Chapter 14 #2
Charles smiled down at her, his wary expression softening into one of tender warmth.
It was the weirdest thing to see, honestly.
Though he was normally unassuming looking, if you didn’t know to watch for his wariness and constant vigilance, he still looked like a completely different person when he looked at his wife.
The crow’s feet by his eyes became more pronounced, as if his eyes were smiling.
The gray by his temples seemed to age in reverse.
Without knowing about his drug manufacturing, I’d consider him attractive, if aloof.
When he looked at Vivienne, though, I could actually see what she saw in the guy.
You know, if you didn’t know how many lives he’d ruined.
“Yes, mon amour . They’re very cute together.” He cupped her jaw with his free hand, planting a gentle kiss to her forehead. “ Almost as cute as us.”
Dagnabbit, I couldn’t actually argue with that. Not with him being all doting-husband, lovey-dovey instead of the drug-tweaking terror he really was. I must’ve gone soft.
For the record, I blamed the fake-pregnancy hormones.
We ordered our food, then made our way to the back of the restaurant.
It wasn’t as private as the alcove, but it allowed a full view of the windows lining the sides as well as the entrance to the restaurant.
Strategic, if not very private. But, when you’ve got two huge, skulking bodyguards flanking your table and glowering at anyone who dares approach, any table becomes pretty private.
I leaned toward Vivienne, speaking low and eying Bulldog. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is your husband like a celebrity or something?”
She laughed airily, waving her hand as if she could wave away my concern with it. “Oh, no. He’s just very successful and has a lot of enemies in his line of work.”
I nodded, as if this was a normal, everyday fact of life. “Like corporate spy types, or like assassins?”
She paused to consider my question, then shrugged. “Maybe both? All I know is the last person who tried to become Charles’s friend was caught stealing from him.”
“That’s terrible!” And I’d bet my left cow sock that the sorry sap was six feet under by now, if there was even a burial. “No wonder he seems extra cautious.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” She grimaced. “I like you guys, though, and I’m hoping Charles will warm up to you.”
“I hope so, too,” I murmured, glancing at the man taking his seat next to Vivienne. Again, guilt laced through me at deceiving Vivienne, who may or may not know about her husband’s alter ego. Her answer had been too vague to tell one way or another, but that wasn’t odd by any means.
“So, you guys are having a little boy?” Colt asked, a disarming smile playing on his lips. It was another familiar one, and another one he never directed at me.
Charles stiffened. “How do you know?”
Colt’s brow furrowed. “I just thought your wife referred to the baby as ‘Little Man’ earlier, but I could be mistaken.”
His answer seemed to pacify Charles, who immediately relaxed. “Oh, right. Yes, we’re having a little boy at the end of July.”
“How exciting!” I clasped my hands together much like Colleen had when discussing our fake baby. “My due date is the first of August.”
“Do you have a list of names picked out?” Colt asked.
Man, he really knew the right baby-related questions to ask. Leave it to a family man, I suppose.
Vivienne shared a sly smile with Charles, who seemed to unwind more with each minute spent discussing their unborn child. “We’ve narrowed it down to two.”
“Am I allowed to ask what two?” I asked. “I promise we won’t steal either name if we’re having a boy.”
Charles scratched his chin. “You haven’t already decided on names for each gender yet?”
Colt shook his head, leaning back in his chair and draping his arm over the back of mine. “We’ve discussed four different names” —that was true— “but I think we’ll decide for sure once we see him or her for the first time.”
That was less true, but a great answer. And we wouldn’t have to remember which names we were more partial to. Bonus.
Vivienne nodded in understanding. “If we can’t decide before he gets here, I think we’ll be in the same boat.”
“Right now we’re undecided between Wyatt and Matisse,” Charles added.
“Both great names.” Colt dipped his head to the side. “Isn’t Matisse a painter?”
Why was I not surprised that Colt would know French artists? Because of course he would.
“Henri Matisse,” Charles confirmed. “But the name in French means ‘present of God’.” He wrinkled his nose. “And Wyatt means ‘of the woods’.”
