“How dare you speak to me in that vulgar manner,” Mother hissed.
“Since when was the truth vulgar?”
“Your father is going to hear about this, young lady.” Mother wagged her finger in my face. I batted it back like it was an annoying gnat. She lifted her arm to strike me. I ducked.
Colin’s hand caught her wrist in mid-swing. “Fiona.”
Mother wobbled. Her expression was flat, emotionless, but her body shook. Her mouth opened, like she wanted to protest Colin stopping her with physical force, but she seemed speechless, and astounded by the strength in his grip.
When her anger appeared to have subsided, Colin let her go.
Her arm sagged like a dead member to her side. She pointed a finger at Colin. “You work for me, remember that.”
Then she turned and stalked back and forth a few feet away, chugging the drink.
“I am so sorry,” I said. Erasing the awkwardness that had just happened was impossible.
He brought himself close, his gaze filled with concern. “Has she hit you before?”
“I’ve taken my share of her slaps,” I muttered. Colin shifted with obvious discomfort. Had he ever been slapped? Imagining Barb, Phil, the kind patience I remembered them having when I was a child, I doubted Colin had ever been hit.
One of the cleaning team quietly appeared. Had the guy been waiting for the fireworks to stop? I couldn’t help but wonder if the worker’s image of the family on Park Avenue was now one of disgust that people like us fight over such stupid things.
He spoke to Colin in Spanish. Colin nodded, shook his hand and the young man pulled out a cell phone and made a call. Within minutes, three other maids appeared and the group of them left.
“Good as new.” Colin’s gaze swept the entry.
Mother would be the judge of that and in her mood, I wouldn’t put it past her to slip on a white glove and don her bi-focals for inspection. Of course, it wasn’t Colin’s job to see that the house was put back together.
“Is it like this every year?” he asked with a glance at Mother, still prowling a few feet away.
“Like what? Mom hung-over, Dad gone?”
He hesitated, but nodded.
“Merry Christmas, right? I don’t blame you for wanting to go home for the holidays. It’s not very… there’s not a lot of Christmas spirit here.”
Mother sauntered over. She stopped close. Her breath was sour and rancid, mixing with stale perfume applied the night before.
“Haven’t Barb and Phil ever argued?” Her tone cut with sarcasm. “Or are they still blissfully married?”
“Don’t attack Colin’s family, Mother.”
“It’s true. They were always so happy,” she said with a tinge of envy.
“Fiona, I don’t want to be the reason for an argument.”
“You’re not the reason, darling,” Mother said. “Charles and I have been like this for years. I’m sure Ashlyn was going to fill you in on every dirty little Adair secret, weren’t you, Ash-lyn? I’ll save her the breath. Separate bedrooms make for more than geographical troubles. I’ll bet Barb and Phil still sleep in the same bed, am I right?”
“Mother!”
“Am I?” Mother glared at Colin.
Colin’s jaw twitched. “The house is clean. I excused the temps.
I’m going to take Ashlyn out for something to eat.” He took my elbow in his fingers and turned me toward the door.
“Oh, lovely. How. Lovely.” Mother’s tone balanced on a tightrope of frustration and jealousy. Colin grabbed our jackets from the coat closet, entered the security code into the keypad, and the door unlocked. He reached around me, opened the door and ushered me out into the bright, cold afternoon.
The door slammed at our backs.
Colin eyed me for a moment, unsure of how to respond. I wasn’t afraid, not angry even. This was my life. I stood surrounded by everything, but in reality, had very little. Dad and Mother barely tolerated each other and I bounced somewhere in between.
He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and held me at his side for a few seconds. One glance over his shoulder at the townhouse and he released me, probably because he wasn’t sure whether or not Mother was watching.
He hailed a cab and within seconds one zoomed to a stop and we slid into the stuffy backseat.
Middle Eastern music twanged from speakers. The driver’s black eyes held on Colin through the rearview mirror as if silently expecting the next command.
“Rendezvous on 8th and Broadway.”
The driver pulled into traffic.
Colin watched me across the cab, then his fingers reached out and touched my cheek again.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“Quit apologizing for your parents.”
“How are you going to deal with Mother? Why would you want to?” Stuart had been right when he’d told me to get far away. I kept hiding behind the every-family-has-problems, routine answer. But that hiding place was exposed now. Vulnerable.
“I can take care of myself,” he said, softly. His arm stretched out along the backseat, near my shoulder.
“Now you know,” I murmured. Relief tried to soothe me, but at the same time I was overcome with fear that he’d leave.
