Chapter 7
The View, an Italian restaurant, sits on the Chicago River bay along with other properties my family owns. The View is as close to the river as one can legally get without getting penalized or sinking into the water.
The crisp weather tells me my wife might be cold, and I contemplate crossing the street to the mall and buying her a trench coat. It would keep her warm and hide her body.
I’m so crazy over what she’s wearing that I can’t walk next to her and definitely not in front of her. I walk behind her so I can scan the perimeter and catch all the ogling eyes.
Both women and men take notice of her. Some turn, then catch my feral gaze as they pass me.
Our journey through the restaurant to get to the deck reminds me of the time I walked across the street to get to the coffee shop where my dad was making out with a young woman who wasn’t my mother. A walk that felt forever long.
I was nineteen and had come back home for the holidays. Also earlier than expected, just like this time with my wife.
I caught him cheating.
He saw me crossing the street. We exchanged looks as I bought coffee from the shop and left.
At home, we exchanged no words for the next three years. During the holiday week, Mom thought we had a fight, and since neither of us spent much time at home after that, us not speaking worked out well for everyone.
Until five years after the incident. She heard about him cheating from someone who wasn’t me. I never said a word. I couldn’t break her heart. But by that time, Dad had already broken it. What he didn’t expect was that I’d already secured more than half his net worth for my mother.
I hired a PI and the man tailed my dad for years, collecting evidence. I knew it would take quite a bit for my father to give up most of his life’s earnings, a substantial amount seeing as he’s a shark and Mom is a goldfish he would try to shortchange.
He would have left her with some money, no doubt. But not as much as I secured for her.
Blake rises from the table as Princess and I arrive at the deck. He’s wearing a black suit and a light mint tie, so mint must be the color of the season. Looking sharp and handsome, Blake smiles.
I watch how he embraces my wife. With cold disinterest while glaring over her shoulder at me.
I check the clock. We’re late, even though we never agreed on a time.
I think he must have promised his wife he’d be a bit more flexible, and maybe he is with her, but with me (and Bishop, I bet), he’s the same ol’ asshole.
I wink at him and greet his wife, Vanessa. Warmly this time, unlike the first time we met.
Sitting down, Vanessa folds her napkin over her lap and leans back. Blake motions for a server. Like I said, we sit, we eat, we get it done. That’s Blake. Me also, but I’m gonna try to at least enjoy the ladies’ company.
“You’re late,” Blake says, gaze scanning the inside of the restaurant, looking for a server he can flag down.
Vanessa purses her lips.
I wink at her too. “Just let him be,” I tell her. “He’ll get over it in five seconds. No time for wallowing.”
She giggles.
“I ordered appetizers,” he adds.
“And wine?” I ask.
He nods.
“Did you get me lobster rolls?”
“Mmhm.”
“They have lobster rolls?” my wife asks and takes off her giant sunglasses, then tucks them inside her purse slung over the back of the chair.
“They bring them from next door,” I say.
She frowns, and I explain. “My brother and I used to fight over where to eat lunch when I’m in town. Sometimes it got so bad, we didn’t get around to eating lunch. Other times, Bishop decided.
Then we bought most of the places around here, and that comes with perks. I still like the seafood restaurant better. For the record.”
My wife glances at Vanessa, and they exchange looks I’ve given up on understanding. Mom and her sister do the silent talking too, and I’ve tried to decipher it with no luck.
Half an hour later, the server from the seafood place, wearing a black uniform with a red stripe over the shoulder, delivers my lobster rolls first. I offer the plate to my wife. She hesitates before looking up at me, then glancing at Blake.
I put the plate down. “What?”
“I’m allergic to most seafood,” she says.
“I ordered mozzarella sticks for you,” Blake says.
“I love those.”
I narrow my eyes. “And you know she loves those why?”
Vanessa sips her wine, looking amused. I glare at her too.
“I told him,” Bishop says from behind me.
My wife leaps out of the chair. “Bishop!” She throws herself at him, and I lock on to where he places his hands. On her bare back.
I’m going to break his wrists.
Over her shoulder, Bishop smiles at me, then kisses my wife on the cheek. He spreads her arms and visually gorges on her body, whistling. “Looking like five million dollars.”
She laughs.
I’m not amused.
Bishop plops across from me and snatches my lobster roll, pops it in his mouth, and rolls his eyes to the back of his head. “I forgot how good these are.” He looks around the table. “I’m late and there’s still no food at the table. That’s a first.”
Blake smiles like a lion with a gazelle. “I ordered nothing for you.”
Bishop sighs. “You’re a PIMA. And you”—he points a finger at me—“I don’t like you in your new role.”
“And that is?” I ask.
“The jealous husband.”
“Better jealous than uncaring,” my wife says.
We both turn to look at her, and she smiles like an angel before she lifts her glass.
Blake responds immediately by filling it with red wine. “Bold and sweet. I think you might like it,” he says to me as he pours my glass after he filled hers. “Maybe an acquired taste for you, but well worth the try.”
I snort. He bought a hymen…like what, two days ago? And got married shortly after, and now he’s an expert advisor on marriage.
Rolling my eyes, I eat my appetizer before Bishop devours it all. The server takes our orders, and I make it a point to memorize my wife’s tastes. After that, Vanessa takes pictures for the social media account called Blakenessa.
It has half a million followers already. I’m trying to be impressed while watching people stroll by the restaurant on the wide sidewalk just in front of the river.
I love the water. I miss the navy, miss going out for months on end, and that reminds me… “We’re going on vacation,” I say, then turn to my wife. “Our honeymoon.”
She pauses just as she’s stabbing penne pasta with a fork. “You decided that right this moment?”
“Yes.”
