“You don’t really mean that. You’re just pissed right now.”
“You’re damn right I’m pissed,” said Anthony, slicing through an onion with unusual vehemence. He shook the knife in his hand at his brother. “The sister’s got something to do with this, I’m telling you right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have. I’ve always gotten the sense the sister thought she was better than us, you know?” Michael frowned, but nodded in agreement. “Maybe she talked Vivi out of seeing me.”
“Vivi doesn’t strike me as the type who can be talked out of things.”
Anthony gave a dry little laugh. “That’s true.” He shook his head. “I don’t get it. I really don’t.” He reached for another onion, not sure whom he was speaking to—himself, his brother, or both. “Maybe it’s better this way, who knows? God knows she’s got an opinion about everything. It probably would have driven me up the wall after a while.”
“Just wait until her restaurant opens and see what happens,” Michael repeated.
If it opens, Anthony thought to himself. Should he tell his brother about his impromptu loan to Vivi? Probably not. His brother was the biggest gossip this side of Rush and Molloy.
Ever since he’d written the check for Vivi, he’d been plagued with worry. What the hell was going on? First rule of business: never get behind in your payments. How could Vivi and her sister not know that? What would have happened if he hadn’t been there to give her the money, or vouch for her? Would Joey and Ricky really have wrecked the place?
At least he’d been able to help out. It gave him the chance to prove to her, in a very concrete way, that he wasn’t just your average, run-of-the-mill guy. What other man would lend fifteen thousand dollars to the woman who’d just trampled on his heart? Either he was extraordinarily kind or he was a total patsy. Shaking his head one final time, he concentrated on chopping onions. Maybe his generosity would shock some sense back into her. You never knew.
“More wine?”
Vivi smiled politely at Bernard Rousseau’s question and shook her head no, fearful a third glass would make her tipsy. At his request, she had selected what she knew to be one of the finest French restaurants in the city: Rene’s, named after its famous chef, Rene Bruel, a culinary superstar in France. Vivi had never had the privilege of cooking under him, but her friend Marcelle from Le Cordon Bleu had, and he said it was grueling yet rewarding, as was the case with all great chefs. Vivi had been in some beautiful, expensive restaurants in her day, but Rene’s, with its soaring ceilings, luxurious tapestries, and intimate, individual dining niches, took her breath away. The china, glassware, and flatware were delicate and exquisite. She wasn’t surprised to learn they were custom designed for the restaurant.
She’d almost choked on her wine when the famous Rene himself stopped by the table, and Bernard told him that Vivi, too, was a chef who was opening a restaurant. “Is that so?” Rene asked politely, eyes narrowed in competition. Vivi hastily pointed out that it was a small bistro in Brooklyn, nothing like the magnificent Rene’s. She then invoked the name Marcelle. Rene’s expression softened, and together the three of them spoke volubly about fine food, fine wine, the importance of setting, and atmosphere. By the time Rene said his adieus and moved on to greet the diners at the next table, Vivi was surprised to find herself feeling a little homesick after speaking in her native tongue of the things she loved.
For the first time in she didn’t know how long—years, perhaps—Vivi couldn’t come up with a single critique of the meal she’d been served. Her appetizer, tomato tarte tatin, had been delicious enough to make her swoon; her entrée, pancetta-wrapped tuna with potato puree, filled her with envy. By the time dessert rolled around and she took her first bite of spiced Bosc pear with Vietnamese cinnamon, she wasn’t sure if her ego could take the beating. Everything was flawless.
“He’s amazing,” Vivi sighed with a touch of envy as Chef Rene moved out of sight. She looked at Bernard. “Wasn’t the food incredible?”
Bernard smiled companionably. “Fantastic. We’ll have to come here again.”
Vivi hesitated. “Yes,” she said faintly, not sure how else to respond. She finished her last few drops of wine, more than certain that she’d had enough. “Bernard, I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but I can’t thank you enough for the loan.”