“It’s such a beautiful name,” Vivienne argued, propping her head onto her hand. “And who, when they meet someone, automatically translates the meaning of their name?”
“She’s got a point,” I admitted.
It wouldn’t win me any points with Charles, but he wasn’t exactly buddy-buddy anyway. My ticket in was still Vivienne, hands down.
After we collected our food, we dug in, chatting amicably about Colt’s accounting job and my dancing background.
Colt paid an alarming amount of attention to that.
His stare seared through my skull the whole time and made my skin tingle.
So, when Vivienne changed the topic, I nearly dropped to the ground to kiss her feet.
“What made you decide to move to Detroit?” she asked.
Colt shrugged. “Besides the job offer? I liked the thought of being so close to Canada, since I’ve always wanted to visit.
” He nodded at Charles, the resident French-Canadian.
“And then there’s the fact Michigan is absolutely gorgeous.
Detroit really isn’t the slum people say it is.
Not anymore, at least. And then there’s the pizza that—” He cut off, looking at me with a horrified expression. “What on earth are you doing?”
I paused, holding a couple fries aloft from where I’d just dipped them into my milkshake. “What? It’s delicious.”
“It’s certainly many things, but ‘delicious’ wasn’t one of the adjectives that came to mind.” He watched with a mixture of disgust and morbid fascination as I popped the fries in my mouth.
“The sweet, chocolatey cold balances the hot, salty fries out perfectly,” I explained.
“They may be opposites, but together they’re so much better.
” As far as I was concerned, the best dipping sauce for fries was a Wendy’s frosty, and I was willing to die on that hill.
“Here” —I thrust a milkshake-dipped fry in his direction— “try it. And then you can pass judgment.”
He gingerly took the fry, looking at it like it was about to sprout wings and breathe fire. He met my eyes again, uncertainty written across his brow. “Is this even safe?”
“Yes, now come on. Don’t be a chicken. Just” —I guided his hand to his mouth, like feeding a belligerent toddler— “pop it in your mouth before you can overthink it.”
As he chewed, Vivienne leaned toward Charles, her voice barely carrying across the table. “Aw, he’s trying her pregnancy craving combinations, too. Just like when I convinced you to try the Oreos dipped in peanut butter.”
Now that , I’d have to try.
Colt chewed slowly, canting his head to the side in thought. “You know, it isn’t nearly as bad as I thought. I’m not sure it’s my preferred way to eat them, but I can see the appeal.”
I fist-pumped in triumph. No shame in my fry eating game. And for Colt, that was a compliment if ever I’d heard one.
After his seal of grudging approval, Vivienne tried the combination, though Charles refrained. She also wasn’t completely sold on it, but I didn’t mind. My weird quirk had helped convince her I had pregnancy cravings, so I was riding the high.
Plus, the ever-present Bulldog and Pro Bodyguard Boy aside, the lunch date was going swimmingly.
Conversation flowed, touching on neutral topics unlikely to raise Charles’s hackles.
Even when we asked about his line of work, we kept the conversation light.
He gave us the bare minimum information about being in the restaurant business, and when he changed the topic from there, we didn’t press him on it.
The touchy subjects would come later—when and if we were able to get closer and gain more of their trust.
“This was so great,” Vivienne sighed in contentment, fingering her to-go box of salad.
“I’d really like to get together again. Maybe for dinner?
Or” —she gasped, her eyes lighting up with her smile— “Lex, we should go to the spa together! They have prenatal massages that are to die for and all kinds of pampering. Since we’re growing humans, I’d say we deserve that, right? ”
Spa day with massages? Sign. me. up . “Definitely. That sounds so good.”
“I’m going on Tuesday if you want to join me?” Instead of looking at me, though, she looked to Charles for confirmation.
Moment of truth: did we pass his first tests?
He briefly checked his phone before nodding slightly.
I had to consciously stop myself from sighing in relief. “Tuesday it is, then. Should we?—”
My question got cut short. An unfamiliar voice from behind us turned my blood to ice. “Colt? Is that you ?”