She blinks and drops her fork. “Okay, Hudson. Where to?”
“The island.” I glance at Blake to be sure it’s ready for the season.
Blake nods. “Shit, I wanna go there.” Blake rarely takes vacations, so he probably forgot he can actually vacation on our private island in the Caribbean.
“Come with us,” comes out of my mouth before I can filter myself, but I feel good about this, so I don’t retract the invite.
Blake sighs. “I’ll see what I can do. When are you leaving?”
“Next week if I can get a pilot. Preferably sooner. You have sooner?”
“I booked the pilot for Thursday. Was going to hit California for a meeting. But I can cancel if…” He looks at his wife.
“The island sounds nice, Blake.”
Blake nods. “Done. We’ll leave Thursday, and I get to set the departing hour, and everyone will get there on time.”
Benny claps. “How fun!”
“Agreed. Two honeymoons in one trip.”
“Fun and efficient,” I deadpan.
Benny points a fork at Bishop. “You want to come?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “He doesn’t,” I say.
“I don’t,” Bishop confirms.
Thank God.
“But why not?” Vanessa asks.
Fuck.
“I’m not gonna be the fifth wheel.”
“So get a date,” Blake says.
I eat Blake’s crab-stuffed mushrooms ’cause that’s the only thing I like on the Italian menu. To think I married into an Italian family is comical.
My wife, I bet, cooks great Italian food that I’m gonna eat and not complain about. I make a pact with myself to eat and shut up and not be that annoying pest like my uncle. My aunt is divorced as well. She and Mom live together now.
While the ladies argue with Bishop, I people watch, and the rest of lunch passes.
I consider canceling my plans and taking my wife elsewhere for our honeymoon, but when I see how her eyes light up as Blake shows her the website for the resort on the island, I don’t have the heart.
Still, who spends his honeymoon with his brothers?
Bishop dials and says, “Hey, Mom, want to go with me to the island?”
Okay, so the entire family is coming. Christ.
Blake leans over. “You guys will take the penthouse.”
“Really?” My wife’s eyes are saucers.
I sigh.
Blake pats my hand. “It’ll be fun.”
“I can’t wait.”
“You can go alone after the season.”
“I’m in China after the season.”
Blake glances at my wife, and I follow his gaze. She’s smiling, but discomfort is apparent on her face. “For how long? If you don’t mind my asking?” she says.
“I don’t mind. You can ask me anything. Five months.”
Her mouth makes an O. “Well, you do what you gotta do. Right?”
“That’s right,” I say. But that’s the thing.
Do I have to travel? I’ve managed marketing and some acquisitions for years now.
It was a position my dad put me in, and neither Blake nor I enjoy working with each other.
Most times we don’t see eye to eye, primarily because we both need independence and control.
Two sharks rarely survive in the same tank.
Blake’s turned mainly toward hospitality and fashion, and I’m tired of those areas. I’d rather take acquisitions. Since Bishop does that, I ought to look outside the family business for work.
I lean in and pitch this idea to Blake and Bishop, and I’m whispering a bit, arranging a time to meet, when the server comes and asks my wife, “And for your dad?”
The table falls silent, and I lift my gaze to the teenaged blonde. I don’t correct her because I know Blake will. First, lobster rolls should get delivered to the table at the same time as all other appetizers even though they come from two different places.
Second, my salad had two tomatoes on it when Blake ordered no tomatoes for me. And now this, a presumptuous teenager calling me Benny’s dad. It’s not my job to teach kids manners.
Jesus. My wife is the waitress’s age, so I guess I should teach her a lesson. “It’s Daddy,” I say. “There’s another one available at the table should you need one for yourself.”
The girl turns bright red. She’s mumbling something, clearly at loss for words while I hold her gaze.
“I didn’t mean to presume you’re her dad.”
“But you did,” my wife says.
“I’m terribly sorry,” the young woman says, looking like she’s gonna cry. “I don’t know why I said that.”
“Sure you do,” Bishop says. “He’s older. She’s younger. It makes sense, but it’s not true. So I think Daddy should spank you for it.”
She’s nodding, high ponytail bouncing. “Yes, sir.”
I snort. “He’s joking. It’s fine. Go get me the dessert. Cherry on top so I can pop it.” I can’t help myself. She’s making it easy with all the blushing and profuse apologizing.
The server scampers across the deck.
Under the table, my wife squeezes my hand as if I need comforting. She pulls back quickly when I don’t respond, but I snatch her wrist and weave my fingers though hers. Under the table, we hold hands, and suddenly, I’m not feeling very old at all, even if I appear that way to others.
“You’re not old,” she says.
I laugh.
“I’m upset she said that.”
“It’s fine. I’m not offended.”
“You’re so cute, Hudson,” Bishop says.
I roll my eyes.
Blake excuses himself and tightens his tie, ready to stand.
“Sit down, Blake,” I order.
He raises an eyebrow.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It should be. Some people need to be educated and taught hard lessons early in youth. Besides, the lobster rolls and tomato are mistakes. Three mistakes is too many. I have to speak with the manager.”
“About the rolls and tomatoes only,” I say with a voice that brooks no argument. He hates this voice, and I hate it when he uses it on me, but Blake nods and leaves for a few minutes. Bishop’s tapping the table. “If you fire her—”
“I’m not gonna fire her. I’m not even her boss.”
“I know. Hear me out. If you fire her, she’ll be free to take a vacation. With me. Ha! I have a date.”
“Um, no, let’s not do that,” Vanessa says.
Bishop’s standing, and I stand with him, my wife and Vanessa along with us. Arguments start, and when Blake returns, he starts getting into it with Bishop, and we part as we often do, with grudge hugging and back slapping that hopefully won’t break anyone’s spine.