28. Gemma
Chapter 28
Gemma
I ’m not sure if what I’m feeling is jealousy or competition or some kind of twisted animosity, but I dress to kill for our dinner date with Ben and Victoria.
Taylor lets out a long whistle as I emerge from the bedroom and stand at the top of the white tiled steps leading down to the main living space. “Looking hot, witch. This climate suits you.”
I laugh and take the handrail to get myself safely down the stairs in the three-inch heels I bought years ago for graduation and haven’t worn since. “I brought all the clothes it’s never warm enough to wear in Seattle.”
“I think we need a full fashion show. What do you say, Ains?” Taylor tosses the question over his shoulder as Ainsley appears from the lower-level bathroom where he disappeared to shower.
Taylor doesn't whistle this time. He doesn’t say anything at all, just stares.
My curiosity grows at his uncharacteristic quiet and I hurry down the last few steps to get a look at Ainsley, who’s now standing in the kitchen.
I gasp when I see him.
He does resort casual like he was born in it. Which, hell, he probably was.
Cream colored slacks fall looser than his normal pants, with a hem that was no doubt put there just for him landing above sand-brown woven loafers. His sky-blue button up, almost sheer with how light the material is, hangs open over his bare chest.
“You look like you work for the mafia,” Taylor says finally with a small laugh.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Ainsley responds, pulling at his collar in a way that really does resemble a mafia boss in a TV show.
“I might have to stay home. I’m not sure they’re going to let me in the restaurant with you two looking like that and me in my old shorts and T-shirt.”
I want to tell him he looks handsome just as he is, which is true, but I keep quiet as Ainsley comes forward, looking him up and down, considering.
“I’m not sure you’ll fit my shoes, but I think I have some clothes that will work. Come see.” He walks back down the lower hallway to the back room where he got dressed.
“I’ll fill your fucking shoes, asshole,” Taylor mutters to himself, but he follows.
Biting my lip to hold back a squeal of glee, I chase along after them.
Ainsley’s laying out a few outfits on the sofa. I lean against the doorway and watch my guys face off over designer clothes.
“Your suitcase was the same size as mine. How the fuck did you bring all these clothes?”
Ainsley just laughs, tossing a shirt, still on a wooden hanger, over a pair of olive-green slacks on the back of the sofa before shaking his head and replacing it with another. “These are just island clothes. They were in my closet at my dad’s house over on Merit. He must have had someone bring them over.”
“That’s some spoiled-ass, wasteful bullshit,” Taylor says, but he says it while lifting a cream-colored button-up and holding it up to himself in front of a long mirror.
Ainsley walks up behind him and tugs on the hem of his black T-shirt.
When Taylor pulls it off and tosses it onto the bed,I nearly whimper and melt onto the floor. Ainsley takes the cream button-up from Taylor’s hands and helps him slide the soft fabric over his bare skin.Taylor adjusts the collar, and the two men stare into the mirror together for a long moment before Taylor clears his throat.
“You said you might have pants that would fit?” he asks.
And I can’t hold back any longer. “Oh, please take his shorts off.” The words come out breathless, almost to the point of begging.
Taylor shoots a narrow-eyed glare my way as Ainsley chooses a pair of slacks from the pile. “We’re getting dressed for dinner with the folks, witch. There’s no time for any funny business.”
He holds my gaze as he says it though, his smoldering eyes telling a different story untilthe moment is cut short by Ainsley tossing him a pair of pants, followed shortly after by a belt that Taylor barely sees coming in time.
“Try those on,” he says, staying on the other side of the room as Taylor works the button on his shorts.
The guys are focused completely on each other again, and it’s so fucking hot, my knees quiver in my too high heels.Taylor drops his shorts, revealing nothing underneath, and bends over to step into the slacks.
“No underwear?” I ask as I watch his fine ass disappear into the dark olive pants.
“Not in the tropics,” Ainsley answers for him, still watching Taylor getting dressed.
“Wait, that means you’re not wearing any underwear either?” I ask.
Ainsley shakes his head, gaze rising from Taylor's pants to his bare chest under the still open shirt before breaking away and meeting mine. “Didn’t anyone tell you?”
I fake indignation with a huff, hands on my hips as I take a step into the room. “I guess I didn’t get the memo.”
Taylor turns to where I stand just inside the doorway, giving me the attention I’m clearly begging for. “Take em off.”
I huff again, making a show of wriggling my tight dress up above my hips until the white lace of my panties is in full view. “I’m not sure if I can in these shoes,” I say, batting my eyelashes at Taylor first, and then Ainsley.
Ains responds immediately, starting toward me, but Taylor stops him with an arm across his chest.
