by Moriah Jovan
“None of them.” He wiped his hand over his mouth. “I knew nothing about you last year. When I met you at the elementary school, saw your eyes, understood what you wanted to do for Junior, I—” He sighed. “I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to talk to you. That’s all. It’s why I asked you to have breakfast with me, so we could talk in neutral territory. I didn’t know anything about what you had done with your life until after you sent me packing.”
“Oh,” she said again, this time with some surprise.
“I want to have dinner with that nice, pretty lady I met at Chouteau Elementary last year.” He shoved his hand through his hair, so frustrated with himself he couldn’t stand it. When had he not been able to talk to a woman? When had he not been comfortable with a woman he wanted in bed? “Shit. Nothing’s coming out right.”
“So . . . you don’t know who this woman is, in the car beside you.”
“No,” he breathed, relieved that she now understood. “And I want to find out.”
“That’s not all you want.”
He looked at her sharply. “No, it’s not,” he affirmed immediately, “and we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you didn’t want the same.”
She shrugged, then one corner of her mouth lifted up with some reluctance. “You do get straight to the point, don’t you?”
“I don’t know how to talk to you,” he muttered. “It’s the damnedest thing. I’ve never been so tongue-tied in my life, like my foot’s halfway down my throat. I end up just . . . telling you exactly what I think and feel.”
She said nothing to that, and he glanced at her to see her reaction. But she sat, her head bowed, her finger picking at one of the many tiny bumps in the fabric of her skirt. “I had a crush on you,” she said low, without looking at him. “You knew that, right?”
“Yes.”
“I, um, never really . . . Uh, I didn’t—” She stopped. Took a deep breath. “I never got over it,” she said in a rush. “That’s why I’ve been so angry with you. You were getting married and you looked at me like— Like I’ve always wanted you to look at me. And now you’re upset because of Sebastian . . . I don’t know what to do, what to think. You were always larger than life— I have cooked for and served—been propositioned by—some of the most famous, powerful men in the world, but you— To me, you’re . . . apart. Separate.” She paused, then whispered, “Unattainable.”
He swallowed at the word she had chosen, his whole world tilting wildly. “So . . . what you’re telling me is that you don’t know who you’re having dinner with, either.”
Vanessa looked to him slowly. “No.”
He took his hand off the gearshift and offered it to her. “Hi. My name’s Eric Cipriani. I teach karate.”
She stared at him, then at his hand, and began to laugh, the corners of her eyes crinkling yet again. She took his hand and shook it firmly, saying, “I’m Vanessa Whittaker and I’m . . . a cook.”
Eric looked back at the road only because he didn’t want to crash his truck.
They were getting somewhere.
Finally.
“I want to know why you broke up with Annie,” she said softly, suddenly.
That was fair. Eric drew a deep breath. “Maybe the better question would be why we were getting married.” Vanessa remained silent. “We were, well, friends with benefits,” he finally said. “We had similar goals, similar philosophies. It was a deliberate choice to be together, work together. Like a partnership.” He shrugged. “The sex was good. But . . . then we talked to you at the school and . . . ” How was he going to say this? Did he even want to? “Seeing you was kind of a defining moment for us.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Uh, Annie decided she needed more than what I could give her and I . . . needed more than what she could give me.”
Vanessa said nothing for a moment, then, “There’s more, but I understand it’s private. No problem, but . . . was she angry?”
“Not at you or me. In fact, she wanted me to get your phone number for her.”
“Oh. Okay. That’s sweet.”
“Uh, yeah. She thinks you’d be very sweet.”
Vanessa stared at him, her eyes growing big and her mouth opening as it sank in. Then she began to smile again, that wonderful smile that made the corners of her eyes crinkle. “I didn’t know she—” She put her hands over her mouth and began to giggle.
“Me neither until she suggested a threesome,” Eric said dryly, glad he’d been able to make her laugh. Perhaps letting loose with the truth—or most of it—wasn’t so bad, even if it had its rough spots. “All of a sudden, it was like hanging out with a guy, both of us drooling over you.”
