Hungry for More (2012)

by Chelsea Scott

  “Devoe,” Paul announced, curtly.

  “Of course!” the man replied, and led them forward, into the restaurant. “Just this way. The rest of your party has already arrived.”

  “The rest of our party?” Bridget echoed, anxiously. She couldn’t think of who they might be meeting- people from the studio, perhaps? She fought another wave of anxiety as she battled her old fear: that whomever they were meeting would wonder what Paul could possibly see in a girl like her- and that Paul might finally start to wonder the same thing himself! Caught up in her concerns, she didn’t immediately register who was sitting at the table.

  It was worse than she had imagined.

  “Bridget?” a very familiar trio of voices called out.

  Bridget swallowed, hard, before croaking: “Mom…Dad...Claudia?”

  This isn’t happening. Bridget thought, frantically, hoping to discover that she had fallen asleep and this was all a horrible, but harmless, nightmare.

  She had no such luck.

  After exchanging awkward air-kisses with her family Bridget sank down into her seat and was forced to admit that this was all really happening. She glanced miserably at Paul, and wondered what he had been thinking to arrange this! He must have contacted her parents. There was just no way that they ever would have sought her out.

  Paul shot a worried frown in her direction, sensing the downturn in her mood, but Bridget glanced away as her father started talking.

  “I couldn’t believe it when you called, Devoe! Patricia thought the whole thing was a hoax!” Mr. Parker laughed loudly.

  “A hoax?”

  “Of course,” Claudia tittered. How Bridget had grown to loathe that laugh over the years; it invariably punctuated some cruel remark that her sister used to put her down. “It seemed impossible that you were here with Bridget, but then we remembered that she works for you.”

  “I’m not sure I understand…” Paul said slowly. A frown marred his handsome face. “Bridget is my son’s nanny, but she’s also my girlfriend.” He reached out to clasp Bridget’s hand.

  Bridget found herself forgiving him a little. He sounded so gloriously protective and possessive.

  “Well… I hear you work a great deal; you can’t get out much,” Mrs. Parker said, with audible sympathy lacing her voice.

  “What?” Paul snapped.

  Bridget, who was still holding her lover’s hand, gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay,” she mouthed, summoning a weak smile.

  As much as she might relish the idea of Paul losing his infamous temper with her family, getting kicked out of this restaurant for his bad behavior wasn’t going to do Paul’s career any favors.

  Fortunately, before anyone could say anything else, the waitress appeared to take the order for the table. Bridget hadn’t even let herself look at the menu yet! However, that didn’t turn out to be the problem that she had anticipated.

  “Chef Devoe?”

  Paul looked surprised at being addressed in such a way, but he nodded in acknowledgment.

  “Our restaurant has put together a special menu for you and your party. Chef would be delighted if you would place yourselves in his capable hands this evening.”

  “Would he?” Paul scoffed, but was interrupted by squeals of excitement from Bridget’s mother and sister.

  “Oh! How exciting!”

  “How thoughtful and kind! Won’t this be a treat, Claudia? What a lovely idea of the chef!”

  “What a pompous prick,” Paul muttered, loud enough for only Bridget to hear.

  She managed a tiny smile, enjoying her sense of camaraderie with Paul. Bridget’s mother had overruled anything that he might have wanted to say, and consequently they were going to be eating the chef’s menu for dinner.

  “So Bridget,” Claudia said, turning her attention on her big sister. Bridget’s stomach clenched nervously. “What have you been up to lately? Have you lost weight?”

  Bridget squirmed uncomfortably under her sister’s scrutiny. Surely it was obvious that she had? Maybe her efforts hadn’t been as noticeable as she’d hoped? After all, she did have a lot left to lose…

  Bridget looked jealously at Claudia’s tiny figure and her heart sank. All she could think about was the softness in her own belly, the way her thighs brushed together when she walked and the little puff of fat that poked over the edges of some of her bras.

  “A…little,” she squeaked out, after a long moment of silence.

