother continued, tenderly stroking her cheek, “what would you do if you weren’t in the band? As much as you enjoy working at the music shop, that would never be enough to satisfy you. You could become a music teacher like your friend Min-ji, and I’m sure you would be very good at it. But I don’t think it would fulfill you in the long run. You’ve loved singing and performing ever since you were a baby. Being onstage is where you belong. So unless you plan to quit the band and go solo…”
The tears fell, streaking down Scarlett’s cheeks. She impatiently swiped them away, then brought her glass to her mouth and downed the rest of her wine.
Her mother poured her some more, then picked up her own glass and quietly sipped.
As Scarlett ate the rest of her meal, she could feel her mother studying her. Sometimes she forgot how perceptive the woman could be.
“So what else is bothering you?”
Scarlett frowned. “What makes you think something else is bothering me?”
“Because I know my daughter.” Sherise smiled intuitively. “Viggo left this morning, didn’t he?”
Scarlett nodded.
“Missing him already?”
Scarlett bit her lip and nodded again.
“I know you are. Even after all these years, I still miss your father every time he goes on a business trip.” Sherise chuckled, sipping more wine. “So Viggo will be gone all week?”
“Yeah.” Scarlett sighed. “It’s a three-game road series.”
Her mother patted her arm. “Don’t worry. He’ll be back before you know it.”
“Sure,” Scarlett grumbled. “I’ll see him on Saturday at the bachelor auction, where I’ll have to watch other women try to outbid one another to go on a date with him. What fun.”
Her mother looked dismayed. “You can’t let another woman outbid you.”
“I don’t have much of a choice. Viggo won’t let me spend more than five grand.”
“For him? That won’t be nearly enough.”
“I tried to tell him that. He didn’t believe me.” Scarlett stabbed at a toasted pecan with her fork. “I think Audrey’s mom might bid on him to score a date for her daughter.”
Her mother made a face. “It wouldn’t surprise me. I’ve met both of them, and they definitely seem capable of pulling a stunt like that.” She grinned. “But I’d probably do the same thing if I were Audrey’s mother, so who am I to judge?”
“Really, Ma?”
She laughed. “Why do you think I’m always first in line to buy tickets to these bachelor auctions?”
“Oh, I don’t know. To support a good cause, maybe?”
Her mother grinned. “That’s one of the reasons, of course. But I also go to scout for eligible bachelors.”
“For who?”
“You, of course. Who else?”
Scarlett scowled. Her inner feminist was freaking out right now. “Seriously, Ma, you really need to—”
“Oh, spare me the lecture,” her mother waved her off. “You know I worry about the type of men you meet on the road. You seem to attract nothing but riffraff. But the successful young men who participate in these bachelor auctions give me hope, and I’m not the only mother who feels that way. So don’t try to shame me.”
“As if that’s ever worked,” Scarlett muttered into her wineglass. “You’re utterly shame-proof.”
Her mother laughed, picking up their empty plates and carrying them to the sink. “I was shocked when I found out that Viggo would be participating in the auction, but I didn’t want to say anything to upset you or start any trouble. I’m glad he’s giving you money to bid on him, but he needs to open his wallet a little wider. Between the matchmaking mamas and the sex-crazed young socialites, you’re gonna have some stiff competition.”
“I know,” Scarlett mumbled.
“I really wish I could loan you some money, but with Luke’s wedding right around the corner, your father has me on a tight budget so I won’t go crazy overspending.”
Smart move, pops. Finances have never been your wife’s forte.
Scarlett sighed in resignation. “You know what? I’m done stressing over this auction. If Audrey or someone else wins a date with Viggo, so be it. I have to be able to trust him, or our relationship won’t work.”
Her mother looked quaintly amused. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
Scarlett couldn’t answer.
“Believe me, baby, you don’t want Audrey or any other woman going on a date with your man.”
“It doesn’t really matter what I want,” Scarlett mumbled unhappily. “It’s gonna happen.”
“Not necessarily.” A calculating gleam shone in her mother’s eyes. “We’ll think of something, don’t you worry.”
* * *
The day of the bachelor auction, her mother had them running late because she insisted on “dressing to the nines,”
which apparently took more time than dressing normally. Defying her husband’s strict budget, she’d bought herself and Scarlett wraparound Givenchy dresses that hugged their curves—hers in sky blue, Scarlett’s in fiery red. The couture dresses were accessorized with matching pumps and wide-brimmed hats that slanted elegantly over their faces. Very lady of the manor.