“All families have problems.”
Dare I further twist open the can? Would the wretchedness of Daddy’s obsession be the unbearable stench that finally drove Colin to quit?
“I’m not sure I’m qualified to have an opinion. But I can listen, if you want to talk.”
I kept my gaze on my hands, clutched in my lap. Daddy would not approve of me sharing my feelings with anyone outside of the family. He had to know I’d talked to Felicity, but he trusted me so implicitly, it hurt down deep even considering sharing my woes about my life with Colin.
Yet, in Colin’s gaze I saw invitation and trust.
We arrived at Rendezvous and Colin paid the driver. He got out and held his hand extended so I could slide across the backseat and out to the safety of the sidewalk rather than exit on the other side, in the busy street.
Exotic bouquets of spices mingled and filled my head when we entered the small, colorfully decorated place. Giant sheers hung from the ceiling, rippling softly from a current created by gemstone crusted fans.
We were escorted to the back, where we sat on fluffy pillows around a table decorated with vanilla candles and beaded placemats.
A round-bellied man with a turban and thick beard left us two menus before attending to other customers.
“How did you find this place?”
“One day when I was lost.” He laughed and the relaxing sound rippled through my blood.
My appetite slowly returned as time passed. I’d never enjoyed looking at someone so much. His eyelashes—the way they almost brushed his cheekbones when his eyes were downcast, like now as he looked at the menu. The flirtatious dance of his dimples when he spoke, ate, laughed.
“There’s that smile again,” he said. I frowned and he grinned. “You never told me what inspires you.”
“You mean when I write music?”
He nodded, setting his menu aside.
“Events, mostly—things that happen in my life, people I know.”
“That song you played last night. I’ve heard it a lot since I’ve been at the house. What’s it called?”
I reached for my water glass, hiding a cringe. Do I dare? “I don’t have a name for it yet. It’s new.”
“I like it.”
“You should,” I said, then sipped. He tilted his head, curious.
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s your song.” I couldn’t believe the words left my mouth, but the relief I felt was empowering. His brown eyes lowered to my mouth and held for half a second, before he looked into my eyes again.
“My song?” he croaked.
I set down my glass and clasped my hands on the table, pinning him with a look I’d read about in my romance novels: one meant to communicate so
mething. What, I wasn’t sure—I had a windmill of emotions going round in my head.
“Wow. That’s…flattering.”
“I started writing it that first night you came to the townhouse.”
“Really?” His dimples deepened. “I thought you hated me that night. I was sure of it.”
“I did.”
His smile slowly disappeared. We stared at each other. I’d never had a conversation where I drove the subject matter through rough terrain before.
“Why?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“If you hated me, why is the song so…beautiful?”
My fortitude faltered. Deep in my belly, resilience caved, trembled, and turned soft as I gazed into his curious eyes.
“Because…”
“May I take your order?” The turban-headed man returned, smiling.
The tension building between Colin and I snapped like a cinnamon stick. Colin aimed a teasing, knowing grin at me, which I mirrored.“This conversation is not over,” he said.
I bit my lower lip.
We ordered, and the waiter took our menus and left. Colin sat forward, as if he couldn’t remain in his seat a second longer. His dark eyes sparkled with light. “Because?”
“Because my feelings for you… changed.” I stunned myself with my words, yet as each layer of the thick protection covering my feelings was peeled back, I felt lighter, stronger, and more capable than I ever had.
His cheeks colored a deep fuschia shade, like the scarves hanging from the ceiling. “I’m honored,” he said.
“You’ve never been the muse?” I teased.
He shook his head, boyishly cute. “Not that I know of.”
“Well, I’m happy to be a first for you.”
His smile slowly crept away, and a look of depth and wonder replaced it. Long seconds drifted by. “You really are very…unique, Ashlyn,” he said. “You are a first for me. I can’t remember the last time a came across a someone so…genuinely innocent.”
“I hate being innocent,” I grumbled.
“Don’t. I like it.”
Though I would rather be refreshing and special some other way, I smiled. “Thank you, I think.”
“That was you I ran into on the street that day, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“So how come the story? Wait, you were alone, weren’t you?”
I nodded. “And late. One of many attempts at freedom, foiled.”
His brows knit over piercing eyes. “Tell me about that.”
A knot lodged in my throat. I picked up my glass, drank, but the knot remained. “I told you, I don’t get out much.”
“I’m getting that. Why? I mean, Charles’ concern for your safety runs so deep. Is it tied to what happened years ago?”