“Pffttt,” he said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Enough about that. It’s the least I could do for Stephan Bocuse’s daughter.”
“Daughters,” Vivi corrected.
“No, daughter.” Bernard’s gaze was unnervingly direct. “I know Natalie got you into this mess, Vivi. I know because I remember her doing the same thing in Paris.”
Vivi blinked hard. “Papa told you about Natalie?”
“Oh, yes. It was his heartache. That, and not being able to see you and your mother enough.”
Vivi’s head was spinning. “Bernard…you have to excuse my ignorance…but there’s so much I don’t know about my father.”
“Perhaps I can help you out. What would you like to know?”
Vivi’s hands twisted in her lap. “Was he easy to work with?”
“Very easy,” Bernard assured her.
Vivi swallowed hard, trying to keep at bay all the questions on her tongue competing for voice. “And you knew about my mother and me?” she continued.
“Of course.”
“What—what did he say about my mother?”
“That he loved her, of course.” He paused, thinking hard. “He said she was very free-spirited. Unconventional, if you will. He liked that.”
Vivi laughed in recognition. “She is!” Tell me more, she wanted to beg, like a child clamoring for the fairy tale being told them to never end. “Can you remember anything he said about me?”
Bernard’s smile was gentle. “He was very proud of you, Vivi. He used to talk about you all the time, what a wonderful cook you were. What a wonderful young woman you were.”
“He did?” Vivi looked away, trying to stay tears. “Thank you for telling me that. It means a lot to me to know he said that to other people, not just me.”
“What else can I tell you?” Bernard teased. “His shoe size? How many Gauloises he smoked a day?”
Vivi affected pique. “I already know the answers to those questions, thank you very much.” She hesitated, unsure whether she really wanted to hear the answer to her next question. But she had to know. “Do you know if he loved Natalie’s mother?”
Bernard began fiddling with his teaspoon. “He did love her,” he said carefully, “but that does not mean he was in love with her. He was in love with your mother, Vivi.”
Vivi inhaled raggedly as a tear splashed onto the tablecloth. “Then why didn’t he leave his wife? Why didn’t—”
“Shhh.” Bernard came around to her side of the table and sat down beside her, patting her shoulder. “You know why. You know how important appearances are for a man of his station. You know leaving his wife for his mistress would have been frowned upon. Besides, both your parents were perfectly happy with their arrangement, so don’t fret.”
“Well, no one bothered to ask me if I was happy with it, did they?” Her chest ached from holding back a cry of frustration. “I would have given anything for him to be there full time, not part time! Didn’t he know that?”
“It was what it was, Vivi. Would it comfort you to know that Natalie and her mother only had him part time, too, since his work was so demanding?”
“That’s what Natalie said.”
“There, you see? It’s the truth. He loved both you girls very much, Vivi. More importantly, he loved both of you the same.”
“Natalie’s mother.” Interesting, wasn’t it, how she could never bring herself to refer to her as her papa’s “wife”? “Is she mean and horrible? Natalie always says she is.”
Bernard furrowed his brows. “She’s…dramatic.”
“Very diploma
tically put,” Vivi said with a sniffle.
“Appropriate, is it not, since I’m a diplomat?”
“Yes.” She turned away, blowing her nose discreetly into a tissue. “I’m sorry about this. There are just so many things about my father I don’t know. So many things about Natalie I don’t know.”
“You can ask me anything you want about your father anytime. As for Natalie, I can tell you she was thrilled when she found out she had a half sister—after the shock died down, of course. She loves you, Vivi. But she’s troubled. This money problem…” He shook his head.
“She’s getting help.”
“Yes, I know, but I still think it was unfair of her not to tell you about her history.”
Vivi paused thoughtfully. “Shame can make people keep secrets about all sorts of things. When I was young, I used to lie and tell people my father was a traveling salesman, always on the road. It was better than ‘I was born out of wedlock and my father has a wife and child in Paris.’” She thought about Natalie. “No, I can see why she hid it from me. I’m not pleased about it, but I understand it.”
