Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lola
You sure you want to do this, Lola. You’re not a minor anymore.
I’m sure.
The restaurant is the first clue I’m out of my depth. Well, maybe the second actually. Roman spent the entire two-hour journey into the city trying to convince me to let him turn back and take me home.
“My father is trying to blackmail me into working for him, Lola.” Roman’s hands tighten on the steering wheel even though we’ve pulled into the parking lot.
“Which is why you need some back up,” I insist, still furious on Roman’s behalf that his dad hired a freaking PI to dig into his life. “Are you going to confront him about the PI?”
His sigh is heavy, bone tired. “No. He already knows I know. And he knows I know he knows. But we’ll both pretend ignorance because that’s how things work in my father’s world and the quickest way to get rid of him is to play along.”
I hum. “Sounds super healthy.”
Roman laughs then shakes his head, distress stitched in the creases of his eyes. “I don’t want him in your life.”
I undo my seat belt and twist to face him. “Roman, I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.” And if he’s this nervous before we’ve even met with his father, then I’m glad I’m here. I don’t want Roman doing this alone.
Except I might have been wrong about the whole being fine thing because the restaurant is unlike anything I’ve ever stepped foot in. I saw plenty of fancy places during my travels, but I saw them from the outside. The second I walk into Le Marguerite I feel like a pimple on a supermodel.
The floor is carpeted in a deep velvet green and my heels wobble in the plush material. The ma?tre d’ greets us from behind a small, black podium, her blonde hair falling in perfectly straight lines around her face. She smiles at Roman. “Ah, you must be Mr. Banks. Your father is waiting for you.”
She doesn’t even deign to address me or maybe the look on my face just screams help and she’s politely pretending not to notice. The levels of inadequacy only worsen as she leads us into the restaurant, her heels not wobbling in the slightest.
A mirrored bar runs along the right side of the room, the shelves of drinks glimmering like golden ambrosia under the warm lighting and mirrored ceiling. A man in a waistcoat spins a bottle in his hand before pouring it into a cocktail mixer.
The ma?tre d’ leads us around a literal Grecian column to an open space with a select few tables. Green velvet chairs match the carpet, and the pristine white tablecloths stand out in contrast. It’s one of those places that would be hideous if it weren’t so expensive.
A man who looks like a more refined, harsher version of Roman stands as we approach. They’re more similar than I expected and I’m reminded how weird it is that I’ve known Roman since he was fifteen and I’ve never even seen a photo of his father.
“Dad.” Roman dips his head in greeting.
A smile breaks across his dad’s face, slight wrinkles softening his demeanor, and if I didn’t know what I do about him, I’d almost be convinced it was genuine. “I’m glad you made it.”
Roman squeezes my hand. “This is Lola, my girlfriend. Lola, meet my dad. Richard.”
Waves froth low in my stomach like the break of surf at hearing him call me his girlfriend. Despite my nerves, I can’t help the soft smile that curves my lips. I reach out a hand to Richard and embrace the whole ‘playing pretend’ thing. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mr. Banks.”
His smile doesn’t dim but I swear his eyes flicker as he looks me over. I stiffen but then he takes my hand, cupping his other hand over mine in a grandfatherly way. “The pleasure is all mine. Please, join me.” He steps back and waves a hand at the table.
I raise an amused brow at Roman as he pulls out my seat.
His eyes glimmer and he presses a kiss to the top of my head before taking the seat next to me at the small circular table.
“We’ll take a bottle of the Chateau Mouton Rothschild, my dear,” Richard says to the ma?tre d’ who dips her head.
“Of course, sir.”
I pick up the menu and have to stifle a squeak at the price tag next to the bottle of wine Richard just ordered.
I’ve always known Roman’s family is rich.
He’d come to us every summer with designer clothes and a gift basket from Fortnum and Mason’s for my parents.
But by the second week he was borrowing Mase’s hiking gear and looking perfectly at home in our modest farmhouse and it was easy to forget that Roman came from money.
Serious money. Buy a thousand-dollar bottle of wine without a second thought type money.
I put down the menu and smooth over the pale bronze satin dress I’d chosen to wear.
Roman had warned me we’d be dining posh, but I have a feeling my sixty-dollar dress pales in comparison to Richard’s black suit with peak lapels and three flap pockets on the front.
It looks like something Tom Ford would wear on the red carpet.
“Dad, about the job,” Roman starts but his father waves him off.
