I love him for caring so much, but there isn’t a damn thing he can do.
If Joy is alive and free, why hasn’t she reached out?
Nineteen
Dylan
I climb into bed and stretch an arm around Emily, pulling her warm sleeping form closer to me. My forearm brushes a spot on her pillow. It’s damp. She’s been crying. Shit.
I want her to know it’ll be okay. That life will get better. That I’ll make it right. Being separated from her sister was heartbreaking enough. To lose her this way, with all the unknowns forever circling her mind, it’s unbearable for her. I’d be out of my mind by now, and so would a lot of people, if it were to happen to them.
Emily carries her pain with grace most of the time. At the moment, though, she’s hanging by a thread.
She stirs for a moment. Her eyes open. She glances at me. Then, she looks away. They’re red-rimmed and swollen from so many tears, yet more start to form.
“The things you’ve been through, it’s not okay,” I whisper to her. “But it will be.”
I glide the back of my fingers over the sides of her eyes, brushing her tears away, and as soon as they do, she melts into me. More and more tears are shed, and her body jerks from the sobbing. It kills me that I can’t take away her pain. At least I can’t right now, but that’s going to change.
“You can’t know that for sure,” she says softly once her crying eases. “That it’ll be okay.”
I pass her the untouched box of tissues from my side of the bed. The one on her side of the bed is all used up. “Nothing’s for certain except for the effort and resources I’ll put into getting you the closure you deserve.”
“But it happened so long ago. I don’t even know what she looks like now.”
“There’s software and other resources for that.”
Some long moments pass.
“It just feels so hopeless,” she sighs.
I kiss her face on one cheek, then the other. “You and I are in this together. While we’re both breathing, there’ll always be hope.”
She meets my eyes and takes a long inhale. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being you. I’m so lucky to have you in my corner, Dylan. I don’t ever want to take you for granted.” She snuggles closer and presses her lip against mine. “I love you so much.”
I don’t move for a beat. It’s the first time those words have been said between us. Hell, it’s the first time I’ve ever wanted to say them. They’ve been lurking at the tip of my tongue for weeks, but I’ve held back.
A blast of heat moves through me, set off by those words, sparking a slew of emotion through me. Possessiveness. Need. Love. Lust. They all fold in on each other, filling my chest.
“I love you,” I tell her, and am shocked at the raw emotion in my voice.
“Take me,” she begs. “Fuck me. Make love to me... help me forget. Just for tonight.”
My blood runs hotter at her request, and as she drags her panties down her body and pulls her t-shirt off, baring herself for me, I’m hard as fuck. I want her even more.
With our clothes on the floor, I lift her on top of me and pierce her folds, sinking into her in one sharp jerk. My arms wrap around her back. Our bodies merge. She kisses me as our hips move and my cock hits her G-spot with each thrust, expertly sending her to her peak. Her kiss is soft, my movements sharp yet fluid, and when we come together, it’s like magic.
When my thoughts return from their haziness, I know what I have to do.
My mind’s made up. I don’t care if it lands me in jail, in prison, or with a criminal record. I’m going to find out what happened to her sister. It’s the least I can do for the woman I love.
Twenty
Emily
I’ve been working for Blair for six months and I’ve been a little off lately. It feels like it’s been ages since a patron has asked to speak to me about one of my entrees. Blair lets me prepare at least one dish per week that’s 100% my recipe.
Naturally, I can’t contain my ecstasy when any of my menu items are well received by our most loyal customers. I’m in more direct contact with my catering clients and the guests who consume my creations there, and they continue to rave about me, as well as put money behind their feedback through repeat orders and referrals.
Here at Gauche, it’s been quiet. I can’t help wanting more.
Tonight, in between our two scheduled dinner sittings, Patrick, the late twenties weeknight maître d’ makes my day. He comes into the kitchen and informs me that someone has asked for me.
I’m excited. Torn too, because not all feedback is stellar. But then again, it’s been so long since I’ve had that face to face interaction with anyone here, I’m happy to have evoked any reaction at all related to tonight’s entrée: herb butter quail under a mango pineapple glaze served with Sherry vinegar red potatoes, sweet onions, and gorgonzola.
Removing my apron, I say a little prayer and push through the kitchen access doors. On the other side, though, I discover a near-empty dining area. It makes sense that the place would be partially cleared out. We’re between dinner sittings. Which means that the patron must really be taking his or her time savoring my entrée. Or not.
I look around. There’s only the maître d’, a few wait staff preparing the tables for the next sitting, and one couple near the front with their backs to me. I put on my most professional smile as I reach their table and hope for the best.
If it weren’t for the young woman around my age with the long, wavy blonde hair, I would’ve recognized the man already.
“Dylan?” I say his name in a question. Has he been here for an entire meal without letting me know? With this girl? I study her face more closely. She’s familiar somehow, but I’m almost sure I’ve never seen her before. Unless she’s a colleague at work or—
“Emily, love.” He slides out of their booth and pulls me into his arms.
“Hi,” I say, confused. “I didn’t realize you were here all along. No one told me.”
