“Hmm.” We stopped at the bar, and Amanda ordered her signature scotch, neat, before she turned to me.
“Want a beer? We’ll be here for a while, so you’ll have time for the effects to wear off before you drive.”
I shook my head. “I’ll stick with water for now, I think.”
The bartender nodded. “Sparkling or still?”
“Still, please.” I pulled out my wallet and tucked a couple of ones into the discreetly placed tip jar. “Thanks.”
With our drinks in hand, we began to circulate. I watched Amanda interact with various people, always introducing me as her friend, Vincent. As I paid attention, I began to be able to discern who were old friends and who were newer acquaintances, the ones who she was chatting up to help raise money for the party. There was a slight difference in the way she spoke to them, and I picked up on how she kept herself just slightly removed from those she didn’t know well.
At dinner, we sat with her parents and four people Amanda told me in a murmur were wealthy donors.
“So, Vincent.” One of the women, a well-preserved elderly lady, turned to address me. “What do you do?”
I cleared my throat, suddenly tense. This was the moment I’d worried about, when I’d have to admit that I wasn’t a doctor or CEO. I knew what I did for a living didn’t matter to Amanda or to her parents, but I didn’t want to embarrass them, either.
“I’m a pastry chef. I work in my family’s restaurant in Seagrove City—it’s down by the shore.”
“Oh!” She smiled, and her eyes brightened. “Now that’s lovely. I do love a man who can cook. Tell me about some of the desserts you make. My late husband Douglas used to cook, too—it was his hobby, and it brought us both great joy. I miss talking to him about that.”
I spent the next thirty minutes describing my favorite pastries and recipes to the lady whose rapt attention never left me. We were interrupted when the state police commissioner stopped by the table to speak to her, at which point the gentleman on the other side of her began asking me questions about Seagrove City, where apparently his family had had a house many years ago.
Just before the end of the evening, the governor came over to talk to us, kissing Amanda on the cheek as she introduced me to him. I played it cool, all the while thinking how surreal it was that I was here, hanging out with the people who ran our state.
“Vincent, you were brilliant tonight.” Mrs. Simmons pulled me in for a hug as the four of us left the hotel after the party was officially over. “You charmed Mrs. Sanders so much that she doubled the size of her usual contribution. I think we’re going to make you come to all of these and chat up the donors.”
Amanda wrapped her arm around my waist and laid her head against my chest. “Sorry, Mom. Vincent is not available to work your fundraisers ... no matter how much the old ladies love him.”
Her mother laughed. “Maybe we could work out a compromise. You wouldn’t begrudge your mother and your governor the services of your boyfriend, would you, Amanda?”
Amanda cast me a quick glance, and I didn’t miss the slight panic in her eyes. “Mom, Vincent and I—we don’t—he isn’t—”
I ran my fingers down her arm and took her hand in mine. “Always happy to help, Mrs. S. I’d do anything for my girlfriend and her family.”
“You really won my mom over tonight. And my dad, too, because if my mother and I are happy, so is he.” Amanda balanced on one foot just inside her bedroom door, gripping the jamb as she slipped off first one high heel and then the other. I couldn’t help smiling when I saw her bend over to pick up both shoes and carry them to her closet. I’d noticed in the past few months that she’d become more conscientious about tidying up after herself. She made an effort to straighten up when she knew I was coming over. I never said anything, but I thought maybe that I was leading by example.
Not that it really mattered to me. Yes, Amanda could be a little careless at times, but it was actually kind of endearing, probably because she realized her own foibles. It was just one of her many traits that made me smile when I thought of them.
I caught myself. Jesus God, what in the hell was happening to me? When had I morphed from a guy who was cynical as hell about anything remotely resembling a relationship to the dude who thought it was adorable that his girlfriend left her dress on the floor?
And when had I seriously begun considering Amanda my girlfriend?
I didn’t know the answers to any of these questions, but as I watched her wriggle out of the dress and then reach back to unhook her bra, suddenly, none of that mattered.
She turned her head and smiled at me. Incredibly, I wasn’t looking at her tempting breasts; I was seeing her smile and the way she looked at me and the softness in her eyes. It wasn’t about the sex anymore or about how much I wanted her, which was still constant and intense; it was about her.Us.
“What’s that look for?” she asked, the smile still playing around her lips as she picked up her robe from the foot of her bed.
“I was just thinking that turnabout is fair play.” I reached for her hand, pulling her towards me so that I could wrap my arms around her and kiss her lips lightly. “Because you know, now that I’ve been out with your parents in the official capacity of your boyfriend, maybe it’s time for you to come to Sunday supper at the DiMartinos. If you’re up for it, that is. It’s not for the weak of heart or mind.”
Amanda stared at me, and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. I couldn’t figure out whether she thought that the invitation was a good thing or the scariest shit she’d ever heard.
“Are you sure about this? Inviting me to the Sunday family dinner seems like a really big deal.”
“I guess it probably is, but maybe you and I are a really big deal. Maybe it’s time to stop pretending that we’re not. I’m tired of having my life segmented into the Amanda parts and the family parts. It would be much easier if you were all one big part.”
Her green eyes gleamed teasingly. “I see. So, this is just a for your convenience, isn’t it? It has nothing to do with anything else.”