“Struggle.”
His one word heats the entirety of my body, and I can hardly suck in a breath with how hot the room gets all of a sudden.
I do struggle a bit. In normal circumstances, I could remove my own underwear in a quick second, but these are not normal circumstances.
It’s easy enough to get the lace thong down to my ankles, which I bend entirely over for unnecessarily, but it’s quite another to lift each heeled foot, one at a time, while bent over, to pull the fabric free.When I finally stand back up, flushed from my time bent over, Taylor’s got Ainsley’s shirt in his fist, the two guys standing poised to help, or fight, or….fuck?
“Maybe we won’t make it to dinner after all,” I whisper, even hotter now that I can see the four blazing eyes burning into my bare pussy where I still haven’t pulled my dress back down.
Taylor releases Ainsley’s shirt with a shove. “We’re going to fucking dinner. Get yourself together.” He looks from me, with my skirt around my waist, to Ainsley, who’s still got bedroom eyes, and huffs. “Both of you.”
I feel like a mafia princess from a romance novel as I step out of the elevator, one handsome, insanely well-dressed man on each arm.
Taylor gave us the rundown of why this restaurant is so famous and why we’re lucky to have secured an elusive reservation on the elevator ride, Ainsley looking on, amused. I’m sure he knows all about the awards and accolades Taylor lists off, but he keeps his mouth shut.
I’m happy there’s something like this for Taylor on the trip. When Ainsley invited us, I knew it was a long shot for Taylor to agree to take the days off and get on a plane, but there was no way I was going without him. Now that I’ve gotten used to it being the three of us all the time, I don’t know how I’ll ever live without them.And I also don’t know how long I can realistically keep the three of us together, so I want to spend as much time with them as possible.
Ainsley tries to drop my hand as we walk down the hallway toward the door to the restaurant, but I grab for it, capturing it in my own and looking up at him in confusion. But then I glance back down at our clasped hands, and over at where I also hold Taylor’s hand.
And I let go of them both.
“Is that how this is going to be? We’re going to spend this dinner pretending we’re something we’re not to keep dear old dad happy?” Taylor asks, adjusting his collar now that he has both hands free.
“Taylor,” I admonish him with a soft smack on his arm.
“You just described my entire life,” Ainsley says, pulling open the heavy wood door to reveal a smiling hostess.
I’ve seen pictures of the Raft dining room on the internet, but none of them do justice to the actual room. It’s bright and airy, with whitewashed walls and light wood tables, accents of teal and dark green. The soft, beach colored palette allows the goblets of dark red and sparkling pink wine to be part of the overall vibe. They stand out like gems twinkling in the soft, golden sunlight.
Ben and Victoria are waiting for us at the bar, and Ainsley leads us right over to them, greeting his dad with a smile and a side hug. No hugs for Victoria, though. Ainsley steps back between Taylor and me after clapping his father on the back.
I can see Taylor shifting from foot to foot and I glance over at him, his expression stoney and unreadable. I’m suddenly a bit worried about how this is all going to go. Since his admission in our hotel room earlier, Ainsley’s gone out of his way to assure us that everything really is fine. That he’s okay with his father’s relationship. That the three of them get along, and he’s looking forward to the wedding.
I want to believe him. No, I do believe him.
It’s just…the other stuff.
When Ainsley broke down after pulling that card in his living room, the pain he expressed was about trying to live up to his father’s expectations. How hard it was for the two of them after losing his mother. How that pain morphed into a cage of fake happiness that Ainsley thinks he has to live in forever just so this man won’t ever have to feel sad or disappointed again.
That’s the dad drama I’m concerned about.
I’m determined to keep my own personal grudges to myself.
As I sneak a sideways glance at Taylor once more, however, I can tell he’s taking a different approach to the interpretation of this situation.Taylor’s someone who’s at risk of losing something he’s wanted his whole life because of his own parents’ negligence. Or at least that’s how he sees it. He’s expressed to me more than once how they stole his life from him. First by putting the family property at risk, then by making him give up his own dreams to fund the work that needed to be done to save that property.And, if there’s one thing I know about Taylor, it’s that he’s protective as hell of the people he considers his own. I’ve been noticing him looking at Ainsley in that way for weeks. The same way he looks at me.
I pray that Ainsley’s unsuspecting father survives this meal.
Our table is clearly the best in the house, rectangular and situated right in front of a large, picture window that’s currently showcasing a spectacular sunset. Golds, pinks, and wisps of blue paint the sky as we approach the chairs. There are six of them for the five of us. Ben, in casual confidence that he’s clearly no stranger to, leads Victoria to a window seat and pulls out her chair, helping her unnecessarily into it.