“Well,” she said through fits of laughter, “I like Annie, don’t get me wrong. Just . . . not that much. If she wasn’t mad at you or me, who was she mad at?”
“Her mother,” Eric said promptly. “She needed to get away from her.” And Vanessa. “So she moved to Omaha to manage her pharma’s sales staff up there. She broke up with me after she broke up with her mother.”
Vanessa chuckled. “Took her that long, huh?”
“Some people have higher tolerance levels for abuse.”
“That’s not necessarily a good thing.”
“So . . . LaVon thinks you and Knox—?”
She turned in her seat so that she faced him, and crossed one knee over the other. He hoped his very sudden hard-on wasn’t visible. “No. It’s just something she used to hit me with, used it to try to discredit Knox. Everybody knew that Knox’s only interest in me was protecting me from LaVon.”
And from a dozen other people who might be out for revenge.
“I had study hall in the prosecutor’s office and by the time I graduated, half the egghead contingent did, too.”
Eric laughed wryly and shook his head. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? Knox must’ve been in hog heaven.”
“He got a little impatient with how many people showed up, but the other attorneys helped. Mr. Hicks taught math better than any teacher I’ve ever had.”
“What did Nocek have to say about all that?”
“Nocek had nothing to say about anything Knox did after he killed Parley. Nocek knew he was next on the list.”
Ah, yes. That made perfect sense.
“Do you know, all these years that he went to the Ozarks— To his inn, he said. I never knew it was you.”
She started and looked at him sharply. “You didn’t?”
He shook his head. “He never said a word. So, Whittaker House,” he said, fascinated by what he’d seen on her website, needing to know more about what she’d built. “Are you planning to buy out Knox’s half eventually?”
She took a deep breath. “Officially, Knox is just the CFO now. OKH Enterprises is my actual business partner.”
He looked at her sharply. “Eilis? Sebastian’s wife is your partner?”
“Yes. We’re friends. We joke about it. Compare notes. Call each other ‘Muse.’”
He began to chuckle. “God, that’s incestuous.”
She chuckled. “It is. It was strange at first, I’ll admit, but she said, ‘I knew what I was getting when I married him.’”
“How did OKH become your partner?”
“Knox took a lot of draws the last couple years before he was due to inherit. By the time he did, he’d taken his whole share from Whittaker House and more. OKH bought out Knox’s share for the price of his draws. But we work together like we always did. He does the books and the lawyering, which he can do from pretty much anywhere. I do the food and general management and direct its path. He doesn’t tell me how to do my job and I don’t tell him how to do his. Eilis doesn’t interfere unless Knox’s reports are overdue—which happens more often than I’d like.” She sighed. “I’ve had to work a lot harder since he moved to Utah. I didn’t realize how much he got done on the weekends until he wasn’t there anymore. But,” she added, “I’d rather have him alive in Utah
than dead, so I don’t say anything.”
“I miss him, too.”
She said nothing to that, but then laughed unexpectedly and laid her hand over his where it rested on the gearshift. Eric swallowed, because her laugh was so . . . husky. Earthy. “Thank you for rescuing us from the vultures back there.”
“Vanessa, I’m sorry I came. All I could think about was saying thank you and— I didn’t think. Dirk said—”
“Eric,” she interrupted, “it’s okay. I’ve been dealing with that since I was a child.”
“I know. That’s why I’m apologizing. Again. You shouldn’t have to still be dealing with it.”
“You deal with it every day.”
He shrugged. “I chose to come back. I knew what I was doing.”
She remained silent on that, he supposed, because she knew it was true. Then, “Why did you come back?” she asked slowly.
“Several reasons, but mostly because I wanted to prove to Knox I hadn’t wasted his money or his time. And, well, revenge. I don’t mind being able to rub LaVon’s nose in her shit.”