“You remember?”
“Are you kidding? My parents talked about it for weeks. I was only eight but I remember it like I remember the day Princess Diana died. Is it okay to talk about or would you rather not—”
“No, honestly, I was five years old. My memory is fragmented, at best.”
“Still, it must have been traumatic.”
“For Mother and Daddy. They insisted I go to therapy. But, honestly, the only thing I remember is the afternoon, how it was sunset. I was running toward the street, and there were all these police cars, lights flashing and millions of people.”
“The day they found you.” Colin nodded. “Mom and Dad were with your parents non-stop until you were found.”
“Melissa didn’t hurt me. She was always kind to me.”
“Do you ever hear about her?”
“Daddy…doesn’t like bringing up any of that.” Daddy had been mortified and disturbed about the ramifications of the young nanny’s obsessive infatuation with him. So much so that he’d up and relocated from California to New York in attempt to be as far away from the nightmare as possible. “You know, I never thought of it before now, but it isn’t that unusual that she’d become lovesick with Daddy. I can see how it could happen.” I’d often wondered if there were other women in Daddy’s life besides Mother. Felicity had been the first to bring the suggestion to my attention when she’d found out my parents slept in different bedrooms. “Your dad’s like a movie star,” she’d said after meeting him. “No wonder women stare.”
I’d never noticed because whenever Daddy and I were together, his attention had always been wholly focused on me.
“As I remember,” Colin began, “she kidnapped you and threatened to kill you unless he left your mother for her.”
“But she never hurt me. Not that that mattered to Daddy. The very idea of it haunted him. Changed his life forever.” And mine.
He sat back against the stucco wall. “I guess I understand why he’s concerned for your safety.”
Obsessed was a more accurate word. “Still, that was years ago. I wish he’d relax about it now.”
“When he hired me I asked him if there had been any threats recently. He was evasive about it.”
I shrugged. “He’s told me that there are people out there who want to hurt him, and they’ll use me to do that.”
“Interesting.”
Our food came, steaming and aromatic, to our table. My stomach moaned in response to the heavenly scents. We started eating the lamb and vegetables in spicy sauce over confetti rice.
After a few moments, Colin said, “I’m glad you talked to me about it.”
“Daddy refuses to elaborate about the incident. But technology made finding out about it, easy. All I had to do was get online and read old news reports. It was weird because, like I said, I only have that one memory. And I’m not even sure that memory hasn’t been tainted by the news footage I used to watch over and over.”
“It was pretty big news.”
“But it’s over,” I reiterated. And I wanted to talk about him. “Do you miss your parents?” I asked.
He wiped his mouth with his napkin, set it on his lap. “I do. I love New York, school.” His gaze held mine for a long moment. “But I like what I’m doing now, here…with you.”
I bit my lip. Warmth flushed my face. Could he see it? Pleased that he was happy, my fears about him leaving began to lessen. I cleared my throat.
“I remember going to Redondo Beach pier and eating cracked crab with your family.”
He laughed. “Every Sunday.”
“One time you chased me with a live crab.”
“I did?”
I nodded, remembering how terrified I’d been. How silly it seemed now. He’d been maybe eleven at the time. “I was…” My throat locked. I swallowed. Colin stopped chewing, waiting for me to continue. “I was afraid of you.”
Whatever was in his mouth went down in a gulp. With a shadow of grave reality he looked away for a moment, then back at me. He shook his head, put his napkin aside. “Back then, I wasn’t very nice to you. Especially in light of what happened. I’m sorry.”
I was shocked that he added his memory to the truth, validating feelings I’d often questioned. But I’d put all of that behind me. “I don’t know why I mentioned it, I—”
“I’m glad you did. It was wrong. Forgive me?”
“I already have.”
After lunch, we stood outside of Rendezvous both of us looking up and down 8th Avenue like we weren’t sure where to go next.
“What now?” I asked.
Storm clouds filled the sky. I rarely looked up, rarely took note of the weather because I was either shuttled in our car wherever I had to go, or inside buildings.
“How long…” Colin scratched the back of his head. I could tell he wasn’t sure how to proceed, and I was also sure what he was going to say.
“Will Mother be in her current state?”
“Yeah.”
“It varies. I stay in my bedroom or in the music room until things settle down.”
Colin’s cell phone rang and he retrieved it from his front pocket.
“Speaking of.” Our gaz
es remained attached as he clicked on the phone. “Fiona?”
Mother’s sobbing transcended the plastic device and city noise.
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