“We thought we’d surprise you.”
We? They’re a we now?
“I don’t understand,” I admit to their beaming faces.
“We came by to see you for a few reasons. First, because the two most important women in my life are also two of the busiest people I know. Believe it or not, finding a day and time that you’re both in the same city has taken a lot of coordination.”
A tinge of jealousy sparks within me, but I’m at my place of work. The option to raise hell and demand an explanation at the top of my lungs isn’t on the table.
Two most important women.
Really?
I’ve heard the rumors that Dylan was a bit of a manwhore before he met me. It’s all over his social media too, but I was willing to look the other way because by all accounts, Dylan did a complete one hundred and eighty from his bad boy behavior when he met me. It’s never been an issue. The way I see it, everyone’s got a past. And Dylan has never given me a reason not to trust him.
But this? I wasn’t expecting this.
Two most important women. Being a sister wife isn’t in the cards for me.
“I’m confused,” I admit, my jaw tight as I work hard to control my responses.
“Emily, I want you to meet my little sister, Vanessa.”
“Oh! It’s lovely to finally meet you,” I say, my voice overflowing with excitement and a bit of relief as I reach across the table to shake her hand.
She stands and wraps her arms around me, hugging me warmly, as though we’re old friends. There are no air kisses like her mother gives out. “It’s great to finally meet the girl who managed to take my brother off the meat market.”
“I think I mentioned that Vanessa’s in law school,” Dylan explains.
“Congrats,” I tell her. “Following in your parents’ footsteps?”
She smiles. Looking at them as they stand side by side, I see the resemblance. “You could call it that. Practicing law
is in our blood. Although, before this, I was on an environmental advocacy project. We can chat all about it. I’m in town all weekend if you’re free.”
“Definitely. Dylan, can you give her my number for us to set something up?”
“Sure thing.”
“Wait, were you here for dinner earlier? I’d love to prepare something for you both.”
“That’s not necessary. Actually…”
He pauses. My peripheral vision picks up the wait staff just standing there. Watching us. Then Blair emerges from his side office. And Patrick is leaning against his reception desk, looking our way.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“More than okay. I just wanted to say…”
Dylan takes a step back. A movement that includes going down on one knee.
“Oh my gosh!” I hear myself cry out.
He reaches into his pocket but comes up empty. “Uh, Vanessa.”
“Oh yes! Right!” She pulls out a ring box from her purse. “Sorry about that. I was admiring it all the way over here.”
Taking the ring box, he lifts it toward me and opens it to reveal a sparkling diamond ring.
I’m barely able to breathe as he removes it from the box and takes my left hand.
“We’re here in a place where you’re surrounded by family and friends you love and able to live your passion. I couldn’t think of a better place to tell you... Emily Fields, I love you. We haven’t been together for years and years, but the second I laid eyes on you, I knew we shared something special. Now, I can’t picture a life without you in it. Will you make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?”
My head bobs up and down, saying yes without words as my hands shake as much as my weak knees, and joyful tears I can’t control run down my face. “Oh my god, yes. I’ll marry you. I love you. I will. Oh my god, baby.”
Dylan slides the gold ring with its princess-cut solitaire diamond onto my finger. He gets to his feet and tugs me into his arms, smashing his lips to mine.
Vanessa rushes up to Dylan and me, wrapping her arms around us both. “Welcome to the family, Emily! I’m so excited for you both!”
“Thank you,” I say through my raspy voice.
“Oh, and Dylan, we’d better prepare her for Diane,” she muses lightly. “Once she gets word that you’re engaged, she’s liable to blindside you both about her God-awful prenup speech.”
“Let me handle Diane,” Dylan says. “The last thing I’m going to do is start the rest of my life with Emily by even looking at a document that’s all about preparing for what we have to end.”
Blair gives me a thumbs-up from his spot in the corner, his eyes glassy from where I’m standing. My heart feels so full of love now. I wish Mom, Grams and Joy could be here to share this with me, but Dylan’s right that this place, these people, they really are my family too.
Twenty-One
Emily
I stand outside the old boarded up restaurant, shivering under the bright sun that gives more light than heat on these crisp winter days. Blair isn’t here yet, but he’s not late. It’s more like I’m super early. I want to take in a few more features of this place so I can be decisive when he and his backer arrive.
I glance up at the vertical sign above the black and white striped awning at the entrance.
It reads Michelina’s in big block letters. Already I can see the name I chose. Douce Bonté. Blair wants me to add something to the name that links it to his restaurant. It’s not a bad idea, and he’s flexible. So far, he’s suggested Gauche du Sud. Not too bad a name, if I’m being honest.
As they’ll probably be a while, I test the front doors. The realtor was here a few minutes before me and had to rush to an open house. Thankfully, he left it open for me. Our deal is not at the top of most realtors’ lists. The residential real estate market is booming these days. Larger commercial spaces are too. Smaller restaurants and specialized retail units, not so much. But I can leverage the soft market for this restaurant lease.