She stared at him, as if something had just occurred to her. “Your press conference,” she whispered, “last year, when you thanked Simone. That was—”
“That was me rubbing their noses in it, yes.”
Vanessa swallowed and looked away. Wiped her cheek. “I— I saw that,” she mumbled. “I thought you’d forgotten me.”
“So . . . you were already mad at me before Simone’s funeral,” he said slowly.
“Yes. Knox tried to explain, and I wouldn’t listen to him.”
“Hey, hey, don’t cry. We’re here, right? Just you and me—and Vachel,” he teased, getting a little smile out from under all those tears, “going to dinner, talking, getting things straightened out.”
She looked up at him then, and his gut lurched at the raw hope he saw in her face, the hope he returned wholeheartedly.
“Nash Piper?” he whispered.
“Friends with benefits,” she whispered back. “It’s not a problem. He has his own issues that he needs to work out. His ex-wife. He’s . . . afraid.”
Eric blinked. “Just like us.”
She nodded earnestly. “Yes, exactly. Just like us.”
“And Sebastian?”
“Who’s the slut?” she shot back.
He couldn’t help his slow grin. “Point taken.”
* * * * *
20: Sometime Blizzards Must Stop
They ended up in downtown Kansas City’s west side at a Mexican restaurant.
“Manny’s,” Vanessa murmured when Eric handed her out of his truck with some flourish. “This is nice, Eric. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Vanessa,” he whispered, giving her that saucy, sly grin, the one that had set her heart to pounding when she was a child. The tingling in the pit of her belly, the heat rising in her chest, the difficulty she was having breathing, though— That was all woman.
“Aunt Vanessa?”
Vanessa started and twisted away from Eric with a guilty jerk. She turned to see a groggy Vachel climb out of the truck. God help her if he sniffed out the sexual undercurrent flowing between Vanessa and Eric.
The boy stopped to stare at Eric’s truck, then he gestured vaguely. “I always liked your ’vette,” he muttered, sullen.
“You did?” Eric asked, obviously surprised.
“Yeah. The guys, they— They wanted to throw rocks at it, slice it up to get you back— Because of me— But . . . ”
Vanessa stared at Vachel, shocked. “What stopped them?”
Vachel’s mouth tightened and he looked away. Vanessa turned to Eric, but wouldn’t look at him. “Every day,” she murmured, “I find out something new that just kills me. He—” Salt stung her eyes. “He has this core of honor I— I’m not sure where it came from, but I think maybe it was . . . you.”
Eric squeezed her hand. “Who gave it to you?” he whispered. “Before Knox took you under his wing?”
“Laura,” she murmured. He wouldn’t know the reference, but he seemed to comprehend that she was unwilling to give any more of herself to him for now. He cleared his throat and said,
“Let’s go eat,” with exaggerated enthusiasm.
“For the record,” Vanessa said wryly as they entered the restaurant, Eric’s hand lightly splayed over her back, “I almost bought a Stingray. Seventy-six. I love them.”
“That means a lot, coming from the woman who drives the Batmobile.”
She laughed, delighted at his mock envy, but didn’t say much more because she was reeling from what was happening, the speed at which it had.
Thanks rendered.
Apologies exchanged.
Misunderstandings clarified.
Histories exposed.
Desires acknowledged.
Wants voiced.
Paths cleared.
Manny’s, cozily crowded, was far too close and personal for Vachel’s claustrophobia, and he stuck close to Vanessa on the way to their booth. She slid in first, allowing Vachel to sit on the outside. Eric slid in across from them and glanced between her and Vachel in such a way that she thought he understood.
As usual, Vachel ordered three times the amount of food he could eat, but Vanessa said nothing. He needed the security of knowing he had enough.
Eric didn’t bat an eye.
