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Mr. Bradly dries his hand on a napkin and walks over with hand extended. “Apology accepted. It takes a real man to own up to his mistakes and make amends.” He says with a hardy handshake. “Now, let’s leave the past in the past, shall we?”
I grin big as the relief spreads through me. “Agreed, sir.”
He smirks. “We’re all adults here, call me Richard.”
“But I’m still Dr. Bradly to you,” Helen laughs, placing an elegant hand to her chest.
“Mom,” Rachel wines teasingly.
Helen waves a hand at her. “I’m just kidding.” She sets her dark perspicacious eyes on me. “Please, call me Helen.”
I raise my beer bottle to her. “Helen.” She winks and moves to Richard’s side. With that, the tension finally melts from my shoulders and I think about how much I’d enjoy being a part of their family. The happy ending I envisioned is fully within my grasp. If only I could believe they would’ve accepted me without my success.
I can’t ignore the persistent sobering questions that flash across my brain. Do they know about Rachel’s letter? Did Helen help her craft it?
After several more minutes of pleasant conversation, we all make our way to the ornate dinner table. The hired help appear almost out of nowhere to serve us a seven-course gourmet meal. Again, is this for me or just another night at casa Bradly?
We’re in the middle of the second course when Richard finishes off his third Köstritzer. His eyes are a little glossy and his cheeks are rosy.
“So, Rhence,” he says, his Irish accent a little more pronounced now. “UNCC must have an amazing computer programming curriculum.”
I swallow down a bite of red snapper, before replying, “They can hold their own, but it’s really what you make of it.”
“Ah, don’t be so modest,” he says with a lopsided grin. “You were recruited by Silicon Valley, that’s pretty damned impressive.”
Rachel cast a nervous glance at me.
“Thank you, sir,” I reply, forgetting to call him Richard. “I worked really hard for it.”
“What an inspiring life you’ve led,” he says, lifting his empty beer bottle to me. “Here’s to you, Rhence.”
Before I can stop myself, I grin and say, “Well, I had to do something to warrant an invitation from you fine folks.”
Richard’s smile falls away and you could have heard a pin drop. He sets down his bottle and levels a look at me. “The lack of invitation had nothing to do with your station in life. The whole situation went down rather poorly.”
My grin broadens and I ignore Rachel’s kick under the table. “But it’s okay now that I’m respectable.”
Richard leans forward, both elbows on the table as he peers at me. “Is that why you disappeared without a word? You felt you had to go prove yourself to us?” The look of blind incredulity is disturbing. “I had nothing when I met Helen in Harvard. I was there on scholarships and worked nights to support myself.” His face grows redder by the second. “I’d never look down on someone who showed some real initiative and treated my daughter with the proper respect that she deserves. So don’t put your little disappearing act off on us.”
The genuine indignation in his tone confuses me. Hadn’t Rachel’s parents been the ones to put her up to writing that wretched letter?
“Guess who I saw at Whole Foods the other day!” Helen blurts out, drawing astonished looks from us all.
“Who, mom?” Rachel’s says, matching her manic tone, both clearly determined to change the subject.
“Mrs. Dalton, your mother,” she declares with an exaggerated smile. “I mean, I didn’t approach her or anything. I didn’t think it was appropriate at the time.” She shrugs. “But now, we’ll simply have to extend an invitation to her as well.” She sets her animated eyes on me. “Do you think that would be a good idea? Do you think she’d come?”
My mom, here? “If I have to bring her kicking and screaming, she’ll be here.”
“Excellent.” Helen clasps her hands together. “Who’s ready for some dessert? We have a raspberry mousse that’s absolutely to die for.” She gives two crisp snaps of her fingers and one of the staff emerges from the kitchen carrying a tray of elegant parfait dishes filled with what I presume to be the raspberry delight.
Fine, for the sake of making this evening as painless as possible, I’ll let the matter go. As if sensing my resignation, Rachel gives me her cutest “thank you” smile.
Clearly, I have a life altering decision to make -- accept the second chance that life is presenting me or make them all suffer by taking my revenge on Rachel. I want to forgive and forget, but can I truly trust Rachel? If my business ever failed and I lost everything, would another nasty letter make its way to me?
It’ll all be over soon enough. Next week, I’m surprising Rachel with a trip to Paris. Why Paris? Because that’s where Rachel was when I received the shitty letter she sent me. I saw her, thanks to her mother’s Facebook posts, in a video, dancing around on a verandah decorated with fairy lights. Rachel was twirling around on the floor with some suave French guy. She looked like she didn’t have a care in the world while my broken heart bled like a river.
So, yes, Paris is where I plan to deliver the coup de grâce…that or I’ll end up marrying her. Just as Parker feared, Rachel is in my head and I can barely think straight.