  “Well, thank goodness for that,” Bridget’s mother clucked approvingly. “It’s really about time that you got control of yourself, Bridget. You can’t wallow forever! Your father and I have been really concerned about you, sweet pea…after you drove off Richard…”

  Beside her, Paul stiffened. Bridget reached under the table to take his hand. She stroked it reassuringly, trying to let him know, silently, that this was nothing she hadn’t dealt with before.

  Mrs. Parker’s tirade was cut off by the reappearance of the waiter, who brought an overly-elaborate seafood starter to the table. Everyone dug in…except for Bridget.

  She was hungry. She was ravenous, actually. It had nothing to do with the amount of food she’d eaten recently. The sandwiches at Westminster had been perfectly filling, and it was still fairly early for dinner, but Bridget’s stomach felt suddenly hollow. She didn’t want a seafood starter. She wanted a Hobnob. She wanted a sleeve of Hobnobs! Possibly two!

  “Aren’t you going to try it?” Paul whispered, nudging Bridget’s arm and looking pointedly at her plate. “It isn’t that bad…” he admitted through gritted teeth.

  Paul had been whispering- but Mrs. Parker’s keen ears picked it up.

  “Careful of the cream sauce, Bridget,” she advised, shrilly. “You don’t want to ruin all your hard work…”

  Three sleeves of Hobnobs… Bridget thought, wondering how she was going to consume the biscuits without Paul knowing. She would have to sneak them into the bathroom…

  Bridget was so despondent that she barely noticed Paul growing angrier and angrier- until she heard his voice:

  “Actually, I don’t think Bridget needs to lose any more weight. I think she looks too skinny as it is.”

  “Too skinny?” Claudia snorted.

  “I like women to look…feminine.”

  This time, Mr. Parker was the one to look skeptical, “Well, how progressive!” He chuckled.

  “But honestly…” Mrs. Parker chimed in, “How’s she ever going to catch a husband looking like that.”

  “She doesn’t need to ‘catch a husband’” Paul growled.

  “Oh?” the others asked, skeptically.

  “Yes!” he huffed back, “Because she already has one…is going to have one…”

  Bridget’s brow furrowed in confusion, wondering what Paul was getting at- surely he wasn’t going to bring up Richard? She truly could never have imagined what he actually said next:

  “Because I’m going to marry her,” he announced smugly, “That’s why I asked you here tonight- to obtain your permission. I can assume from your eagerness to unload her that you aren’t going to object?”

  “I- you- what?” Mr. Parker spluttered.

  Bridget was thinking the same thing. She couldn’t believe that she had heard Paul right! Paul couldn’t possibly be serious, could he?

  “You want to marry Bridget?” Mrs. Parker asked, as if this made about as much sense as Paul asking to marry her miniature poodle.

  “Yes!” Paul growled. “I love your daughter. Do you even have any idea how wonderful she is? How kind and caring and special?”

  He glared accusingly at Bridget’s parents, who both looked utterly amazed that he was speaking to them about Bridget in such a way.

  Bridget, even though she still worried a little bit that Paul was only doing this to teach her mum and dad a lesson, glowed with pleasure at his words. She blinked quickly to hold back the tears that were threatening to stream down her cheeks.

  “Of course we know that Br
idge is special,” Claudia smirked. “She gets on well with your little boy I suppose?”

  Bridget knew what Claudia was implying. She thought that Paul wanted to marry her for Tad’s sake and not his own. Paul seemed to realize that too, because his face darkened into another frown.

  “Tad loves Bridget. She’s been a mother to him since the day he was born. Of course that side of her is attractive to me, but she’s been Tad’s mom for almost five years now. I don’t need to marry Bridge for her to have that role in Tad’s life. I want to marry her so she’s my wife.”

  Bridget’s soul ached for the words to be true. How she longed to be Paul’s wife! She would love it above anything else. She had to keep reminding herself that everything that Paul was saying was for the benefit of her family.

  “So?” he pressed, turning to Mr. Parker. “Do I have your permission to marry Bridget?”

  “I- well, of course, if she wants to…” The older man fumbled for a reply.

