33. Chapter 33
Chapter 33
Lis
M y alarm goes off early in the morning, but all my favourite things to bake require kneading and rising times. I get out of bed and head to the kitchen. Cerberus watches me blearily and then lays back down on my bed.
I gather what I need and start the dough. While I’m mixing the ingredients, Daze emerges from her bedroom.
“Are you baking at six in the morning?”
“Yes.”
“May I remind you that you hate baking?” she asks, sitting on one of the dining chairs to watch me.
“You may.”
“Okay. Lis. You hate baking. Why are you doing it? And at godawful o’clock, no less?”
“It’s the anniversary of Spencer’s mother’s death.”
“Shit.”
I glance at her over my shoulder. “Take care of Cerberus today?”
“No problem. I’ll tell Sophie.”
“Thanks. I’ll take him out while this is rising.”
“Cheese bread?” she asks.
“Yeah. Vic said to make my favourite so.”
I pull the sticky dough out of the mixer and drop it onto my already-floured counter. I knead and punch the dough into submission and then drop it back into the bowl, covering it with some cheesecloth. I clean my mess and then go into my room to dress and convince my lazybones dog to get up. It only takes a bribe of one cookie and his ball to get him to follow me out the door. After an hour of exercise, we go back to the apartment. I grate cheese and then roll out the dough, shaping it into the loaf I want before placing it in a pan and covering it again.
Sophie and Daze are both awake now, drinking coffee at the dining table.
“What do I wear?” I ask.
“I’m certain Spencer isn’t going to care at all,” Daze says.
“We’re going to his father’s house.”
Both of them gape at me.
“It’s some kind of tradition. He’s really upset about it. He doesn’t have a good relationship with his father.”
Sophie purses her lips, considering. “Well, do you want to look respectable or hot?”
“Both. Respectable for the dad, hot for Spencer.”
Sophie and Daze grin at each other and then they go into my room. I follow and watch as they open my closet and sort through pulling out a flowy black skirt and my favourite red top. It has a scooped neckline and thick straps, the fabric soft and clingy.
Daze rummages through my top drawer and pulls out my sheer, black, thigh-high stockings and a pair of lacy black underwear and the matching bra.
“No one is going to see the underwear,” I say.
“Can’t hurt,” she responds.
I roll my eyes but take them. After the bread is finally in the oven, I get into the shower, taking my time to wash my hair and shave. I tell myself I shave my legs mostly because the stockings will be itchy if I don’t.
When I leave my bedroom again, dressed, with just some mascara and red lipstick on, I do a little spin to show them the full effect.
“Outstanding,” Daze says. “Now. What are you doing with your hair?”
“I was just going to clip it up. Like I usually have it.”
They both stare at me, and I can see they think they’re missing something.
“Spencer likes to steal the clip from my hair,” I finally say.
They break out into laughter.
“Oh, Lis,” Daze says, standing. She places her hands on my shoulders. “You need to admit to yourself that you are in love with this man.”
“I—We’re just—”
“Friends. I know. So are me and Sophie.” She pats my cheek and I finish rushing around, gathering what I need.
Then, I’m out the door and walking the fifteen minutes to his apartment. When I arrive, I send Vic a text saying I’m here.
Vic: Come on up.
When I get to their apartment, she opens the door for me.
“He’s just getting dressed. I’m afraid he doesn’t know you’re coming.”
“Why not?”
“I was going to tell him last night, but then he didn’t come home,” she says with an eye roll.
A flash of jealousy and hurt sears through me. “He didn’t? Where was he?”
Her eyes widen a bit like she’s just said something she shouldn’t. “I mean he didn’t come home before I fell asleep.”
“Vic.”
She closes her eyes and sighs. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. It’s just something he wants to tell people later. Not today.”
“Okay.”
She hands me some keys. “You can take my car.” Then she hands me a piece of paper. “This is the address.”
