by Reese Ryan
Not wanting to encourage them, I refuse to turn around. As I knead the dough, an involuntary smile creeps across my face at the thought of Raine and me with kids of our own someday.
* * *
Friday is the only day I get Raine to myself for the entire day. I spend most of the day in front of a raging fireplace wearing as little as possible. He doesn’t seem to mind.
After handing Raine a cup of hot chocolate brimming with tiny marshmallows, I crawl back under the covers and reclaim my spot next to him on the couch. “I’ve been thinking,” I say carefully. “You were kind enough to come here and spend Thanksgiving with my family. Why don’t we spend Christmas with yours?”
Raine’s jaw stiffens. He takes a sip of the piping hot cocoa. There are several seconds of uncomfortable silence. “That’s very thoughtful of you, babe, but I really hadn’t planned on spending the holidays with my family this year.”
“Why not?” I ask. It’s a subject we haven’t broached. Raine talks about his family in bits and pieces. I haven’t pressed. I figured he’d tell me when he was ready, but now I’m curious.
Sure, I probably still wouldn’t have introduced Raine to my family if it weren’t for us running into them at the art museum. But he has met them. Twice. I can’t help but wonder why he’s never asked me to meet his.
“My relationship with my family...it’s complicated.” He winces, as if he’s been kicked in the shin. “I’ve always been honest with you about that.”
“You have,” I acknowledge calmly. “But you talk to them regularly. So things can’t be that bad.”
“I didn’t say they were bad, I said they were—”
“Complicated. I know.” The inflection in my voice gives away my annoyance. I unwrap my right thigh from around his leg and fold my legs underneath me. “I just wanted to be fair. But if it’s a problem...let’s just forget I mentioned it.”
I take a gulp of my hot cocoa and try not to grimace when it feels like I’ve poured liquid flames down my throat.
Raine takes a deep breath and sets his cup down on the coffee table. He turns his body toward me and puts his hand on my knee. “It’s really sweet of you to offer to give up the holidays with your family. I appreciate it.”
“But...” I take another sip of cocoa.
“But introducing my family into the mix always makes things—”
“Complicated?” My mouth is twisted, jaw tight.
“Fucked up.” He nearly spits the words out. “Meeting my family can mess with a girl’s head.”
“Why?” I put my cup down on the side table and turn my body into his. Now we’re getting somewhere.
“I love my mother and sisters, but they can be...bitchy. They never think anyone is good enough and they’re not shy about showing it.”
“So you are hiding me from your family.”
“I’m not hiding you. I talk about you all the time. I want them to know how important you are to me.”
“Let me get this straight.” I rest my chin on my closed fist. “You’re showing your family how important I am to you by not introducing me to them?”
“I’ve been waiting for the right time. When things feel more solid between us.” My brows furrow. He continues. “There are some major issues looming over us. The geographic distance between us. The fact that—” he looks at me as if apologizing for what he’s about to say, “—I feel like I’ll never be able to measure up to your dad. Sometimes I wonder if that would ever be enough for you.”
It feels like I’ve been sucker punched. From my mother I expect this. Hearing it from Raine, I feel like I’ve been blindsided. “I never said that.”
“You don’t have to,” he says gently, running his fingertip along the outside of my thigh. “It’s always there in everything you do, whether you realize it or not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He sighs and seems to be weighing whether this is a conversation he’s willing to have.
“You don’t talk about your family. Now you lay this on me, but suddenly you don’t want to talk about this either.” I fold my arms and stare at him.
“Okay, you want me to say it, I’ll say it. Sometimes it’s like your life isn’t your own. Your dad has been gone for six years, but you’re still making choices based on what he thought was best for you. Your life should be about what you want, not what your dad wanted for you.” His eyes apologize.
I glare at him, not trusting myself to speak.
“I feel like I need to impress your dad, but I’m kind of at a disadvantage, since I’ve never met him.” He pats my knee and tries to get me to smile.