  “Of course she wants to,” Claudia snorted. “She’d have to be crazy not to!”

  “Claudia,” Mrs. Parker laughed nervously, seeming to finally have grasped that Paul was serious.

  “Bridget?”

  Bridget turned to Paul. He was looked at her expectantly. There was hope and a tiny glimmer of fear, in his eyes.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I want to marry you!”

  Paul grinned. “Thank God for that!” Then he kissed her- in front of her parents, in front of Claudia. He kissed her until she forgot the pain and the humiliation, and he became the absolute center of her world.

  She thought it would be impossible for the moment to be more perfect, and then she opened her eyes. Claudia looked positively green with envy! Bridget knew that she would cherish that memory for the rest of her life!

  “Well…” Bridget’s mother broke the tense silence that had fallen around the table. “This certainly is…unexpected…news…I suppose you’ll be planning a wedding? Do you think it should be here in London or back in New York?” She didn’t wait for them to answer before continuing, “It has to be here. I want to invite everyone. They’ll never believe it- Bridget, married!- and to a famous chef.”

  Paul’s expression was blackening again. Bridget reached back under the table to rake her fingernails up and down his thigh, silently begging him to hold his temper. She was incredibly grateful when their salads arrived sparing her the necessity of a response.

  Mrs. Parker tasted a few bites of field greens in vinaigrette, and then tried to engage them in talk of wedding plans. Eventually, however, she gave up trying. Paul refused to give an opinion, and Bridget insisted that it was too early to make any decisions. In truth, she wanted to be spared the humiliation of unmaking them later. After all- eventually the clock would strike twelve and she’d turn back into a pumpkin (less orange, but just as round, Bridget mused unhappily). Eventually, Bridget’s mother gave up, ceding the floor back to Claudia, who wanted to regale them with tales of the legions of very rich, very successful men who wanted to marry her.

  The meal, at least, was delicious. That is, Bridget supposed it was. Just when she’d worked up the courage to cave to Paul’s urgings and sample a bite of the exquisite food, her mother caught her eye.

  “Oh, no, Bridget!” she exclaimed, actually reaching across the table to push the plate away. “It’s soaking in butter! You’ll look like a great white whale drifting down the aisle if you have a bite of that!”

  Bridget squirmed in her chair. She had weathered similar comments countless times before. On each occasion, she had responded by dropping her fork and lowering her head in contrition. Her mother clearly expected her to follow the script. She was squinting at Bridget’s plate as though it were covered in writhing snakes.

  Bridget looked down at the plate of flaky trout covered in rich sauce. It was good- nothing to what Paul could prepare, of course- but still delicious. She was hungry and she had been following her diet all day. Bridget was surprised by her own boldness when she pulled the plate back and popped another bite into her mouth. She chewed the fish slowly, paying more attention to the sense of power and satisfaction thrumming through her body than to the flavors on her tongue.

  Mrs. Parker was aghast. Her eyes bulged out of their sockets as she spoke again, this time more shrilly. “Bridget Denise Parker! Think, darling. You’re going to look-!”

  “-beautiful!” Paul interjected.

  Bridget heard the disgust in his voice, but recognized instantly that it was not directed at her. He thought she would look beautiful, even if she ate the fish. It took a few seconds for the idea to sink in, but when it did, a small, delighted smile unfurled on Bridget’s lips. She felt beautiful- regardless of what her mother said.

  Bridget lowered the fork and turned toward Paul. She was instantly struck by the look of love and concern in his eyes.

  This is real, Bridget thought, daring to believe it for the first time. Paul loved her. Paul wanted to marry her- just the way she was.

  Mrs. Parker and Claudia continued to squawk at Bridget, but she wasn’t listening any more.

  Paul reached out to take her hand. Then, abruptly, he stood.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Parker, it was very...informative,” he said in the clipped tone that Bridget recognized as the only warning that his temper was about to explode. For once, she was almost looking forward to the display. She felt a definite pang of disappointment when he tugged her out of her seat. “Good night.”

