The Sweetest Taboo (A Modern Vintage Romance)

Chapter 22

Igot to her place by eighty-thirty the next morning. I”d barely been able to sleep the night before. I was excited; I was taking Isha George on a date.

At the ranch, we”d gone on walks, fishing, swimming, and riding. We went dancing that one time with the other ranch hands. But we never went on an honest-to-God date. I was rusty. I couldn”t remember the last time I”d been on a traditional date. I usually met women somewhere, fucked them, and left. I”d had a few one-night stands in the past six years, but I”d never asked a woman out.

In my desperation, I tried to get some help from Mick, who wasn”t any help at all.

”She doesn”t date, pal.”

”But if she did, what would she like?” I probed.

”How am I supposed to know?”

”Come on, man, help a guy out,” I pleaded.

”She likes my bar?”

Arturo was a little more help, and between him and a phone call to Renata, who”d been amused as hell with me, I put together a half decent date on short notice.

”I said nine,” Isha muttered when she opened the door and saw me. She was in pajama shorts and a tank top.

She didn”t have a bra on, and I didn”t want to be a lecherous old man, but her tits were bouncing, and my dick didn”t have a brain or a conscience.

”I didn”t want to be late.”

She yawned and groaned when Flora came running. ”Mum, are you ready?”

”No. And I won”t be for another twenty minutes.”

Flora looked at me and rolled her eyes in the way her mother did. ”Mum is not a morning person.”

”No kidding.”

Flora beamed at me. ”Good morning, Rowan. Mum said you and she were going on a date. I am going on one with Grandpa and Nana.”

Isha sighed. ”Let”s get you some breakfast, and while you eat, I can get ready.”

”Why don”t you get ready? I can take care of breakfast,” I suggested.

She looked at me speculatively. I remembered what Mick had said about how she didn”t trust Flora with anyone except a select few. But she was going to be right here, so I hoped she”d agree.

”She likes muesli with yogurt, and bananas and strawberries.”

”I”ll take care of it.” I kissed her forehead softly, and she looked at me surprised. ”Go, get ready.”

Isha”s kitchen was bright, and the small dining table was charming with fresh wildflowers, and table setting for two.

”Mum and I have breakfast together every morning,” Flora told me.

She made sure I served her the correct breakfast. It was the strawberry yogurt and not the Greek one, that was mum”s. The muesli was the one with hearts on the cover not the plain one. And she wanted only bananas since the yogurt already had strawberries in it.

The kid was adorable. She”d get along like a house on fire with Amy and Carla. Three beautiful cherubs. How a man like me was surrounded by little girls was a mystery, but there was no way I”d give any of them up for anything. I”d seen Flora for a minute, and I already thought of her as mine, because she was Isha”s.

Flora chatted away as she ate.

”You don”t want breakfast?” she asked suddenly.

”I already ate. I”m going to make myself a cup of coffee, though.”

”Mum loves her coffee.” Flora then ate some of her muesli and, after she chewed thoughtfully, added, ”She says no way Jose in the morning before she has coffee.”

While Isha got ready, and I had the pleasure of spending time with her daughter, I learned Flora was a well-adjusted, happy kid, who loved her mum, Uncle Mick, Uncle Art, Nana, and Grandpa—in that order. Family first and then friends, she confided in me when I asked about her friends.

”My bio mum was my mum”s best friend,” she said, surprising me. ”So, it”s not like friends are not important. Sometimes they become family, and that”s the cool thing. Like Uncle Mick and Uncle Art. They”re friends who are family.”

I nodded gravely.

She ate her cereal, and then pulled a small stool to stand up on to rinse her bowl and spoon in the sink. She opened the dishwasher and put her dishes in.

”I can put your cup in, too. I do it for Mum.”

I finished my coffee and handed the cup to her.

She took care of the cup and held her hand out to me. I put my hand in hers.

”Now, you can read to me,” she suggested. I would”ve loved to do exactly that, but her mum was ready.

Isha came out as she finished putting on an earring. Her dark hair hung in loose waves around her shoulders. Her hair was longer and looked richer than it had years ago. She”d darkened her eyes somehow, and they were more beautiful than ever. She wore a white shirtdress that went below her knee. Her sandals were not the sexy kind but functional, made to walk.

There was absolutely nothing special about what she was wearing—and yet, she could walk the runway. The elegance that had drawn me to her six years ago was still there, a part of her, innately Isha.