“Really?” I ask, noting the Mercedes symbol on the key.
“Yes. Thank you for agreeing to do this.”
“Agreeing to do what?” Spencer asks, coming out of his room.
Vic turns toward him. “I asked Lis to go with you today. If you’d rather I come with you like usual, that’s fine. I just thought, she might help you more than I can.”
He turns to me with bleak eyes. He looks so haunted. Like the Spencer I’ve come to know has left and all that remains is his shell. My heart breaks for him and in a second I’m wrapping my arms around him, pressing my body against him, trying to soak his pain into me.
He buries his face in the space between my neck and shoulder, crushing me against him as though he needs me to anchor him to this world. I hold him back just as tightly.
“Are you sure about this?” he whispers.
And I know what he’s really asking. Do I want to continue the friendship we’d been building before I’d found out he owned part of Blue Vista? And I do. I’ve missed him so much over the past couple of weeks. Even if he hadn’t needed me today, I would have gone back to him.
“I’m sure. I’ve got your back no matter what. That’s the Blue Vista motto, isn’t it?”
He pulls back and gives me something resembling a smile.
“You look stunning, firecracker.” He kisses my cheek.
“And you look like hell. Here.” I let him go to get my backpack, reaching in for his hoodie and pulling it over his head. He bends down so I can manage, slipping his arms through the sleeves on his own. My heels today are only about an inch and a half so he’s still over six inches taller than me. Once it’s on him, I find the container with the cheese bread. “And I baked you this today.”
“You good?” Vic asks.
Spencer nods, holding the container. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, Vic.”
“I didn’t do anything but ask her. I have a meeting to get to. You guys—” She falters. “I guess you won’t have fun. But you know what I mean.”
She leaves and I ask if Spencer is ready to go.
“No. But let’s do it, anyway.”
We go down to the underground where Spencer leads me to a black Mercedes.
Great. Now I get to drive my boss’ hundred thousand dollar car. Not intimidating at all. I should have just brought the One Car.
We get in and start the drive. Spencer programs the address into the car’s GPS and I follow it to the Point Grey neighbourhood in Vancouver. When I pull up to a gated property, Spencer rattles off a code and I punch it into the keypad. The gates swing open and I drive up the driveway, my mouth dropping open as the house comes into view. I stop at the front doors and gape at the white mansion, all windows and columns with a marble staircase leading up to the front door.
After an awkward five minutes, I turn to Spencer, who hasn’t moved at all.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” I ask him.
“I just hate coming here.” He looks over at me. “What are you waiting for?”
“The valet, obviously.”
His smile is fragile, but real. I get out of the car and he comes with me. I take his hand and we climb the steps to the door. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he knocks, but he pushes it open and we step inside.
“Ah, Spencer,” a man greets us immediately. “Welcome home, sir. Miss Victoria couldn’t come with you today?”
“Hi Matthew. No. This is my—” He breaks off and looks at me. “This is Lis. Lis, this is Matthew. He runs the house.”
“Runs the house,” I repeat. “Like a housekeeper?”
Matthew chuckles. “Sort of. Right this way Spencer and Miss… Lis. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Water will be fine for me,” I say. No way I’m having a single drop of alcohol if I’m driving that car home.
“Flat or sparkling?”
“Sparkling would be amazing.”
Spencer doesn’t ask for anything. Matthew leads us to a set of doors and the closer we get, the tighter Spencer grips my hand. When the doors open, I see a man between fifty and sixty years old sitting in a chair with a short glass in his hand, filled halfway with amber liquid. He’s turned away from the door and doesn’t look up until we enter. Then he does and I’m startled by how much Spencer looks like him. His hair is more silver than blond. But his eyes are the same clear blue and they have the same cheekbones and chin.
“Spence, my boy,” he says with a smile, though I notice the haunted look in his eyes as well.