“Come now, you may have shunned your legacy, but you know the rules—no business talk till dessert.”
Roman’s jaw pops but his dad’s eyes twinkle.
“A joke, Roman. Relax.”
“You don’t make jokes.”
“Well, perhaps my new lease on life has me expanding my horizons. Now, I want to spend some time with my son and his lovely lady.”
Roman hesitates, his eyes tracking over his father like he’s trying to work out his game plan.
I reach under the table and squeeze his leg.
Richard Banks puts on a good front but he’s still the same person who missed Roman’s graduation.
Who sent his son to spend Christmases with us because he was too busy to make time for his own child.
Who hired a PI to find dirt on Roman so he could blackmail him.
Roman links his fingers through mine. “Thank you for the dinner invite.”
Richard bats his thanks away with a hand in the air. “Of course.” He smiles and looks at us over the top of the menu. “So, how’s that orchard of yours doing? I was telling your mother how impressed I was after my last visit.”
“Your only visit you mean?” I say, because apparently, I’m not so good at pretending to play nice.
Richard sighs and lowers his menu. “Yes, well, that’s my error and one I intend to rectify.”
“You have a lot of errors to rectify.”
Roman strokes his thumb down my thigh, and I think he’s going to scold me but he just looks at me, wonder in his eyes, and I decide I’ll come to his defense every day if it makes him look at me like he’s seeing the ocean for the first time.
“The orchard is doing great,” I say, when Roman makes no move to answer. “The U-Pick addition Roman added last year is really popular with the tourists.”
Roman shifts to face his father. “And we’ve just signed a new contract to sell our bruised stock to Lola.”
Richard’s brow tweaks. “Have a preference for copious amounts of bruised fruit, do you?” His lips twitch with laughter.
I give him a cold smile. “They’re for the coffee shop I’m opening. We’re going to sell apple fries.”
“Ahh, an entrepreneur. A girl after my own heart. I can see why my son likes you.” The words are nice, but slime coats my skin. I’ve only been in Richard’s presence for five minutes and I finally understand why Roman thinks he has to work so hard to be loved.
After a few tense moments, the waiter returns with the wine, and we place our orders. The food, when it comes, is decadent and heavenly, like eating hundred-dollar bills if they were made out of duck confit and cotton candy.
By the time dessert comes, Roman’s shirt sleeves are rolled up, his leg jittering with the urge to get out of here.
Finally, Richard clasps his hands together. “So, my offer.”
A crash from behind has me jumping and I spin in my seat to see a man in fatigues barging past the ma?tre d’.
My heart flatlines, dread fizzing through my veins.
“Excuse me, sir, you can’t come in here,” she calls after him, but he stumbles forward towards the bar.
“I’m looking for my sister. I need my sister,” the drunk man, my brother, slurs.
Anger pulses through me. “Fuck. I’m so sorry,” I say to Roman before moving to get up.
Roman settles a hand on my shoulder and gives a small shake of his head. “Stay here, I’ll deal with him.” He gets up before I can stop him and strides over to the bar.
“Rome! Buddy!” Mase grins and pokes him in the chest. “You’re my best friend, did you know that?”
“Yeah, well if you’re mine, you’ll come outside with me. Now.” He hooks an arm under Mase’s shoulders and half carries him towards the front of the restaurant.
Around us the tables have gone quiet, fellow diners looking our way. My cheeks burn. I want to die. I want to fall through a hole to the center of the universe and become one with the hot molten mess.
I don’t think that’s going to happen though, so I open my eyes and face Richard. “I should go.”
A cutting smile. “Stay. We have things to discuss.”
My hackles raise. “I’m not sure you have anything to say I want to hear.”
“My son turned down my offer because of you.”
I work my jaw, trying to push down the nausea that churns at my throat as the accusation hits far too close to my own worries. “That’s not true.”
Richard scoffs. “He’s young and thinks he’s in love but I’m not about to let my only son throw away his life for you.
” He folds his napkin. “Roman is a Banks. He’s been groomed and raised to take over my family’s empire from before he could walk.
Circumstances brought him into your world for a few short holidays but that’s all Pine Rock is. A break from reality.”
I let out a low laugh of disbelief. “If you bothered to know your son at all, you’d know that isn’t true.”
Richard’s gaze is thick with condescension. “I do know my son and he doesn’t belong in your small town, dirtying his hands with apples and girls with family histrionics.”
My spine straightens. “Frankly, that’s not your decision to make,” I hiss.