That was when she fully comprehended that Vachel and Eric already had a longstanding relationship, however dysfunctional. Vachel had always depended on Eric the way Vanessa had depended on Knox, albeit clumsily. Once Vachel learned that getting arrested would get him taken directly to the prosecutor, Eric had become the only male Vachel had allowed himself to trust—a function of both of them being victims of the same women. Eric knew Vachel in ways Vanessa didn’t, and he’d apparently done the best he could within the boundaries Vachel set for him.
“Okay, Vachel,” Eric said in a rather commanding tone, “I want you to admit you got arrested on purpose and why. I already know, but I want to hear it from you.”
He blushed and swallowed, but he obeyed. “Yeah. Well. Um, I was hungry and I couldn’t, uh, steal as much food as I could buy if I stole one big thing and hocked it.”
Vanessa felt a sharp ache behind her breastbone that never got any duller, no matter how many times she heard him say that. She remembered contemplating that course of action long ago and deciding against it, knowing what Laura would say, what she would choose.
“Why didn’t you tell me what was going on with you in that house? I must have asked you a million times.”
“I didn’t know if you were worse or better and I didn’t want to go off to foster care. I knew some foster kids at school and they didn’t have it any better than I did.”
Eric said nothing more for a moment, then nodded slowly, solemnly. “Okay, but why didn’t you just ask me for money or food? You know I would’ve given it to you.”
“I don’t know. It was easier to let you pay for everything I stole than ask for money.”
Pride, and precious little of that, was the only thing Vachel had had left by the time Vanessa had walked into his life.
Once the food came, Eric began to draw Vachel into conversation, little by little, making him comfortable—
—starting fresh with Vachel, too, both boy and man hesitantly eager to put their long and turbulent history behind them. He began by asking about school, the highland games, and what sports he was into.
“Archery.”
“You have archery at school?”
“No,” he said shortly, and Eric looked at Vanessa. She shook her head once, very slightly. Any discussion of school would ruin what was turning out to be a nice evening.
Once Vachel loosened up, he talked more and faster than he had since he’d come to Whittaker House.
Vanessa ate in silence, lost in watching Eric, only half listening to him and Vachel yammer at each other. Vachel’s maturity surprised Eric at most every turn in the conversation, and his willing
ness to talk—to Eric—shocked Vanessa.
She’d have to give the boy’s therapist a hefty Christmas bonus.
With each glance Vanessa sneaked at Eric, she ached a little. His dark face was square, carved—exotic and familiar at the same time—his black eyes flashing intelligence, his black hair gleaming, his large hands strong, his smile quick and sincere.
He smelled divine.
He wore a fine silk-blend suit of dark olive, his collar and cuffs impeccable and his tie rather bold and striking.
She knew what she’d done all these years, quietly conflating Eric into some mythic figure, pining for someone who had probably never existed. Now, sitting across from him, she wondered if she’d been that far off the mark or . . .
Don’t ever mistake sex for love because that’s when girls start getting stupid.
. . . if she was falling into the trap Giselle had warned her about.
Eric asked Vachel pointed questions about his life with Vanessa, at Whittaker House, and treated him with the respect of an equal—like the man Vachel strove to be. Vachel didn’t have enough life experience or education to truly be Eric’s equal, but Eric didn’t talk down to him or dismiss him in any way.
Nash wasn’t unkind to Vachel, but Vachel gave him no chance to be kind. Black hair and beard notwithstanding, the boy had recognized Nash immediately, and went out of his way to avoid the man. Vanessa understood that, too. After hearing that music, seeing that face and almost-bare body on his grandmother’s wall for half his life, Vachel didn’t want to hear the voice or see the man in person any more than he absolutely had to.
It was a key factor in Vanessa and Nash’s ability to keep their affair a secret from Vachel as well as everyone else.
He would not have adjusted easily to the knowledge that the aunt he loved like a mother was sleeping with a man he did not like.
Or anybody else, for that fact—and most especially Eric, a man Vachel’s mother had obsessed over his entire life. Vanessa couldn’t begin to sort out how much damage it might do to his fragile psyche if his aunt went noticeably nuts over Eric Cipriani, too.