Bernard gave a small whistle of admiration. “You’re very generous, Vivi. Someone else might want nothing to do with her.”
“She’s my half sister, Bernard. And she’s the only person I have in this country.”
“That’s not true. You have me.” He leaned over, softly kissing her lips. Vivi stiffened. “You’re a very attractive woman, Vivi,” he murmured, touching a hand to her cheek.
“I’m flattered you think so.” Vivi could feel herself bristling. “Is this why you loaned me the money?”
“I can assure you, mademoiselle, I meant nothing untoward,” he declared. “I have no expectations of you beyond paying back the loan.”
Vivi regarded him fiercely. “I swear we will repay the loan, Bernard.”
“I know that.” Bernard looked contrite. “I’m very, very sorry if I offended you, Vivi. You have my solemn promise that I will never make a pass at you again, okay?” Vivi nodded in relief as Bernard extended a hand for her to shake. “Friends?”
“Friends,” Vivi agreed. She could not tell Natalie about this. Natalie would think she was insane. After all, Bernard was smart, rich, good-looking, powerful, and French—all the necessary ingredients for Natalie’s dream man. She wondered if Natalie had ever pursued him, or vice versa. It was not a question she could ever imagine asking either one of them.
Bernard returned to his seat across the table from her, his mouth tilted into a sentimental little grin.
“What?” Vivi asked suspiciously.
“Nothing. You just remind me of your father, that’s all.”
“How’s that?”
“Painfully blunt.”
Vivi lifted a brow. “Not rude?”
“Perhaps a little,” Bernard allowed with a small chuckle. “But we’re French, aren’t we supposed to be rude?”
Vivi laughed, slightly giddy over being compared to her father. Her mother always told her they shared many of the same traits, but she herself had a hard time seeing it when they were all together. Plus, she assumed maman was simply biased. To have the similarities confirmed by someone impartial was wonderful.
Vivi put her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her palm. “So, what else do my father and I have in common?” She had to keep an eye on herself; she could easily keep Bernard here for hours, asking him questions.
“I may not know you as well as I’d like, but I can already see that you share his drive and determination. That’s why I didn’t think twice about loaning you the money. I know your bistro is going to succeed.”
Vivi removed her chin from her palm and sat up a little straighter. “Thank you so much, Bernard. I promise, I won’t take your generosity for granted. I’ll give you an account of where every single penny is being spent.”
“There’s no need. We’ll set up a payment schedule, and that’s enough.” Vivi moved to pick up the bill, but he snatched it up before she got the chance. “I asked you to dinner, I pay. Agreed?”
Vivi sighed, seeing no alternative. “Agreed.”
“I hope I’ll see you and your sister again before the restaurant’s official opening.”
“You will.” She promised herself that no matter how busy things became, she would make time for the man who had come to the rescue—but only when she was with Natalie, never alone, like tonight. Life was complicated enough without having to worry about fending off an amorous, handsome, wealthy suitor. She felt flattered, but there was still a soft core within her that no man could touch—except one.
Chapter 25
There were any number of things he could be doing on his day off, Anthony thought. He could be jogging, trying to take off a few pasta-related pounds accruing around his midsection. He could be catching up on back issues of Bon Appétit. He could be checking out the new farmer’s market that had opened in Park Slope. Instead, he was sitting in the empty dining room at Dante’s, poring over menus and recipes, wondering whether it might be time to shake things up a bit. Pitiful.
The urge for change was driven by walking past Vivi’s yesterday and noticing an artist had started the preliminary stenciling of what would become the bistro’s logo on the front window. For the first time in months, it dawned on him that Vivi’s wasn’t just an abstract idea. An actual restaurant was going to be opening right across from his. Somehow, in the midst of falling in love with her, he’d forgotten that. Now that he remembered, a sense of unease rose up within him. He loved her, so of course he wanted her to succeed—but not too much. Certainly not at his expense.