Spencer flinches at the sound of his name and I remember him telling me he didn’t like being called Spence. In fact, in the almost four months that I’ve known him, I haven’t heard a single person call him that.
“Dad,” he says, coming into the room and sitting on the couch across from his father. He pulls me with him and we sit together, thighs touching, his hand still gripping mine.
“You couldn’t have worn something more appropriate?” the man asks. “You look like a homeless person. Where’s Vicky?”
Vicky? What is with this man and his nicknames?
“She couldn’t make it today. This is Lis. Lis, this is my father, Beckett Cole.”
He turns toward me. “Lis? What’s that short for?”
“Amaryllis.”
“Hm. Well, wouldn’t Mary be a better nickname for you then?”
I smile as sweetly as I can and say, “If you call me Mary, I might have to stab you, sir.”
Spencer makes a funny noise halfway between a snort and a cough.
Matthew returns with my sparkling water and I take it with another smile. He lets us know that lunch is ready, so we follow him to the dining room. There’s a huge table and we’re spaced out so far that we’ll have to shout to have any kind of conversation. I take one look and shake my head.
I pick up my plate and move it closer to where Beckett is sitting and then I pick up Spencer’s, grab him by the arm and seat him next to me so I’m between him and his father. Beckett watches this with a scowl on his face.
“You didn’t like the placements?”
“Not particularly,” I say with another sweet smile. I have zero desire to ingratiate myself to this man. He can hate me all he wants. In fact, I hope he does.
“Well, then, Amaryllis, how did you meet my son?”
I sip the water, fixing my eyes on him. What is his insistence on calling people by names they don’t want to be called?
“It’s Lis. Only my mother and my sister call me Amaryllis, and only when they’re angry.” I briefly consider telling Beckett exactly how I met his son, but I’m not sure Spencer would like that. So I say, “We work together. I’m the head chef at Blue Vista.”
“Oh. An office romance, then.”
His tone is disapproving. I know he’s thinking that I’m sleeping with Spencer for my job which is exactly what I feared. But sitting here, I don’t care what this man thinks. He could think I’m the scourge of the earth and I wouldn’t care.
Matthew returns and pauses, noticing the change in placements. He looks directly at me and gives me a brief smile before setting out the food. He pours Spencer some water and then leaves us again.
“So, has Vicky started to see any returns on that place yet?”
“Dad,” Spencer protests.
“I’m just thinking about you, son. I want you to be well-established. And working there isn’t going to provide the life you need. You’re thirty years old. You shouldn’t be working for someone else. You should be working for yourself.”
“Actually,” I interject. “I think this is Blue Vista’s most successful year yet. I know we’ve been incredibly busy.”
I turn to Spencer for confirmation.
He nods. “We have twice the number of weddings this year over last year. We’re already fully booked for next summer, and we’ve been discussing opening a second venue. Maybe something in Burnaby or Ladner.”
“But you only own ten per cent of the business,” Beckett says. “You’re hardly in a position to help make decisions.”
My blood boils. The words coming out of this man’s mouth make me want to stab him. Maybe just the hand or the leg. Somewhere I wouldn’t kill him. Assaults carry lesser charges than murders, right? But I clench my teeth, keeping my smile in place. Spencer is so stiff beside me that one wrong move and I’m afraid he’s going to snap.
Spencer inhales a deep breath. “As I’ve explained before. I may only own ten per cent, but we make operational decisions together. We’re a team.”
Beckett rolls his eyes as though he doesn’t believe what Spencer is telling him. “At least you’ve been investing your money well. Though I will never understand why your mother decided to leave it to you separately instead of including it in the trust I’m holding for you.”
I’m about to make some smart ass comment—possibly something like, You mean the trust fund you refuse to give him?— when Spencer reaches for his glass of water. But instead of drinking some, he shifts the glass toward me.
I recognize the gesture immediately and turn toward his father. “Hey, Beck, have you ever hiked the Grouse Grind?”
“Excuse me?”
