Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
Colt
I like to think of myself as a well-composed man, one not easily shaken, especially by things that I would find trivial if they were happening to someone else.
I’m not well-composed tonight at all. Walking through the restaurant with Rowan on my arm, I find myself grinding my teeth against each other, every muscle in my body tense.
Even as we’re seated, I have trouble concentrating on the wine list in front of me, my eyes choosing instead to flit toward the entrance every few seconds in anticipation – and fear – of my son approaching.
I eventually settle on a cabernet sauvignon and order a bottle to be brought to the table.
“Colt!” Rowan whispers as she snatches the menu from my hand. “That’s a two-thousand dollar bottle of wine.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her.
“You’re not fine.” She rests a hand on my knee and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “He’s gonna be okay.”
She sounds so confident, it could almost convince me, if I hadn’t lived through the fury that came with introducing him to my last serious girlfriend.
He was much, much younger, but I will never forget how upset he was. He went weeks, barely speaking to me, playing his music and video games as loud as he could; ignoring any request to turn down the volume, and he took all of his meals in his room, most of which he hardly touched.
My son isn’t easily upset, but when something truly bothers him, he feels it deeply. He always has. It wasn’t until I ended that relationship that he returned to his normal cheery, chatty self.
When the eye-flitting pays off and I finally catch sight of Emmett walking toward our table, I stand to greet him with a hug, clapping him on the back before we part.
“I ordered a cabernet,” I tell him, “but feel free to order whatever you’d like.”
“Nah, cab’s good,” he says, moving to his seat. He chuckles when he notices Rowan at the table and moves to give her a hug as well. “Hey,” he greets her. “I didn’t know this was a business thing.”
“Oh,” she titters.
She wipes her hands on the front of her dress – the blue one we purchased on our trip – and I can tell the wall of confidence she’d had when we got here is starting to crumble.
We make awkward, nervous small talk for several minutes as our wine is poured, and I hope to god Emmett doesn’t notice just how awkward it is. I feel like I could pick up my fucking butter knife and cut clean through the tension at the table.
After placing our dinner orders, Emmett and I tuck into our wine and Rowan sips on her lemon water, probably wishing that it was alcohol; I would be, at least.
“Emmett,” I clear my throat, “I think I should tell you that Rowan and her sister have been staying at the house.”
My son’s brow furrows. “Oh,” he says. “That’s...kinda weird. What for?”
“I had some trouble at home,” Rowan chimes in. “It got unsafe and I was scared.”
“Right. And she gave me a call and asked for my help, so I—”
His eyes narrow as he directs his now burning gaze to Rowan, and I watch as her hands start to tremble. “Dropped everything to help her.”
“I— you could say that, sure,” I answer.
Rowan looks like she would rather be anywhere but here – and I don’t blame her for that. I feel the same way. Emmett almost looks angry, which is an expression I haven’t seen him wear in a very long time.
He scrubs his hand over his mouth before jerking his thumb in my direction, asking, “My dad is the guy?”
“The guy?” I probe.
“Oh yeah,” he says, “the guy she’s been telling me about. I gave her advice about you and everything, because you were being a dick.”
Chewing on the inside of her lip, Rowan says, “I’m sorry, Emmett. I didn’t mean for it to go like this.”
“How did you mean it, then?” He practically spits the words at her. “Do you want money? Bouncing between the two of us—”
“Emmett,” I warn. “Be civil. It wasn’t just her. I pursued her.”
This would be a lot easier if he were a child. Telling him things he didn’t want to hear when he was six could easily be remedied with a heaping bowl of ice cream and an extra hour of cartoons before bed. He’d forget about whatever it was by morning.
This is so much more difficult, and it makes me wonder if I shouldn’t have put more effort into really dating while he was growing up.
If that wouldn’t take the edge off of whatever he’s feeling right now.
I can’t help but feel like maybe I failed him and gave him the unrealistic expectation that I would never venture out to find someone once he was all grown up.
“No,” Rowan answers him. “I don’t want his money. Or assets. Or whatever else people in his position have to worry about people taking from them. I really am sorry. Neither of us wanted—”
“My father can speak for himself, thank you,” he tells her, whirling on me. “She’s half your age, Dad. She’s younger than me! You’re her boss.”
“All of that is true,” I admit.
“So what, is this like some mid-life crisis?”
“This is a relationship,” I correct him, resting my hand on Rowan’s. “It wasn’t expected, but I love her, Emmett. And I need you to understand that.”
“Pfft. Love,” he echoes with a scoff.
“I love him, too,” Rowan says. “You know that. I really do love him.”
He throws the rest of his wine down his throat and lifts the bottle to refill it. He takes a few long sips, emptying half of the glass before setting it back down on the table, then picks up his butter knife and jabs the blade of it into the table cloth, giving it a harsh twist.
Several moments of uncomfortable silence pass before he drops the knife and rests his elbows on the table in front of him, interlocking his fingers.
“Does Uncle Davis know?”
“Yes,” I nod.
“And he’s fine with it?”
I nod again. “He is.”
“Well, right now, I’m not.” He sighs and picks up his wine glass again, draining the contents. “I know it’s not really my business, but it’s weird, and it’s really fucking gross.”
“Emmett—” Rowan tries to speak, but he lifts a hand to silence her. She drops her head and pulls her hands into her lap to fidget with them.
Part of me worries that letting her come was a mistake. Maybe I should have accepted her being angry and forcing her to stay home, but at the time, she had made a solid argument for coming out tonight that I couldn’t ignore.
Now, though, I’m afraid she’s being sent back into that mental prison her father locked her into.