There was a rap on the front door of Dante’s, and he sighed heavily. It felt impossible to catch a moment’s peace these days. There was a sign outside the restaurant clearly posting the hours—how hard was it for someone to realize they were closed? He decided to ignore the knock, returning instead to the debate he was having over whether it was time to drop the eggplant patties from the appetizer menu and reintroduce his mother’s Italian wedding soup. It had been a big favorite a couple of years back, though Michael thought it “boring.” Anthony frowned to himself. Why he took into account anything Mikey said relating to the restaurant was beyond him.
The knock sounded again, louder this time. Whoever was on the other side of the door knew he was in there. Seeing no other option, he reluctantly went to answer the door. He had a sick feeling it might be Insane Lorraine. If it was, no way was he going to let her inside. God only knows what might, or might not, be lurking beneath her coat.
He was surprised to find Vivi standing there, looking radiant, her nose and cheeks pink from the cold, her long blonde hair loose and topped with a bright ski cap. Her loveliness filled him with a hollow feeling. Seeing her was like seeing a ghost of happiness, something once solid but now spectral, here to haunt him. He ran through a catalog in his mind of all her contradictory behavior, her lame reasons for dumping him, and told himself that she was unstable. Not on the level of Insane Lorraine, but definitely a frontrunner in the category of “women who don’t know what the hell they want, and don’t care if they kill your spirit.” So how come he wanted to beg her to give him a second chance?
“Hello,” said Vivi. She pointed behind her at his SUV, the sole car in the parking lot. “Isn’t today your day off?”
“You know chefs never really have a day off.” He ushered her inside, watching as she stomped her snow-caked boots on the doormat, then peeled off her cap, shaking her hair free. The hollow feeling inside him took deeper root. To be this close to her and not be able to touch her was torment. Restless, he removed the pencil he’d stuck behind his ear when he went to open the door, tapping it against his open palm. “What’s up?”
Vivi smiled proudly, reached into the oversized leather bag on her shoulder she called a purse, and pulled out a check, handing it to him. “The money I owe you,” she said, as if it might need explaining. Her face was a mask of perfect humility. “I don’t know how to thank you.
”
Surprised, Anthony studied the check a moment before folding it into the back pocket of his jeans. “That was fast.”
It wasn’t the response Vivi expected. Looking momentarily flustered, she said, “I didn’t think it was right not to pay you back right away.”
“What happened? With Natalie and the DiDinatos, I mean?” He contemplated inviting her to sit down, but didn’t. He didn’t want her to see that he was reassessing the menu. Knowing Vivi, she’d guess that it might have to do with her bistro, and he was in no mood to deal with an episode of culinary gloating.
Vivi shrugged. “She forgot to pay them. That’s all.”
“That’s all?”
Vivi pressed her lips together. “Yes.”
“Gimme a break, Vivi,” said Anthony skeptically. “Only a idiot would forget to pay someone they contracted for major work, and Natalie is no idiot. What’s the deal?”
The cheerful light in Vivi’s eyes dimmed a little. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Natalie wasn’t managing our money very well.”
“And now?”
“Now it’s all fine.”
“Meaning…?”
“I don’t think you need to know the details,” Vivi huffed in exasperation.
“Really? Even after I saved your ass?”
Vivi’s mouth folded into a small frown. “If you must know, Natalie got us into a bit of debt. But it’s all solved now.”
“Solved how?” Anthony smirked. “Did she hock some jewels or something?”
Vivi shot him a look of warning. “That’s not nice.”
“Neither was not paying the DiDinatos. You’re lucky I was here to vouch for you.”
“I know,” she said humbly, her face softening. “The money problem is solved because a friend of our father’s was generous enough to give us a loan.”
“Who?” Anthony asked, even though he knew he sounded like an old biddy digging for gossip. But he couldn’t help his curiosity. Vivi had never mentioned anything about a friend of her father’s before.
“A lovely man named Bernard Rousseau. I don’t know what we would have done without him.”
Just a Taste Page 26
