No Regrets (The Ferrari Family Book 2)

by Hazel Parker

  And in any case, by the time I woke up the next day, things seemed to be settled in. Chelsea and I had great morning sex, we went to work, we went about our usual routine, and we came back that night to an actual sex-free evening—one that had been planned to make Thursday that much better. The whole while, I kept a mental countdown in my head to Friday morning, the point when, in a work meeting with my grandfather, I would drop the news to him that I was dating my assistant.

  Well, that Friday morning came, and I was a nervous wreck. If Grandpa accused me of setting up something to “cheat the system,” I was going to look an utter fool. Actually, no, looking like an utter fool was the best-case scenario; most likely, I was going to look like an enormous jackass and possibly be permanently exiled from the will. So far, Grandpa had given no indication of suspicion—no one who didn’t know before had, in fact—but Grandpa could be a wily one. He was smarter than I think I, Layla, or Nick ever gave him credit for.

  Leo just didn’t count. He gave no one any credit in anything. That was a brother I was just as happy not to have around as anything else.

  I knocked on my grandfather’s door at half-past eight sharp, always mindful of how diligent he was about time.

  “Come on in,” he said.

  I walked in to see my grandfather, as usual, looking utterly relaxed in his office. He was a man that, when at this desk, could not be rattled; my outburst just a couple of months before about the insanity of the terms of the will had proved that.

  “Right on time, as always, Brett,” he said.

  “I got my punctuality from somewhere,” I said, my mind racing so much that I became something I rarely was, for better or for worse—self-conscious. Had I made a good joke? Was it offensive? Would my grandfather care?

  “Probably your grandmother. Mary always is great for having the pasta ready right when I want it.”

  So he’s playing along. He’s in a good mood. OK, just take it easy.

  “Well, good,” I said, awkwardly laughing. “Before we get into business, though, I just wanted to bring up something personal here.”

  “Yes?”

  His voice was not suspicious, but it wasn’t exactly...I didn’t know what I had hoped to hear, but what I did hear was not exactly the kind of thing that put me at complete ease, anyway. Then again, my grandfather, though calm, was not the kind of guy you went to for a pat on the back at work; he’d be nice, but he would be unflinching and unyielding in his terms and expectations.

  “Well, as you know, I recently hired a personal assistant to help me with my sommelier duties.”

  Why are you trying to make this sound formal? Just say it.

  “She has been a great asset to the team, and, uh, I hope that she continues to be as much a help to us as she has been to date. But, well, you should know...Grandpa, we’re dating.”

  I braced myself for the wide eyes, for the palms on the table, for the sudden stand, for…

  Nothing that actually came.

  “And you care for her?”

  If he was suspicious, then he was hiding it so well that not even Grandma could have picked up on it.

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “I wouldn’t date someone just for the hell of it. You...yeah.”

  I came this close to saying, “You know me, incapable of finding a wife before I turn thirty.”

  “Well, good for you,” my grandfather said. “You know that there are rules of professionalism and respect that you are expected to adhere to while you are here, but so long as you do that and your quality of performance is not affected here at Ferrari Wines, then you may do as you wish.”

  “Great.”

  “That was me speaking as the owner of Ferrari Wines,” he said, and just as I was starting to feel a little hopeful, a little optimistic that maybe things wouldn’t be so bad, they suddenly went right back to making me wonder just what the hell I’d gotten myself into. “As your grandfather, Brett, I have a slightly different thought.”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m delighted for you!” he said, showing the kind of enthusiasm and emotion I had only last seen when Nick got engaged. “Here I was, thinking you would never even be able to be exclusive with someone, let alone marry them. And now, you found it right under your nose.”

  That...was completely unexpected.

  “Oh, I’ll have to tell Mary; she is going to be delighted that you finally grew up and found someone.”

  “Why, thank you,” I said, fully aware that he had delivered quite possibly the most backhanded compliment ever.

  “Actually, you know what, why don’t we make something of this,” he said. “Let’s celebrate tonight. Bring...Carrie?”

  “Chelsea.”

  “Bring Chelsea to Voltaire’s. I’ll bring Mary. We would love to be acquainted with her beyond what happens here.”

  This all seemed so fast and so much, now I was wondering if Grandpa was trolling me, setting me up for an epic scolding at Voltaire’s. Was it that far out of the question? If our family had these connections, one that Grandpa had once come from, who was to say that he hadn’t remembered a few tricks about showing someone up?

  “I’ll ask her when I get back to my office,” I said.

  “See to it that you do,” he said. “I would imagine your plans are both dependent on the other.”

  Well, we’re not glued at the hip. At least, not in that sense…

  I reminded myself that my grandfather had slightly more archaic views of the world than I did, thanked him, and walked out of the office. At least the first step of making people in my family aware of what was going on had gone off without a hitch; Mom and Dad would find out eventually, but we never spoke that intimately anyway, so not like Grandma and Grandpa finding out first would be a cardinal sin.

  By the time I got back to my desk, I actually felt pretty damn happy. Everything was going according to plan. Chelsea and I were having great sex, Grandpa was loving what was going on, we were on schedule...if things were on a shaky foundation that could collapse at any moment, I was still enjoying the false sense of security for now.