She doesn’t fare well when men raise our voices – angry or otherwise – and Emmett isn’t making any effort to hide his anger – or his disgust. I slide my hand over the small of her back, slowly rubbing circles against her skin with my palm.
“You don’t have to like it,” I tell him. “But I do hope that you’ll listen when I tell you that I’m happy. And I hope you’ll try to accept that at some point.”
“I’m not a complete asshole. I want you to be happy, Dad,” he replies. “But this? I need time to wrap my head around this. It’s twisted.”
Rowan tries to straighten in her seat. She sets her gaze on him and says, “I know you’re just looking out for him. So, if you want to say anything or ask anything—”
“Within reason,” I interject.
She nods. “That’s really why I came.”
“You don’t want money.”
“No.”
“You aren’t trying to trap him somehow.”
“No.”
“What’s your end goal, here?”
Rowan’s eyes glide over to me and a smile spreads across her face. “I just want to be with him. I don’t care about any of the other stuff.” She looks back to my son. “He makes me really happy, Emmett. And he makes me feel like I’m worthy of good things. I want to give him the same.”
Emmett crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his seat, considering.
“So say he loses his fortune tomorrow and has a hundred bucks to his name. Then what?”
“We would get some greasy burgers,” she answers, “and if he needed to cry about it, I would hold him. Then we could start fresh the next day. I’ve done broke and sad. Broke and happy would be fine with me.”
“She’s a good one,” I tell him. “I’m sorry, bud, I’m really sorry that you know what it’s like to be wanted for your money. That is something I wish I could have protected you from. Rowan is not those women. There are good ones.”
“It’s gross. I mean, come on,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “But fine...I’ll deal.”
A tidal wave of relief swells through me as hundreds of pounds of weight are lifted from my shoulders. It doesn’t matter that it isn’t glaring, crystal clear acceptance – he’ll deal.
I reach for the bottle of wine and pour myself a fresh glass, basking in the feeling of weightlessness that has become so foreign to me, and I smile as I pull the glass to my lips.
This night could have been an absolute disaster, and it could have easily ended right there, but we settle into the rest of our meal and dissolve into somewhat pleasant conversation, the revelation of Rowan and I’s relationship seemingly forgotten or unimportant, for the most part.
Rowan joins us in a single, small glass of wine – a private, silent celebration between the two of us – and Emmett and I go through two bottles together before the evening comes to an end.
As we leave the restaurant, Rowan insists that Emmett ride with us, to our home, rather than driving or calling for a ride. I can’t help but wrap my arm tightly around her as we walk toward my car and she climbs into the driver’s seat to take us home.
Twenty minutes later, the three of us are walking into the house. I track down the babysitter and slap a couple of hundred dollar bills into her hand before sending her away and moving through the house to find Rowan.
She stands in the living room with her arms wrapped around her middle and I approach from behind her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Go print out some photos,” I say against her ear. “Then pick out frames from the box in the furthest hall closet upstairs.”
I barely have time to press a kiss to her temple before she squeals and takes off toward the stairs, running as fast as I imagine she can, the royal blue fabric of her dress flowing like an ocean wave behind her.
My beautiful, perfect girl.
I find Rowan an hour later in my bedroom, standing at the dresser, still in her dress. She rifles through the drawers, picking out pieces of my clothes that she wants to wear to bed, and I approach her from behind, wrapping my arms around her waist and pressing my lips to her shoulder.
“You did so well tonight,” I tell her. “You were perfect.”
She turns in my arms, cupping my jaw with her hands, a wide smile splitting her face. I thought she was happy in Italy, but this...this is true happiness. She’s glowing.
My lips find hers and I pull her along with me as I walk backward toward my bed, dropping down onto it with her on my lap.
“Do you really think so?”
I nod, bringing my lips to the soft skin of her collarbone. “You were strong tonight,” I tell her. “Brave.”
My mouth trails along her chest as my hands bring the skirt of her dress over her knees, giving me access to pull her panties down her legs.
“I really wanted to make you proud,” she breathes.
“Oh baby girl, you did.” I bring her wrist to my mouth, trailing kisses along her skin, up to her fingertips as I lay back. “You made me so proud. You deserve a reward.” With her chest heaving, she starts to shimmy herself out of her dress, but I use my free hand to stop her. “Leave the silk on.”
I grab onto her hips and jerk her forward until her thighs rest on either side of my head, the silk of her dress falling over me, and I bring my mouth to the soft skin on the inside of her thigh, trailing gentle kisses that make her shiver.
“Colt…” My name is no more than a whisper on her lips.
Wrapping a hand over each of her thighs, I dive in, meeting her perfect pussy with my tongue in broad, teasing strokes. I hold steady rhythm until I feel her rock against my face and hear her breathing start to pick up, telling me it’s time to use the surprise that I brought for her.
Still working my tongue, now faster, I reach into my pocket and pull out that damn bullet she’s been teasing me with for the past week, clicking it on until I feel a strong vibration in my hand.
I don’t think she even notices that I have it until I bring my hand back over her thigh and rest it gently on her clit.
“Oh god,” she pants, and her thighs squeeze my head while I use the bullet to trace small circles.
God, I wish I could see her face right now.
I use my tongue to dive inside of her and she buckles, falling forward just far enough that I’m almost certain she’s using the headboard behind us to hold herself up as her hips roll against my face with a long moan.
“Ohh, I love you, I love you,” she whines.
I spell the words back to her in cursive with my tongue.
A hand grabs onto the top of my head, pulling at my hair, and I nuzzle into her pussy, pressing the vibrator more firmly against her clit, and feel her body tense, shuddering as she cries out my name while she comes.
I can’t believe something this perfect is actually mine.
I’m going to give this woman the world.