“We’re twenty minutes late,” Scarlett complained as they pulled up to the posh country club. “Did you have to take so long getting ready? We’re just reinforcing the stereotype that black folks are always late to everything.”
“Pfft.” Her mother waved her off. “You think I care what those snooty people think? Your father is an executive at Boeing. He makes as much money as most of those other women’s husbands. So let them say whatever they want about my lateness.”
Scarlett shook her head and muttered, “Viggo’s gonna kill me if we miss him.”
“We won’t miss him,” her mom assured her.
“How do you know?”
“I told you. I’ve been to plenty of these bachelor auctions, and they always save the best for last.”
Scarlett hoped she was right.
They valet parked and strode through the doors of the plush lobby. A registration table was set up outside the ballroom doors. After locating their names on the list, the smiling attendant handed them registration packets that contained their luncheon tickets and numbered bidding paddles.
When they entered the ballroom, all eyes swung in their direction. Several women couldn’t hide their smirks.
Scarlett knew what they were all thinking: Must they always operate on Colored People’s Time?
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. But her mother merely thrust her nose in the air and sashayed off toward their reserved seats—which just happened to be in the front row, shining an even bigger spotlight on them.
Grateful for the wide brim of her hat, Scarlett ducked her head and followed her mother’s swinging hips through the crowd of fashionably dressed women. Sherise smiled like a beauty queen and waved to several of her friends before she and Scarlett took their seats in the front row.
Demurely crossing her legs, Sherise leaned over to purr in Scarlett’s ear, “Now that’s how you make an entrance.”
Scarlett gaped at her. “You mean you made us late just so you could make a grand entrance?”
“Of course.” Sherise winked.
Scarlett could only shake her head as they turned their attention to the bachelor who had just strutted onstage.
“And now we have Garth,” the auctioneer announced.
The guy was a little over average height, clean-cut and handsome in a stockbroker sort of way. Definitely not Scarlett’s type.
Approving murmurs went through the crowd as the auctioneer began reciting the bachelor’s impressive credentials.
Scarlett found herself tuning out and looking around the chandeliered ballroom. It was packed front to back, not an empty seat to be found. The older women sported pearls and Botoxed smiles. The younger socialites wore designer dresses with cleavage-baring necklines and short hems that showed off long legs. They looked like clones of one another, and most of them appeared to be with their moms.
When Scarlett felt a prickling sensation of being watched, she turned around. That was when she saw a tall blonde in an ice-blue sheath dress standing by the foot of the stage. It was the same blonde she’d encountered in the bathroom at the Blackhawks game. She was holding a clipboard and staring malevolently at Scarlett.
Audrey.
Returning her stare, Scarlett tipped her head in a cool nod.
Audrey smirked at her.
Scarlett ran her finger along the wide brim of her hat, puckered her red lips and blew the blonde a kiss.
Audrey shot her a venomous look before cutting her eyes away.
Scarlett chuckled.
“Nicely done,” her mom purred approvingly. “Guess you are your mother’s daughter after all.”
As the bidding on Garth heated up, Scarlett shifted her gaze to the stage. But she still wasn’t really paying attention. She was nervous about what would happen when it was Viggo’s turn to be auctioned off.
He didn’t want to end up on a date with Audrey under any circumstances, so he’d agreed to extend Scarlett’s “credit limit” if she was getting outbid by Audrey’s mother. But he’d warned her not to go overboard. If the bidding surpassed seven grand—he swore it wouldn’t—he was supposed to scratch his right ear, giving her the okay to go higher.
It could be a really fun game. Or not.
Her mother leaned close and murmured, “That’s Audrey’s mama down there.”
Following the direction of her gaze, Scarlett saw an elegant older blonde seated at the end of their row. She wasn’t bidding on Garth. She was clearly waiting for someone else, and Scarlett didn’t have to guess who.
She fidgeted her way through three more generic bachelors before Viggo finally appeared.
When he sauntered onstage, a collective gasp went up from the audience. Wearing a hand-tailored navy suit, he could have just stepped off the cover of GQ. Even sporting a purple bruise on his jaw from a hockey fight, he still looked amazing.