  I waited patiently, unable to work on anything, for Chelsea to show up. As soon as she did, I summoned her into my office. I waited until she locked the door to do something I’d never done before.

  I kissed her inside.

  “Damn, Brett,” she said, sounding a little more turned off than I would have expected. “What’s going on?”

  “I just told Grandpa about us, and he seemed very happy,” I said. “This is great news. It means no suspicion is being raised right now. Oh, and he wants to take us to dinner.”

  “Dinner?”

  Her tone was accusatory, not excited. Something was really driving at her, but I felt to have this conversation now would be a terrible setup for tonight. We had to get through dinner, at least, before I pressed her about whatever the hell was going on.

  “Yeah, at Voltaire’s,” I said. “I know it’s a repeat of a month ago, but I don’t think I’d ever say no to their steak, and…”

  “OK,” she said. “And that’s tonight?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you then.”

  She added a smile, but it felt too tacked on, too forced to be natural. I smiled back, also awkwardly, and waited until she was out of sight. I didn’t really want to take a guess as to why she was being this way. I wanted to keep my mind clean for dinner.

  Perhaps I was asking for too much, but then again, if I had stopped doing things when I felt I was asking for too much, I would have never even had Chelsea Polozzi in my life.

  * * *

  We agreed to head back to her place after work, but with reservations at six p.m., both of us acknowledged that we just didn’t have time for sex. And even if we did, there was some element about shaking my grandparents’ hands after my hand had gone certain places that would have just felt wholly inappropriate. Keep a nice presence for the grandparents for a few hours, and then go wild tonight.

 
; But the whole time we got dressed, Chelsea seemed distracted. I told myself she was just nervous about this dinner, but that was a lie that I chose to believe. There was no actual truth to it. If there was, she wouldn’t have acted this way the night before.

  When we got to Voltaire’s, we discovered that not only had my grandparents already gotten a table, they had gotten one in a private room. Apparently, it paid to have been in the area for decades.

  “Oh, there’s my handsome grandson,” my grandmother said, kissing me on the cheek. “And this must be your lovely girlfriend. I’m Mary.”

  “Chelsea, thank you for having me.”

  She didn’t sound nervous. In fact, looking at her now, it was like she’d adopted the polite and sweet girlfriend persona perfectly.

  “Well, you two look like such a cute couple,” Grandma said. “My goodness! How did you two meet?”

  “I told you, Mary, she works for him, and that’s how it happened,” Grandpa said.

  “Oh,” Grandma said. “Now, that’s a story!”

  To my surprise, she did not speak with sarcasm or judgment. Grandma was not the most...open-minded person in the world, let’s say, but this did not seem passive-aggressive. This just seemed genuine.

  What in the world was going on in my life?

  “Do you all want any wine?” my grandfather said. “I’m sure being around the scent of wine all day has made it so you’re craving some.”

  I looked to Chelsea, but she didn’t say a word.

  “I think…”

  “I’m good, thank you,” Chelsea said. “I’m the driver tonight.”

  That...was not true. I had driven. And even if she had...would one glass really make a difference?

  “Oh, now, Chelsea, by all means, it’s on us,” Grandpa said. “We wouldn’t invite you out to dinner and not have some wine!”

  “I know, and I apologize,” Chelsea said sheepishly. “I just want to be extra cautious while driving.”

  She’s not…

  No way…

  The thought hit me as I put everything together. But it wasn’t real.

  Between the bathroom visit last night...the odd mood swings today...now refusing the alcohol...but it wasn’t real.

  No, she was probably just stressed from work or stressed from coming out into the open to my grandfather. That had to literally be all there was. Whatever other thoughts I had...it wasn’t real.

  Because if it was, I wouldn’t know how to handle myself.

  “Well, Alf, let’s commend her for being a safe driver, I will abstain from alcohol as well, Chelsea,” my grandmother said. “Sometimes, us women have to abstain from toxins.”

  I could no longer make sense or anticipate anything anymore, because Grandma taking the side of my date instead of her husband was about as likely as the most feared thought that had run across my mind just moments before.

  “Thank you,” Chelsea said, finally sounding relieved.

  “Well, while the women are too afraid to drink, Brett, would you like a glass of wine?”

  “Um, sure, just, uh, whatever you pick, grandpa, since you said you’re paying.”

  Grandpa rolled his eyes.

  “So how did you learn about Ferrari Wines?” Grandma said. “And where were you before?”

  Oh, Christ, this might have been a mistake.

  “Well, I think everyone knows about the great work you guys have done,” Chelsea said. “I was at my father’s furniture shop before. It was fine, but...selling furniture just wasn’t for me. I was looking for something a little more sophisticated, a little more upscale. I learned that there was a job opening at Ferrari Wines, I applied and, luckily enough, here I am.”

  “Here you are, indeed,” my grandfather said. “Funny enough, I don’t ever remember Brett making a job posting. But I tell my kids, you want to run your job as an entrepreneur, you go for it.”