I don’t. But I don’t want to talk about this with him, either. I hear it enough from my mother. “And then there’s that list—”
“What list?” I press my fingers to my parted lips. “You mean—”
“The ‘Ideal Man’ list you kept on your refrigerator back in San Francisco. I wasn’t snooping or anything,” he adds in response to the panicked look on my face. “I couldn’t help but see it when I was making breakfast that morning. It’s a pretty intimidating list of expectations for any guy.”
A prickling heat creeps across my cheeks. I grimace and look away for a moment. Taking a deep breath, I force my eyes to meet his again. “I was a practically a kid when I wrote that list.”
“But you’ve kept it all these years. That tells me your expectations haven’t changed.”
I sigh, still not looking at him. I’d forgotten about the list until I found it while packing my things to move to San Francisco. It felt like kismet, a well-timed reminder of what I really wanted in a man. While there are some important virtues on the list—honest, hardworking, thoughtful, funny—there are some other requirements that must make me seem pretty damned shallow. Six-figure salary minimum (millionaire or millionaire-potential preferable). Successful business owner or corporate C-level exec. Fucking gorgeous (no exceptions!). Well-endowed (and knows what to do with it).
I cover my face, thinking of him reading that list. Peeking one eye through splayed fingers, I smirk. “Well, you are gorgeous, well-endowed and you definitely know what to do with it.”
He presses his lips into a tight line, but one side of his mouth lifts involuntarily. “I’m being serious, Melanie.”
My shoulders sink. I twist my ring, barely raising my eyes to his. “If this relationship is so impossible, then what’re we doing? Are we just fooling ourselves and wasting each other’s time?”
“I never said that,” he counters. “You know how I feel about you.” Raine tilts his head toward the spot in the entry hall where he told me he loved me a month ago.
I lower my head, drawing my knees underneath my chin.
“Relax,” he says quickly. “We don’t need to talk about it. But I meant what I said and I’m not keeping you a secret. I’ve just been waiting until I felt our relationship was strong enough to withstand the onslaught from my family.” Raine puts his hand on my cheek. “I hope you can understand that.”
A few months ago I was determined to keep him away from my family. I was mortified when we ran into my mother and sister at the art museum. So I understand. Family can be...complicated.
I nod. The movement of my head is barely perceptible.
I understand, but I don’t have to like it.
“Sometimes I feel like there’s this huge part of you that you’re hiding from me. It makes me nervous.” I pick up my cup and take a sip again. Gooey marshmallows cling to my lip.
He stands, letting the cover fall. “And which part is that? Is it this part?” He lowers his navy, silk print boxers slightly to reveal the crease between his abs and hips.
I put my cup down and try to smother a giggle. It isn’t working.
He grins. “Or is it this part?” He lets the boxers d
rop to the floor.
“You’re a complete mess.” I smack him on the behind.
“Did you just spank me? ’Cause it felt like you just swatted me.” He mimics Jennifer Aniston in Along Came Polly.
“Yes, I spanked you!” I’m laughing now. “And you liked it. Now get your ass over here so I can do it again.”
“Yes, ma’am!” He crawls back underneath the cover and pulls me onto his lap, facing him. My body responds immediately to his heat and rigidity. I pull my shirt over my head and toss it onto the floor then shimmy out of my underwear. We make love.
Later we are camped out in front of the fireplace, cuddled under a blanket, like children at a sleepover.
He raises himself on one elbow, facing me. “I’ll tell you what. If in one week you still want to spend Christmas with my family, we’ll do it. They’ve been dying to meet you.”
“Really?” I’m flat on my back, looking up at him. “You’d be okay with that?”
“I would be okay with that.” Raine lies down again and looks up at the ceiling. He slides one arm around my shoulder, folds the other behind his head.
“Thanks.” I kiss the side of his face and cuddle against him. “I’ll let you know in a week.”