She smiled broadly at Flora. ”Were you trying to get Rowan to read you a book?”

Flora looked at her mother innocently. ”I didn”t know how long you”d take. I didn”t want Rowan to get bored.”

So, yeah, I fell for the kid. Hard. How could you not?

I said as much to Isha after we dropped Flora at her grandparents” house, which was a couple of blocks away. I met Sol and Bea, who seemed like wonderful people. They were just as smitten with Isha as they were with Flora.

”She”s wonderful,” Isha agreed. ”Yas was…well…I see her in Flora. And I miss her all the time.”

I put an arm around Isha and squeezed gently.

”Well, where are we going on this date?”

”Since we only have three hours and I didn”t want to waste any time in New York traffic, we aren”t going too far,” I told her. ”And you have to wait to learn more. It”s a surprise.”

When we were in Montana and went on hikes and walks, we held hands. I put my hand out, and she waited for an infinitesimal second before she laid hers in mine. I squeezed, relieved that she was giving me this.

The summer morning was already warm, hinting at the hot day ahead as I led Isha through the vibrant, flower-lined paths of the Queens Botanical Garden.

Planning this first date, I wanted to create a moment that was as meaningful as it was memorable, and I was nervous as hell. I was scared she”d hate the surprise, that I”d inadvertently say something to fuck it up.

”One of the best times on my ranch with you were when we went on our walks,” I told her. ”I know this isn”t Montana, but….”

”It”s nice here,” she mumbled.

The gardens were alive with the buzz of insects and the gentle rustle of leaves, a natural symphony that played to the rhythm of our steps. I had chosen a spot I”d been told was secluded and stunning, a small clearing surrounded by a riot of vivid summer blooms.

I”d talked to the concierge of the hotel, and he”d arranged it through a service.

Isha stood still as we came to the area where a blanket was spread out under the shade of a tree. A rather large picnic basket sat on the edge of the blanket. There was an ice bucket with champagne, and two glasses on a cutting board.

”Is this for us?” she asked softly.

”For you, first, and then for us.”

She looked up at me and gave me a tremulous smile. ”Why are you going to so much trouble?”

I stroked her cheek gently with the back of my hand. ”How can it be trouble when it”s for you?”

”I haven”t had champagne for breakfast in…forever. I think the last time might have been at the ranch.”

I tugged her to the blanket, and we settled down. I opened the bottle of champagne; and poured.

We clinked glasses. ”Thank you,” she whispered. ”This is lovely.”

”Yes, it is,” I said, my meaning unmistakable because I was looking at her.

”Well, what”s in the basket?” Her eyes sparkled with delight, and in that moment, I felt a surge of something daring and bold, like the first leap into a cool, inviting lake.

”I did some research and was told that the one thing you miss about London is a traditional full English breakfast.” I opened the basket. ”Viola!”

She burst out laughing.

I brought all the containers out and put together two plates, each with bacon, a poached egg, grilled tomatoes, fried mushrooms, buttered toast, sausages, black pudding, and baked beans.

I opened the last closed container. ”And this is the pièce de résistance.”

”I can”t wait.”

”Bubble and squeak.” I presented the fried potatoes and cabbage.

”I don”t think I”ve ever eaten a full English with champagne.”

I set the thermos of coffee and two cups, as well as two mason jars filled with orange juice, set them next to the champagne.

”This is very well-appointed picnic basket.”

I couldn”t stop looking at her as we ate. I could see a flicker of the girl I knew. Isha was never carefree, but she”d been, in some ways, freer with her feelings—now she was controlled. Part of it was simply growing up, but the other, I feared, was the damage I had inflicted.

”Did I hurt you?” I asked because that had been bothering me since I knew for sure that I was her first lover.

She didn”t pretend to not understand. ”It hurt…but there was also a lot of pleasure.”

”I”m sorry. I saw the blood…you fell asleep, and I cleaned you up. I knew then, I think, even if I didn”t want to believe it. I thought maybe you were small, or that you were on your period.”

”Why didn”t you want to believe me?” she inquired, not with malice, but genuine curiosity.

”I didn”t want to accept that I”d fallen in love with you. It was easier to think of you as Ace”s girlfriend, whom I”d slept with and had sent away.”

She flinched at my explanation. But it was the truth. And I didn”t want to sugarcoat it. If she was going to trust me, it would require me to tell her my truth every time she asked a question. It would not always be pretty, but it would be honest.