“The Grouse Grind. Spencer made me do it with him about two months ago. Honestly, it is absolute torture. I haven’t forgiven him for making me trek up that thing. Though he did follow through and go running with me after.”
Under the table, I touch Spencer’s arm, trailing my fingers along it until I can reach his hand. I lace our fingers together and he squeezes tightly.
“It’s excellent exercise. The Grouse Grind, I mean. And the views from the top?” I shake my head. “Spectacular. Though I told Spencer, next time, he can hike it and I’m going to ride the gondola up. Did you know you can have breakfast with the bears? There’s two of them up there.” I launch into a full-on infomercial for the restaurant on Grouse Mountain where you can have breakfast during the two rescued grizzlies’ feeding time. I don’t stop talking long enough for Beckett to try to chime in or change the subject. When I finish talking about the grizzlies, I move on to talk about the zip lining adventure they have, followed by information about the Christmas event they host in the winter.
I contain my sigh of relief when the phone rings and Beckett stands to answer it, moving across the room to talk. I’d begun to run low on Grouse Mountain tourism facts.
“Grouse Mountain?” Spencer says when his father is out of earshot.
I shrug. “I’ve been looking it up in case you try to drag me up there again.”
He huffs a laugh.
“Are you doing okay?”
“What makes you think I’m not okay?”
“Well, you’re squeezing my hand hard enough that my bones are creaking.”
He looks down, startled, and immediately releases my fingers. “I’m sorry.”
I grab his hand again, squeezing him just as hard. “Don’t be. I’m right here.”
He searches my eyes and I wonder if he’s about to kiss me when Beckett returns.
“That was the office. I have to go in.”
“Now?” Spencer says. “Today?”
“Emergencies don’t wait for convenient times, Spence. You would know this if you ran your own company.”
I want to slap him. Stabbing is still an option. Unfortunately, the knives within reach are just table knives. But if I just stood, I could slap Beckett Cole across his uncaring face. Except Spencer still holds my hand and I think he needs me next to him more than he needs me to slap his father.
Beckett leaves the room and Spencer slumps in his chair, completely deflated.
“Spencer? Are you okay?”
He’s let go of my hand, staring down at his lap. I wait for him to look at me. He doesn’t.
After a while, he shrugs. “It’s not the first time. It won’t be the last. He wasn’t even there the day she died. Why would the anniversary of her death be any different?”
He’s a thirty-year-old man, but suddenly I can see the fourteen-year-old boy whose mother has just died and whose father isn’t there. Whose father has chosen his job over his son. Again.
And then it hits me. I’ve done exactly the same thing. I chose my job, one I hadn’t even started yet, over him. Both job and relationship were barely a few hours old. And yet, when it came down to it, I chose the job and left him in the cold.
“Get up,” I demand, standing as well.
His gaze snaps to mine, confusion tightening his brow. But he does what I tell him.
I grip his hoodie in my fists, getting closer. “I want you to understand something. I didn’t choose the job over you because I didn’t want to be with you. I did want to be with you. I do want to be with you.”
“Then why aren’t we together? Why me or the job? Why not both?” he asks.
“Because it’s terrifying,” I whisper. “What if we try and it doesn’t work out? What if it all goes bad?”
“What if it doesn’t? What if we live happily ever after, like Buttercup and Westley, or Rick and Evie, or Penelope and what’s his name? James McAvoy.”
A smile twitches my lips. “Johnny.”
“Yeah. What if we have the greatest romance ever told?”
I roll my eyes, but he’s still referenced some of my favourite movies, my favourite love stories. “The greatest? Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”
He shakes his head slowly. And I know he doesn’t. He believes every single word he’s said. He believes I can have both him and the job. And why can’t I? Why can’t I have this amazing man who sees me, who is kind and funny?
I tug on his hoodie, drawing him closer. I don’t think I could stop myself from kissing him even if I wanted to.