  Without saying any more, Paul turned to go, pulling Bridget in his wake. She resisted the temptation to look over her shoulder. Instead, she imagined her parents shocked faces as she followed him into the night.

  “I can’t believe that you did that!” Bridget exclaimed as soon as they reached the safety of the cool London night.

  “I can’t believe they treated you that way!” Paul replied as he hailed a cab.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does.”

  Bridget opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it. A black car pulled up and Paul helped her inside.

  “I was proud of you, Bridget.”

  “Proud?” she echoed, confused. She tried to think of what she had done that could possibly have impressed him. Failing, she shot him a questioning gaze.

  “For eating the fish.”

  Bridget snorted. “It was just a forkful of trout, I hardly think-”

  “It was more than that. You’re amazing, Bridget. I’ve known that for a while now...but I want you to see it too. I want to make you feel-!”

  “You do,” Bridget insisted. She smothered the rest of his words underneath a kiss. It would be a long time before she would feel completely worthy of love and attention. Maybe her feelings would never go away completely- but there had to be something good about her if a man like Paul wanted her to be his wife.

  Chapter 22

  The ride to the hotel was short- but they hadn’t quite made it back when the cab screeched to a halt.

  “What is it?” Paul asked, poking his head between the seats to speak to the driver.

  “Some sort of smash-up,” the man replied. Sure enough, traffic had come to a dead halt.

  “We’ll get out here,” Paul said, and handed the man some money. They were beside Hyde Park, leaving them only a block to walk. He helped Bridget out of the cab, and then shucked off his jacket, draping it across her shoulders to protect her from the late-night chill.

  “Thanks,” she told him as she snuggled into its warmth, and inhaled the hot, spicy scent that clung to the fabric.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, taking her hand and leading her down the street. They walked in silence for a moment, before he blurted, “I’m sorry about tonight.”

  “I’m not,” Bridget responded. Sure, there had been some ugly moments, but the ending of their meal had been perfect. She slipped her hand into Paul’s and snuggled closer. “Were you really serious?” she asked him. She knew the answer, but needed to hear it again.
r />   “Serious about what?” Paul frowned.

  “About wanting to marry me.”

  “Of course!” Paul froze and the color leached from his face. “Don’t you want to marry me?”

  “Paul!” she exclaimed. “You know I do.”

  “Then don’t scare me like that!” he said, and then surprised her with a second command. “Give me back my coat.”

  “What?”

  “I was going to save this for later. I had a cheesy idea of doing it at the top of the London Eye.”

  “Doing what?” Bridget demanded, her temper nearing its breaking point- until she saw what Paul had pulled out of his breast pocket. She gasped when he dropped to one knee.

  “I’m not that great with words, Bridget,” he said, regretfully. “But I love you. I want to marry you. Please be my wife.”

  Bridget’s eyes began to water as he cracked open the box- displaying the most beautiful engagement ring that she’d ever seen.

  “Oh, Paul-!” she gasped, “It’s…it’s so-!”

  “Tad helped me pick it out,” he said, taking the ring out of the box and slipping it onto her finger- without waiting for a “yes.” Bridget didn’t seem to notice the omission. She was staring at her hands as though she didn’t recognize them. “Actually, there’s something Tad wanted me to ask you too.”

  Bridget tore her eyes away from the glittering diamond long enough to meet his gaze. “What?”

  “Tad wanted me to ask you if you’d be his mom. His real mom. I saw a lawyer about the adoption already.”

  “Oh Paul!” Bridget gasped again. Tears were now running freely down her cheeks. “I can’t believe that this is real. It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” she sobbed happily. “I never ever thought I’d have a family of my own.”

  Paul smiled at her tenderly, rising up off his knee so that he could draw her into his arms. She fit there perfectly as far as he was concerned. It was where she belonged.

  “So that’s a yes then?” he grinned, beginning to relax.

  “Yes! Yes, of course yes!” Bridget exclaimed. “Oh I love you so much, Paul,” she gasped, holding onto him tightly. “You were wonderful tonight.”