As a loud chorus of appreciative whistles and catcalls erupted from the crowd, Viggo’s eyes found Scarlett in the front row.
Her lips were twitching with laughter.
He looked anything but amused.
“And last but definitely not least,” the auctioneer crooned over the excited clamor, “feast your eyes on Mr. Viggo Sandström. In case you’ve been living under a rock, ladies, Viggo is a star player for our very own Denver Rebels. You don’t have to be a hockey fan to appreciate all that this strapping Swedish hunk has to offer. Just look at those chiseled cheekbones, that square jaw, those gray eyes as deep and piercing as a glacial fjord.” She gave a swoony sigh. “Just think, ladies, you can spend an entire evening with—”
A paddle shot up in the air. “One thousand!”
“Two thousand!” another woman shouted.
“Three thousand!” yelled a third voice.
Holy crap, Scarlett marveled. Apparently when it came to auctioning off hot hockey studs, no real sales pitch was required.
Before she could add her bid, Audrey’s mother coolly raised her paddle. “Four thousand.”
Viggo looked a little astonished.
The auctioneer was positively delighted. “We have four thousand—”
“Can he take off his jacket and show us his muscles?” one woman eagerly called out.
As lusty feminine laughter swept over the audience, Scarlett had to shake her head. One would think these perfectly coiffed society ladies were at a strip joint instead of a country club. She half expected them to start throwing dollar bills onto the stage.
Her mother was no better.
“Lord have mercy,” she purred lasciviously. “Whatta man, whatta man, whatta man, whatta mighty good man!”
Scarlett elbowed her. “Seriously, Ma?”
“Yes, Lawd. That is a prime male specimen right there.” She fanned herself with her paddle. “Hell, I just might bid on him myself.”
As the excited women showered Viggo with more whistles and catcalls, he tucked his hands into his pockets, tilted his head to one side and glanced down at the floor. He looked like he was posing for a magazine photo shoot, but Scarlett knew he was probably focusing on stats or game strategy—anything to transport himself away from that mortifying stage. She almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
The auctioneer’s gleeful voice cut through the din of the lecherous crowd. “Do I hear—”
“Five thousand!” a voice rang out from the back.
Shit, Scarlett thought as the audience oohed and aahed. When Viggo met her eyes, she gave him an I told you so look.
He frowned and shook his head. Stubborn idiot. She’d warned him this would happen.
Her mom gave her a sharp nudge. “What’re you waiting for?”
Scarlett raised her paddle. “Six thousand.”
At the end of the row, Audrey’s mother shot her an evil look.
“Seven thousand!” a breathy young voice squealed. “I want him to body check me!”
Raucous laughter roared across the room.
Scarlett rolled her eyes. Viggo looked like he wanted to do a facepalm.
“Isn’t he absolutely scrumptious, ladies?” the auctioneer gushed enthusiastically. “One night with him will put you in the sin bin!”
Another wave of lascivious giggles swelled through the room. As the fierce bidding war escalated, none of the women seemed to notice or care that their prized bachelor appeared less than enthused about being there.
“Eight thousand!” bellowed a blue-haired matron in the second row. “My lovely granddaughter just became a hockey fan.”
As more laughter and whistles broke out, Audrey’s mother raised her paddle. “Nine thousand.”
Viggo shot Scarlett a panicked look.
She gave a deceptively lazy shrug and mouthed, What do you expect me to do? My hands are tied, Mr. Principles.
When he scowled, it was all she could do not to laugh.
“Okay, ladies, we’re up to a whopping nine thousand,” the auctioneer crowed rapturously. “Do I hear—”
“Ten thousand!” a woman breathlessly purred her bid. “I’m gonna show you such a good time, Mr. Hockey.”
Scarlett frowned as the crowd tittered.
Audrey’s mother looked aggravated. “Eleven thousand!”
Holy shit. Scarlett stared pointedly at Viggo, waiting for him to give her the signal to up the ante. Maybe he just needed a little nudge.
Licking her lips, she sat up straighter and slowly—deliberately—crossed her legs, smiling as his eyes followed the movement. He looked like he wanted to jump off that stage and thoroughly ravish her.
“Do I hear a bid of twelve thousand for our swoonworthy Swede?” the auctioneer cooed.
There were restless murmurings, temptation warring with remnants of common sense.
The Swede Page 39