Ainsley steps toward me, probably planning the same move, but Taylor beats him to it, settling me across from Victoria and then turning, to pull out the chair at the end of the table for Ainsley before taking his own seat between the two of us.
Directly across from Ben.
I can’t look at Ben, but my darting gaze catches Victoria’s curious one, and I look down at my hands. Then, with a deep breath, I muster my courage and look back up.
She’s younger than me, I know that from when Taylor grilled Ainsley earlier. She has kind eyes, though, bright green against the backdrop of her dark hair. She smiles her red painted lips, and I smile back, feeling myself calm at the silent camaraderie that forms between the two of us.I hope I get the chance to actually talk to her this weekend, somewhere other than the battlefield of this table. I see the glimmer of insight in those wise eyes, and I’d love to hear it.
The server fills our wine glasses with an effervescent-looking white wine that he describes in detail, but I ignore, waiting impatiently for him to leave so I can drink it.The cool, crisp wine takes the edge off my nerves, and I exhale fully for the first time since we sat down.
Ben is the first to speak, breaking through the now uncomfortable silence.
“Taylor, I hear you’re in the restaurant industry. Raft is celebrating its sixth year in the running for the Pendleton Award.”
Maybe I didn’t give Ben the credit I should have. He clearly identified his greatest opponent and disarmed the man with one line.
Taylor softens as he sets his own wine glass down. “Didn’t you guys win a few years back?”
Ben nods. “We sure did. And we’ve been up against steep competition ever since. The bar keeps rising in this industry, and we keep rising with it.”
“I’ll admit, this restaurant was the reason I let these two talk me into coming.”
Ben sits back in his chair just slightly, cradling his wine glass.
The shift is subtle, but powerful. He just led Taylor down the exact path he wanted, to the subject he wanted to land on.
I don’t know why I was concerned for this man’s safety. He can take care of himself.
Ainsley, no doubt an expert on his father’s masterful interrogation skills, sits forward. “I haven’t eaten here in at least a couple of years. I think the last time was Sam and Naomi’s engagement party. Is that right?”
Ben’s gaze rests on Taylor for another long moment before relinquishing the fight and shifting to his son. “I think so. And that wasn’t even the full tasting menu. You’re all in for a treat.” He glances magnanimously from Ainsley to Taylor to me, and then over to Victoria, who he pulls a bit closer with his arm around her waist. “The menu this season is incredible.”
The first course arrives, and we all fall gratefully on the tiny, artfully arranged salad like the life raft it is. Between bites and sips of wine, there’s small talk about the weather, the beach, Ben’s house on Merit Island, which I know from my research is only a short boat ride away from the island we’re currently on.
It’s not until the third course has been cleared and a fourth or fifth wine poured—I’m already losing count—that Ben turns his sights on me.
“Publishing, is it?” he asks, sitting forward with his hands clasped in front of him, giving me his full attention.
I can feel all eyes on me as I clear my throat to answer. “That’s right. I did my undergrad in creative writing and marketing, so publishing seemed a natural fit for a graduate program.”
I hear the misstep as it leaves my lips, but it’s too late to take it back.
“So, not a passion degree then? A career move?”
I meet his eye as he tosses the words out casually enough. I will not let this man intimidate me. “I’m a writer. I was focused mostly on my poetry when I started undergrad. Now I’m focused on getting a job.”
Ben’s eyebrows raise just slightly as I please him with my response.
Then he goes back in for the attack. “Am I correct in remembering you lived with the Whitmores?”
I’m stunned silent, my intake of breath too audible. I never thought he’d take the conversation in this direction. I had every intention of leaving this all in the past. Taylor sits forward, ready to defend me, but I place a hand on his arm. “Marta and Paul, yes. And their family. They took me in, or kept me, I guess, after my mom…died.”
He narrows his eyes slightly as if wondering how much more of this questioning he can get away with. He seems to decide he’s already on thin ice. “I don’t see them around much anymore,” he concedes.
“Me neither,” I say softly.
The waiter lays out another course, and we all politely listen to the description of ingredients and which local farm or cove they were harvested from. When they leave us to explore our food with yet another generous pour of wine, I notice that everyone has lifted their fork except Ben.
I look up, and he’s watching me with an intensity so reminiscent of Ainsley, it sucks the breath right out of me.
“I was sorry to hear about what happened to your mother.” He lays the words out before me in a neat, straight line. An offering so surprising that for a moment I can only gape at him, the shock of him mentioning her so great, it derails my brain.
