Chapter 48
Gabrielle
Just as my mother had threatened, the car arrived promptly at seven.
When she’d called to remind me about dinner a couple of days ago, I’d told her I wouldn’t come, that I didn’t want to be subjected to any of her match-making schemes.
I was happy and in love with Brodie, and she’d just have to learn to deal with it.
I’d never stood up to my mother until that day last week when she’d unexpectedly showed up at the door.
At that point, she’d sighed heavily into the phone and insisted that I bring Brodie to dinner, too. She wanted to meet him.
She’d made reservations at a fancy steak house near the hotel she and my stepfather were staying in. Kurt was apparently working on location around the area. How convenient. I knew there had to be another reason my mother was in the area. I didn’t think she’d come up north just for my sake.
“The car is here,” Brodie called over his shoulder as he peeked out the window.
He turned to me and gave me a sexy grin.
“You look beautiful.” I was wearing a simple, sleeveless black dress that stopped mid-thigh, and black three-inch heel sandals.
My hair hung down my back the way I knew Brodie liked it, but I’d added a sparkling clasp at the top back, pulling some of the hair away from my face.
I took a step toward him, breaking the distance between us, and his lips grazed mine.
I pulled back after the light kiss, admiring the way he looked.
He wore a silvery-grey silk jacket over a white shirt that illuminated his tanned skin, and black slacks.
The top couple of buttons on the shirt were open.
He looked very scintillating and sexy; almost like I’d plucked him right off the cover of GQ magazine “You,” I swallowed, “look amazing.”
“I know how to clean up.”
“That you do.”
“Are you ready?”
“Yeah.” My hands were on his arms, holding him still from heading out the door. “Listen. If at any time during dinner you want to leave, just let me know.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Brodie, I mean it. She can be very malicious when she doesn’t get her way.”
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
“With my life.”
“Then have a little faith. I’ll be fine.”
“Oh yeah, my mother’s last name is Bradford now. Not Demeres.”
The restaurant was as I’d expected. The ma?tre d’ led us through a room with soft lights hanging from the ceiling above each table, affording just enough illumination without being overbearing.
White linen tablecloths draped over square tables in the center of the large room, with elegant looking booths also donned with the same tablecloths.
My mother and stepfather sat in a room off of the main dining room.
A private room. I rolled my eyes, knowing she’d gone out of her way to flaunt her prestigious and affluent lifestyle just for Brodie’s sake.
He grabbed my hand, I squeezed his a little, and he shot me the sexiest guileful grin I’d ever seen.
I wondered if I should be worried or proud.
My stepfather and mom stood as we entered the small, private room.
My mom gave me a small hug, while my stepfather embraced me with all the love and affection any father would have for his daughter.
Regardless of his wealth, my stepfather was the most generous, friendly, likeable man—other than Brodie—on the entire planet.
I adored him. I often wondered what he saw in my mother, why he put up with all her snobby friends, but even with her faults, she was beautiful.
“Mom, this is Brodie.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Bradford.” Brodie extended his hand to my mother and she gave him a small, tight-lipped smile.
She accepted his hand in that gracious way of hers, yet managed to hold on to an undertone that said, I’m better than you.
My mother pulled off the graceful, patrician act as though she’d been born for it. Maybe she had been.
“Brodie, this is Kurt, my stepfather.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Brodie said, smiling.
“The pleasure’s mine, son. Please, call me Kurt.” Kurt beamed that ‘everybody’s-best-friend’ smile. “Let’s sit. Drinks? Honey, would you like a refresher?”
My mom glanced at her still full martini and nodded. “Since that one is probably warm by now, yes.”
Brodie picked up the drink menu and quickly perused the beers. “I’ll have a Black Butte Porter,” he said to the waiter standing by and then looked at me. “Gabrielle, would you like some wine?”
I nodded. “The house cabernet will be fine.” I didn’t know much about which wine would be better anyway.
Brodie had once told me that most nice restaurants usually served a pretty decent house cab, so when in doubt, go for that.
Besides, my nerves rattled and jittered too much to think about wine or any other drink for that matter.
I glanced at Brodie looking very much at ease and confident, already engaged in a conversation with Kurt.