* * *
On Saturday, we take the boys to the basketball game. We’re sitting just a few rows behind the Cavaliers bench. I want to scold Raine for not heeding Mimi’s advice to get cheap tickets, but Mickey and Dusty are in heaven. Raine spoils them with overpriced hot dogs, soda and cotton candy. He buys them each a hat and shirt.
My sister is going to kill me.
What Mimi said about him being an amazing father someday replays in my head. Watching him now, I know he will.
Sunday we have dinner with my family. At times I sit back and watch everyone around the table. The love, the laughter, even the fighting. I can’t believe I’ve been missing this. That I didn’t want to be part of it. At this moment, I couldn’t be happier. Still, I can’t get my father’s pet phrase out of my head. “If it feels too good to be true, it probably is.” The cynic in me wonders just how long it can last.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It’s Monday morning. I dropped Raine off at the airport last night after an amazing weekend together. I didn’t think it possible, but my family loves him even more than before. All morning I’ve been dreamy-eyed and smiling, barely able to get anything done. My head is filled with memories of our weekend together.
Even Priscilla seems to be in a remarkably good mood. She stopped in my office to say good morning, practically beaming. “I have a feeling this is going to be a very exciting week,” she said.
I smiled and hoped that wouldn’t mean trouble for me.
Now I try to get my head back into my work. I search my desk for the Mont Blanc pen Damien gave me. I haven’t seen it in a week. I dig through the black, wire pencil cup on my desk next to the silver-framed picture of my father.
Picking up the photo, I gently trace the handsome features of my father’s face with my index finger. Chiseled square jaw. Intense, dark eyes. Thick, well-manicured eyebrows. The creases around his eyes and mouth where his age was beginning to show. His short crop of gray hair.
I strain to remember the sound of his voice calling my name. I don’t ever want to forget his booming voice, jolly tone and thunderous laugh.
My dad had a great sense of humor and an even better sense of family. Lots of the women in my neighborhood were sweet on him. My mother said she had to beat them off with a stick. But he only had eyes for her. My dad was the perfect husband and father. For the first time I feel like maybe I’ve found someone who comes close to my ideal man. A man as good and as honorable as my father.
My eyes fill with tears. I grab a tissue from the cabinet behind me. When I turn around, Leslie is standing in my office and there’s a man standing slightly behind her. He snaps three quick photos as I wipe tears from my face.
“What the...” Leslie jumps between us so he can’t take another photo. She faces the man, her fingers curled into two tightly balled fists. She’s trembling, ready for action. “Why did you do that? No one invited you in here!”
I stand up and walk around my desk. “Who are you?”
“Daniel Delveccio. I’m a reporter with Celebrity Life Magazine.” The man nods. “Great to meet ya!”
“Well, it isn’t very good meeting you, Mr. Delveccio.” I wipe my face with my hands. “It’s quite rude of you to come, uninvited, into my office, my place of work, and just start snapping photos. And why the hell would you want a picture of me anyway? I’m nobody.”
“You’re Melanie Louise Gordon, birthday June twenty-fifth. Head of the Great Lakes branch of Jasper & Graevel Personnel Services. Love interest of the elusive Beau Montgomery.”
“How do you know all of that about me? Are you some sort of stalker?” I sit on the edge of my desk, feeling light-headed. My heart is threatening to escape my chest. “Wait, Beau Montgomery? What are you talking about?”
“First, it’s my job to know everything about any and everyone connected with the Montgomery clan.” He plops down in a chair and adjusts the lens on his camera. “The member of the clan I could never get a beat on is the reclusive Beau Montgomery. That is, until I received an anonymous tip last week that you were dating him.”
“What do you mean, ‘everyone connected with the Montgomery clan’? Are you talking about Marshall Montgomery? Of Skye Records?” I ask incredulously.
“One and the same.” The man crosses his legs and settles into the chair as if he’s on his couch at home.