”I was so young.” She twirled the champagne glass in her hands. ”After I came back to London and pulled myself together, I wondered if I”d mistaken infatuation for love. That”s when I wrote the letters and sent the money back. Well…it took me six months to save up enough to send you what I could afford.”

”I wish you hadn”t. But I understand your reasons. I’d made it impossible for you to keep it.”

She drank some champagne. ”When I moved to New York a year later, I kept hoping I”d somehow bump into you.”

”And you did, at Claudio”s house, of all places.”

She chuckled. ”What were the odds, right? Yas told me it was okay to love someone even if they hurt us or didn”t love us back. We couldn”t control how other people acted, only how we reacted.”

”I”m sorry I didn”t have the chance to meet her. She sounds like a remarkable woman.”

Her eyes swam with tears, but they didn”t fall. ”I miss her so much. Whenever Flora does something amazing, I want to tell Yas how great her daughter is. I want her to know that her daughter is loved like we were not.”

”You”ve done an amazing job raising her. She”s wonderful.” I filled her glass with more champagne.

”Are you trying to get me tipsy?”

”No. Absolutely not.” I didn”t want her to think that I was in any way trying to manipulate her.

”It was a joke, Rowan,” she cajoled.

I sighed. ”I don”t want to fuck this up.”

”You”re not,” she assured me. ”You”re the same…but also different. A little…smoother around the edges.”

I laughed. ”That”s one way to describe it. I spent a lot of time self-flagellating after you left. The first year was the hardest. I missed you all the time. Your absence was like a fucking toothache that never got better. I couldn”t understand how someone I”d known for a short three weeks could have such an impact on me.”

”I know that feeling,” she admitted.

”I was in San Francisco for a meeting, and at the hotel bar—that”s usually where I found someone for the night. There was a woman there; good-looking, willing, interested. But I couldn”t bring myself to take her to my room. That”s when I knew I was in trouble.”

She set her glass down. ”You slept with a lot of women…after?” She didn”t look at me when she asked the question.

I lifted her chin with a finger, so she”d see my eyes when I spoke. ”A few. But it”s been a while. The few times I did, it made me feel empty. So, I stopped. I got busy with the ranch, and I moved out of the house.”

”You did?”

”Yeah.” I let go off her chin and took her hand in mine. ”I can”t fucking stand Caitlyn. I remodeled one of the old bunkhouses into a home for myself. It”s small, but it suits me. I built a wraparound porch, and the views are, as you must remember, spectacular.” I played with her fingers, wanting to keep touching her a long as she”d let me.

”You”re close to your nieces?” she asked me.

”Yeah. Amy and Clara.” I showed her pictures on my phone and told her about them. ”Even though they’re not mine, I feel like they are, and they temper me.”

”Flora does that for me,” she admitted.

”Will you tell me something?”

”Depends upon what you want to know.”

She had become so careful. Six years ago, she”d have just said yes, no caveats. ”Fair enough. I triggered you at the bar that day, didn”t I?”

She looked uncomfortable with the question. ”It was the sexual contact followed by how you talked to me…the way you laughed.”

I remember laughing harshly, trying to hide how desperately I wanted her. My laughter was followed by ugly and hurtful words. ”Darlin”, no matter how hot you get me, I”m not putting my dick inside you if my brother”s been there recently. I”m not into sloppy seconds, especially my brother”s.”

”I”m so sorry, Isha. My lack of self-awareness, my inability to understand how I felt about you, my fear…all of it cost you.”

”I was a willing participant.”

”You were twenty-one, I was twenty-nine. I think we know who the grown up in that situation was.”

”You are way older than me,” she mocked.

”Imagine how I feel,” I joked. ”Does it bother you that I”m an old man?”

She ran a hand through my hair. ”You”re just thirty-five, not that old. Though, you have some gray hairs now.” She touched my sideburns that had silver in them.

”I do. My father got them early as well.” I loved her hands on me, couldn’t remember the last time anything had felt this fucking good.

”And some wrinkles.” She touched the skin around my eyes. ”Still, you”re the most handsome man, no matter where we are, and I can”t look away.”

I held her hand to my cheek, and drew it to my mouth. I kissed it gently.

”Tell me about Yasmine,” I asked.

”Why?”

”She was important to you, and I never had the chance to meet her. She”s Flora”s mother. I”d like to get to know Yas.”

”She had a wicked sense of humor and this amazing optimism,” she began.