Stepping inside, I stand in the foyer for a while, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I look around at the worn hardwood and dusty blinds that hang in the two large windows at each side of the front double doors. Interior design isn’t in my blood, but I’ve been scrapbooking my dream restaurant and catering kitchen since I started going to college. For me, it’s easy to picture how bright and airy this foyer can be with new floors, pot lighting, drywall, and a few fresh coats of paint. A few pieces of artwork couldn’t hurt either. And flowers.
Beyond the foyer, I take a quick look at the row of stacked tables and chairs against the red painted wall. For a former Italian restaurant, the space is cramped and dark. With this many tables, it’d take effort for patrons to file in and be seated. It’d be a pain for wait staff and servers too. If we go with this location, the first thing I’ll do is split the dinner schedule to a six o’clock sitting and one at eight. I’ll cut the number of patrons per sitting as well, to add space and make it more intimate.
“Are you in here, Emily?” Blair shouts from the front door.
“Yes,” I answer.
He walks in with his middle-aged business partner, Jeffrey. “Would it hurt the realtor to take off a few layers of all this dust and grime?” he asks rhetorically.
“I’ve seen worse,” Jeffrey says. “More dust can be a good sign. It sends the novices packing. But visionaries can see past that nasty layer and figure out what features and characteristics are a keeper.”
“Fair enough.”
“So, what do the two of you think?” Jeffrey asks.
“It has potential,” I answer. “But the kitchen and fridge layouts are the deal breaker.”
“Let’s take a look see. Remind me before we leave that I need to take a picture of us under that sign outside. It’d make a great before and after, depending. Customers eat that shit up, old black and white portraits of real-life, present-day people.”
I can’t help but feel excited. Blair’s enthusiasm will go a long way in this joint venture. He’s supported me like family from day one. I won’t take this opportunity for granted.
All I want is to make him proud to have picked me straight out of culinary school. Whatever it was he saw in me, I hope I continue to live up to it.
Jeffrey makes it to the kitchen entrance and holds it open for me to go in first. As an investor, he’s probably done this many times before. The man pulls out a big, rugged flashlight from the side pocket of his winter jacket. Thank goodness for that, because without it, the boarded-up kitchen space would be pitch black.
“Maybe you should go first,” I suggest. “As you’re prepared.”
He smiles. As he points the beam up toward the ceiling, something up there moves. I’m ready to bail.
“What was that?”
“Probably birds. Or bats. Nothing too hard to get rid of. What you don’t want is a colony of mice, or worse, rats.” He flashes the beam at the floor ahead of him. “I doubt it’s a problem here.”
“Let’s take a look at the equipment and walk-in fridge before I lose my nerve,” I tell him.
A quick check of the equipment is encouraging. Underneath the dust and bird droppings is stainless steel everything. And the model numbers of all the installations show as twelve years of age or less. Although the power is shut off because the building is vacant, the walk-in fridge is even practically new, with shelving that must’ve been installed in the last few years.
“With a good cleaning and some minor renovations, this space can shine,” Blair says from behind us. “How do you feel, Emily?”
“I’m willing to do that.”
“We’ll ensure there’s a reserve we hold back for fixes. The owners might be willing to credit us those costs as well.”
“You brought your van, right?”
“Yes,” Blair answers and hands me the keys. “It’s a few cars down the street.”
“I just want to try something at one of the prep stations. I think I left some disi
nfecting wipes in the back.”
“Go for it.”
I find the wipes where we keep them stored and hurry back inside. “Can you point the light over here a minute?”
Jeffrey does, and I spend the next couple of minutes scrubbing one counter. We do the same at the stove top burners, on the walls of one section of the walk-in fridge, and on the floor in the middle of the open concept wait staff space.
Every spot is gleaming. Even the floors appear to be relatively new.
I smile. “You were right, Jeffrey.”
“This is why it’s a good idea never to ask a realtor to stage commercial space. If this place were spruced up even a little, it would’ve been off the market ages ago. Better for us.”
“I think this space can work.”
“Great. Let’s get going. We can talk offer details in the car.”
Within an hour of walking through this commercial restaurant space, Blair, Jeffrey and I have our ducks in a row.
We agree on the lease offer price and terms to take to the realtor, the ownership share between the three of us, and of equal importance, we arrive at a name.
Douce Bonté, with tagline Le Restaurant Gauche du Sud.
It’s perfect.
I can’t wait to give Dylan the good news.
Twenty-Two
Dylan
Time is ticking away.
A lot of fucking time.
Over two years’ worth.
If I have to attend another one of my friends’ weddings, engagement parties or baby showers, I’m going to punch something.
Everyone around me is moving on with their lives. Almost everyone. Caleb and Foster are still getting their cocks wet from every willing single female around town. But besides them, my circle of friends is settling down and starting families. Even my sister, Vanessa toned down her wild side and is seeing one guy.
I, on the other hand, have been engaged for over two years. I got on the relationship train, but the train hasn’t left the station. We’re stuck. Emily is, and that means I am too.
The Billionaire and the Virgin Chef: Seduction and Sin, Book 4 Page 8
