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He opens the door and leads me through a monstrous foyer with colossal columns and a white marble floor. Off to the side is a sprawling curved marble staircase that flows into the foyer. We walk through the foyer into a large living room with dark plush couches and chairs on an antique rug. Next to the living area is a large formal dining room set for six. Fine china and crystal stemware sit atop a huge mahogany table. Looking past the dining room, I see the entrance to a massive kitchen the size of a small house.
We wander into the kitchen where one of the staff is waiting. “Good evening, Mr. Remington. Would you care for something to drink?”
“Yes, we would. Thank you.” He smiles politely at her.
She walks over to a wine chiller on the kitchen island and fills two beautiful lead crystal glasses with champagne. She hands each of us a glass.
“Thank you,” I murmur. She smiles and places the bottle back in the chiller. It’s Cliquot. I wonder if Chase told his father my taste in champagne.
Chase leads me back into the living room and takes a seat beside me. As we sit, we hear noises coming from the front door. It’s Preston and Gabriella arriving. They enter through the foyer just as we did. Chase’s engrained manners take over, and he stands at their presence. I stand up beside him.
“Preston, you remember Olivia?” Preston nods his head and takes my hand, placing a chaste kiss on the back.
“How could I forget,” he charms with a smile. Gabby looks less than pleased.
“Olivia, you remember Preston’s girlfriend Gabriella?”
“Yes, how are you?” I manage to spit out. She nods and gives me a tight smile. They make their way into the kitchen, and we take our seats back on the couch. Chase sits close, his arm draped around my shoulders like he is staking a claim. His thumb strokes the back of my neck and shoulder, sending tingles down my spine.
As Preston and Gabriella make their way out of the kitchen, each with a champagne glass in hand, Chase Senior and Tiffani descend the stairs and make their way into the living room to greet all of us.
“Glad both of you could make it,” his father says. He shakes Chase’s hand and gives me a big hug. “It’s not often we have the chance to get together as a family.” Tiffani looks like she’s gotten a head start on the champagne since she already has a glass in hand. Another staff member appears out of nowhere and hands Chase Senior a glass. “Come,” he says. “Dinner is ready.”
The place settings are exquisite. Ivory china with a wide gold rim around the outside, and each charger is monogrammed with a large R in the center. The stemware is Baccarat. It’s heavy and almost sharp from the cuts in the crystal. There is a huge display of flowers in the center of the table surrounding a large glass column with a candle in the center. The table looks as if it came out of a magazine.
Chase Senior sits at the head of the table; Tiffani sits at the opposite end so she is looking straight at him. Chase and I sit to his father’s left, Preston and Gabriella to his right with both men sitting next to their father. “I took the liberty of guessing you would like white wine with dinner.” Chase says as he pulls out my chair. “A sauvignon blanc?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Once everyone is seated, as if on cue, three of the kitchen staff walk in, each holding two plates. They place them down in unison.
“The first course is butternut squash soup,” Chase whispers.
“I’ve never had butternut squash.” I say, my voice barely audible.
“It’s similar to pumpkin. It’s good, trust me.” It looks like baby puke but does smell pretty good. Tentative, I place the spoon in my mouth. Mmm, it’s good. I must stop judging foods by their appearances.
Tiffani and Gabriella start to discuss the new spring line at Oscar de la Renta. I feel as if I’m purposely left out of the conversation. They don’t even look over in my direction, like I’m not even here. I don’t have any idea what they are talking about anyway. The men discuss work and politics. I take my attention away from fashion and listen in on the men’s conversation. From what I can tell, they are doing well and are purchasing another property in Italy, in addition to the property they already have. I drain my wine glass, and as I put the glass down, someone refills it. Jeez, where do they keep coming from?
“Chase, you’re going to need to go over and check things out in the next few months,” his father says to him. “I need eyes on the project.” Wow, he’s going to Italy? I wonder how long he’ll be gone.
The kitchen staff comes in as if omnipresent and clear our soup plates as the last person finishes. I take a sip of wine as the conversation continues.
“I can clear my schedule at the end of next month and go then,” Chase replies to his father. His father nods his head in agreement. Chase turns to me. “How much vacation time can you get?” he whispers just so I can hear him.
“I don’t know. I just started. Why?” I ask puzzled.
“I want you to come with me to Italy,” he says, his head cocked to one side. He looks adorable.
“Um . . . I don’t . . .” My response is interrupted when the next course is placed in front of us. It’s a Caprese salad with fresh mozzarella, purple heirloom tomatoes, red onions, and basil, with a balsamic glaze drizzled over the top. One of my all-time favorites.
“You know I can arrange for your time off,” he says arrogantly, his lips twitching up into a smile.
“I just started. You’ll get me in trouble,” I grumble. “I don’t want Norris to think I’m getting special treatment.”
“Isn’t there a beach in Italy that you can study? You know, to compare to the beaches here?” He lifts his eyebrow, challenging me to say he’s wrong. As much as I hate to admit it, it’s always a good idea to examine the dynamics of other beaches.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” I say warily. His smile grows broader. Crap, he knows I’m considering it. “Can we discuss this later, alone?” I beseech him. He nods and continues eating his salad, the smile not leaving his face.