“I don’t know him or anyone in the entertainment industry.” I snort. “You, Mr. Delveccio, have gotten your facts all wrong. Perhaps you should consider another job.”
“I don’t think facts much matter to a rag like Celebrity Life Magazine.” Leslie stands over Delveccio menacingly, one hand on her hip, her head rocking and a finger pointed in his face.
“I don’t have my facts right?” The tone of his voice and the thickness of his British accent match the level of his growing agitation. Delveccio opens his messenger bag and pulls out a manila folder. He opens the folder, digs through its contents, takes out a picture and shoves it at me. “I don’t have my facts straight, eh? Then who, might I ask, is this, Ms. Gordon?”
I take the picture from him and peer closely at it. “This is a picture of me and my boyfriend, Raine Mason, at the basketball game this weekend,” I say. “So what?” I shove the picture at him. It lands in his lap.
Delveccio looks at me and laughs.
Now my irritation is rising. “Please leave my office, or I’ll call security and have them haul your ass out of here by any means necessary.” I pick up my letter opener in case Delveccio is some misguided psycho who plans to do us harm.
He leans forward in his seat and assesses my expression. “For fuck’s sake! This is grand! You really don’t know, do ya?”
The I’m-crazier-than-you, don’t-try-me smirk leaves my face. “I really don’t know what?”
He approaches me. Leslie grabs my golf umbrella and holds it like a baseball bat. She’s about to tee off on the back of his head. I hold a hand up to stop her, at least for now. I’m curious. I want to hear what he has to say.
Delveccio puts the manila folder marked “Beau Montgomery” on my desk and opens it. He takes out another photo of us at the game. It’s a close-up of Raine. Then he digs out another picture of a young man with a wild crop of curly hair, smoking a joint with some of his friends. From the style of their clothing, it was taken at least twenty years ago.
“Your point?” I shrug.
“Don’t you see it?” Delveccio’s growing impatient with my apparent ignorance. “Compare the photos.”
I pick up both photos and study them. The older one isn’t very good, and I don’t r
eally recognize the boy he’s indicating. I do, however, recognize two of the other boys in the photo. They’re former child stars. One is dead now. The other is floating in and out of rehab clinics.
“Mr. Delveccio,” I say, standing, “I’m a very busy woman. Please tell me what this means. Who is this boy? And what has this got to do with Raine?”
Leslie puts down the umbrella and comes closer. She picks up the photo of the child stars gone wrong. “This is Beau Montgomery. I adored him and all his other little washed-up child star friends when I was a kid,” she says.
“I remember him vaguely. More the name than the face, though. He was Marshall Montgomery’s son. He hung out with a bunch of bratty, punk celeb kids. They were always on the cover of those teen mags or in the news for trashing hotels, crashing their expensive cars or getting busted smoking dope.”
“Indeed.” Delveccio beams.
“What ever happened to him anyway?” I ask, sitting in my chair again.
Delveccio’s smile widens to reveal his stained, brown teeth. He taps the photo of Raine.
“Are you saying that Melanie’s boyfriend, Raine, is really Beau Montgomery?”
I look at Leslie, then at Delveccio, who nods and sticks a toothpick between his teeth.
“Finally!” he says. “I was beginning to think you two were daft.”
Leslie picks up both photos up and studies them. Her head goes back and forth from one photo to the other, like she’s watching a tennis match. I watch her face carefully. She bites her lip and nods, her eyes apologizing.
I take the photos from her and study them. They’re about the same skin tone. Hair is very different. Different type, texture and color. Similar noses.
Then I see it. The tattoo. There’s a sword that runs the length of the boy’s arm. The red rose and green thorns aren’t wrapped around it, but I’m sure it’s the same tattoo I’ve traced with my fingertips many times.
I can’t see his eyes through the dark shades he’s wearing. But I know they’re the same steely gray eyes I’ve been swooning in all weekend. The eyes I always thought were an open door straight into Raine’s heart and soul.