“Dad,” Ainsley jumps in, admonishing him, clearly just as surprised as I am about his father’s willingness to bring it up.
Ben just shrugs it off, though, lifting his fork. “It’s true. I am very sorry. I know it’s a tough subject, but it needs to be said.”
Mother fucker.
“It’s your fault, you know,” I blurt out, feeling the air around me shift as the whole table tenses at once. “If you hadn’t fired her, it never would have happened.”
I suck in a breath and blink rapidly at my own mournful admission. I never imagined I’d get a chance to say it to this man, the words I’d rehearsed over and over during my teen years, praying I’d run into him at one of the parties the Whitmore’s threw, or on the street in the city.
It doesn’t bring the relief or the vindication I imagined it would, however. I just feel silly. And wrong. And furiously apologetic.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that,” I add quickly, looking down at my plate, feeling all eyes at the table on me.
“No, that’s alright,” Ben starts, but I still don’t look at him. “It’s true enough, I suppose. And I apologize for that.”
The way he graciously accepts my accusation. The calm, matter of fact way he offers me the words I thought I wanted to hear. It shakes something loose inside me. Something I thought was locked away forever.
“I’m going to use the restroom,” I mumble without looking up, tucking my napkin onto my chair as I get up.
“I’ll join you,” I hear Victoria say as I push my chair back, looking around wildly for some kind of sign to point me in the right direction.
“The hell you will,” Taylor growls, out of his own seat and on my heels before I even realize what’s happening.He takes my arm and leads me back out the door we came in, back down the long hallway, into the bright lobby.The sign on the door of the ladies’ room glows gold in the sunset light, and I head straight for it, Taylor not even pausing at the door before following me in.
I rest my elbows on the black granite countertop and cradle my head. “I’m such an idiot.”
The door swings open once more, and I prepare myself to apologize for bringing a man into the ladies’ room but it’s just Ainsley.
“I’m sorry I ruined dinner,” I say.
He scoffs, moving past where Taylor is leaning on the counter next to me and slipping both arms through my arms, around my chest, pulling me up and into him. “You didn’t ruin anything. He shouldn’t have brought that up.”
The relief of feeling so safe in the moment allows the tears I prayed wouldn’t come to escape. I cry harder as I think of going back to the table in that fancy restaurant with ruined makeup.
“I’m going to kill him,” Ainsley mutters as I sob.
“Not if I kill him first,” Taylor says behind him.
“No, no.” I shake my head and try to stand on my own, settling for only leaning part of my weight on Ainsley, resting my back on the low countertop. “He apologized. He said the exact thing I’ve been wanting him to say for all these years.”
“Why are you still so upset, then?” Ainsley asks earnestly, just like The Fool would.
I shake my head and meet his gaze, all bright, worried, and angry. “I thought if I ever got to tell him it was his fault and he apologized, I’d feel better. But it didn’t change anything. She’s still gone. I’m still alone.”
“You are not alone, lover,” Taylor says softly, moving closer so he’s leaning on the counter right next to me, slipping an arm around my waist so we’re tucked in together, both facing Ainsley where he stands close in front of us.
I bow my head and Taylor bows his, bringing his chin to the top of my head. After a moment, Ainsley joins us, three heads bowed together in a moment of silence for my loss. For Ainsley’s loss. For the loss that life brings us all if we’re lucky enough to survive.
“We don’t have to go back in there. We can go up to the room,” Taylor offers, sacrificing his opportunity to eat at the award-winning restaurant for me.
But I won’t accept that. “It’s okay. I’m just going to clean myself up and we can go back to the table. ”
“Are you sure?” he asks as I turn to face the mirror, catching his concerned gaze in the reflection.
I nod. “I just needed a minute to catch my breath.” I wipe at the smeared eye make-up, using one of the hotel’s fancy paper towels to do a pretty good job of making it look like I didn’t just have an emotional breakdown. I wonder if that’s what they put them in here for. I wonder how often women like me have to pull themselves together in the bathroom, suck it up, and head back out to the big, scary world.
Glancing back up at the men reflected behind me, the heat from their bodies warming my bare skin, I wonder how many of those women have such a steadfast support system in place. If even one of them have two men standing guard over the bathroom sink as she collects herself.
I know the answer.
Turning, I smile and look at each of my guys in turn. “I’m not alone, am I?”
“Never,” Taylor says, at the same time Ainsley responds, “No way,” with a shake of his head.
“Ready to do this?” I ask, wondering if I am, indeed, ready to walk back in there and face the shame of having run out in tears after accusing Ainsley’s dad of killing my mom.
“Ready when you are,” Ainsley responds, holding the door for us to pass through.