  I forced a smile. Perhaps this idea of a dinner date with my grandparents was not my finest hour.

  “And look what it did, it brought you two together,” my grandma said. “I can’t ever say that we’ve had love at the office. Why, if I didn’t know better, Brett, I would’ve thought you knew her from before and hired her to be closer!”

  She laughed at her own joke. The two of us laughed too, but I was suddenly very nervous at how close Grandma had come to guessing the truth.

  I had never felt so grateful in my life for a waiter as right then because it allowed me to focus my attention on anything but what was going on inside my head. I ordered a T-bone steak with sweet potato and asparagus, and once again deferred to grandpa on the wine. Once again, I got a muttered comment about how I’d apparently forgotten to be a sommelier.

  I just didn’t want Chelsea to feel like I was showing her up by ordering any type of wine. Yes, I was in my head. Yes, I was overthinking things. But, yes, I had a deep fear that I had good reason to be acting this way.

  After the waiter took everything down and had our menus, my grandmother turned back.

  “True love can come in many ways, some we often don’t even know about,” she said.

  “Oh, Lord, Mary, you’re going to bore the two of them with your Disney talk,” Grandpa said.

  “And what would you rather talk about, Alf? Nick’s achievements in the outfield? We are witnessing something here that we have not before—Brett finding a lady!”

  If that was supposed to make me feel better, it just made things worse. I was pretty well convinced by now I was not getting any sex tonight, a fact further reinforced by the squeezing of my leg under the table—a squeeze that was not romantic or sexual, but of “are you fucking kidding me?”

  At this point, I was just praying that the two of them didn’t reveal anything potentially embarrassing.

  “Is that so?” Chelsea said. “I always thought Brett was a gentleman.”

  My grandmother’s loud—and authentic—laugh helped nothing. Nothing at all.

  I decided from that point forward I would just keep my mouth shut as much as possible. To my surprise, though, my grandmother and Chelsea actually seemed to click quite well, and not in a “fake friendly” way, but in a genuine fashion. They talked as if they had known each other from way back, like Chelsea had been a student of hers. Grandpa and I sort of retreated to the background, content to let the two girls do most of the talking.

  The upside of this was that when our food came, I was able to largely eat in peace, save for the occasional interjection of an answer or an opinion. But the spotlight had shifted away from me and toward Chelsea.

  And in doing so, it almost seemed like her worries and her fears had also begun to slowly melt away. Not that this conversation cured everything or would promise us an engaging, erotic evening upon returning to one of our homes, but it certainly helped.

  “And did we save any room for dessert?”

  The waiter’s customary question, close to an hour and a half after we had first sat down, was more or less the cue of finality. Grandpa politely declined, asked for the check, and Grandma turned to me.

  “Well, Brett, you found yourself a delight,” she said.

  I blushed. It wasn’t acted.

  “I’m a lucky man,” I said, turning to face Chelsea.

  Her mood had lightened some. But when I looked into her eyes, that concern, that fear she’d had when we first walked in, it was still present. She had just either hid it talking to Grandma or had done a good job of disguising it as curiosity.

  “And I just hope I can keep making Chelsea feel that way.”

  Chelsea’s smile was all too brief.

  The check came a short bit later, which Grandpa paid quickly. I was no longer interested in conversing with the grandparents; I had to know what was going on with Chelsea. I rose from my seat, even before Grandpa had put his glasses back in his pocket. The gesture drew a surprised remark from Grandma, but Grandpa was probably just as happy as I was to go someplace quiet. We got to the valet, where my grandparents’ car came first.<
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  “Brett, pleasure as always,” Grandpa said, extending his hand.

  I shook it, but I was really paying attention to how Grandma was hugging Chelsea. That hadn’t so much come out of left field as it had come out of the whole damn arena; Grandma always embraced her grandkids, but she was very slow to the touch with most of us. Had Chelsea just made that good of an impression?

  The rest of the goodbye was cordial and well. I hugged Grandma. Grandpa shook Chelsea’s hand. We helped them get in the car just as my vehicle came up. I helped Chelsea into the front seat, shut her door, and let out a wistful sigh with my eyes closed.

  Seriously, how did one make any sense of what had just happened?

  I hopped into the driver’s seat and looked over at Chelsea. She was staring straight ahead, but it was too obvious that her mind was not wherever her eyes had settled.

  “Don’t see that every day,” I said. “Grandma’s usually cold as ice. You must have won her over.”

  Chelsea nodded, her nostrils flaring. If I didn’t know better...was she on the verge of crying?

  “Chelsea?”

  “Brett, I’m pregnant.”

  Chapter 20: Chelsea

  He knew.

  Of course, he knew. The fact that he didn’t act surprised or shriek told me he knew. He was probably just like me.

  Living in denial. Taking any opportunity given to me as an excuse not to think about what would happen in three months, nine months, three years, nine years...not to think about what sort of consequences this would have on my life. Because what could one feel except a certain level of unpreparedness, of hopelessness, of regret of having a child well before being ready?

  “You are?”

  I think he just said that because he didn’t know what else to say. But I was in a foul mood, and this sort of oblivious statement was enough to set me off.