All that Matters (Family Matters Book 2)

by Liana Key

  A part of me knew he'd come around. I guess that's why I made sure to be home before eight. I knew he would drive by after training and if my car was there, I knew he would come up. It would be easier to tell him quickly, rather than lie, rather than two-time. That wasn't me, I knew I couldn't cheat on him. I had turned on the television and for some reason the tears had started flowing, completely uncontrollable. I'd sniffed, blown my nose, tried to force them to stop, but still the sobs came. I scolded myself, telling myself to gain composure, hardly needing to be a blubbering mess in front of him. I turned to my alcohol cabinet and poured myself a neat brandy, a large one. Then sat down and waited.

  He could tell I'd been crying and he took me in his arms, held me and right then I wished I'd never met Marcus Haynes. I loved this boy, loved him with my whole being, never wanted to be apart from him. But we were wrong, our love was wrong. Always had been, always would be.

  He asked me to tell him what had happened, and it was as if he knew already. He didn't look at me, not as I told him that I'd been kissed by another man, not as I told him he had asked me out again. I whispered apologies, tried to coax a reaction from him, but he never made eye contact, sat there motionless. I touched his knee, telling him gently, "You know it would never..."

  "Don't say it," he interrupted, his voice fragile, desperate and I knew then how this was breaking his heart. He pushed my hand off his knee, my apologies profuse, but perhaps in his ears meaningless.

  "Cassian," I begged, "I'm sorry, I didn't want this to..."

  "It's okay," he said cutting me off matter of factly and stood up, his face a mask, his eyes focused somewhere behind me. I clung to him and he took me in his arms and I wept like a child. But he said nothing, and though his arms were around me I felt no warmth, no affection, no love. His lips kissed the top of my head, something he'd done hundreds of times before, but today I felt nothing, only emptiness, as if I'd stripped him of all emotion. He pulled away and walked out, leaving me alone, desolate. I retreated to my bedroom, sobbing into my pillow, my heart burdened with guilt. For it was me who had taken his innocence, taken his love, treasured and cherished him with every fibre of my being. And now it was me who had just destroyed it all.

  (Paola's song: Mayday Parade – The silence)

  Chapter 8

  CASSIAN

  I had virtually just stepped out of my last class of the day when my phone started ringing. It was Assisi calling, the restaurant, not Paola. It was Eden, the assistant manager, a person I'd never met, as she never worked on my shifts. She was desperate, two waiters down with flu at the last minute. Could I fill in tonight. She was desperate she repeated, desperate. I said the earliest I could possibly get there was six, that I had training. That would be fine, she said, I was a lifesaver, she appreciated it greatly. I then rang Antonia, asking if she could drop my work clothes to me, either to Assisi, or tennis. She said she'd drop them to the tennis club and I gave her a list of what I needed. It meant I'd have to shower at the club, and I forgot to tell her to bring my toiletries, but I figured I'd make do.

  I got to the restaurant at quarter past six, and Eden, who didn't look like I'd imagined, was not pleased. She had dyed blonde hair and a thin face. I took an instant disliking to her. She bustled me towards the work station, explained my tables and bookings and left me to it. I didn't know the other waiters on, but Eddie was in the kitchen. I wondered if he worked seven days a week. The evening was flowing, and I was grateful Eden left me to do my own thing. But then she approached me and said, "Can you work the boss's table?" And she physically turned me to the direction where Paola was being seated with three other people.

  "Um no, that's not my section," I said, gazing over, knowing that the man in the grey shirt and black pants had to be her boyfriend, and the other couple looked to be her friend Helene and her husband, if my memory of her Facebook photos was correct.

  "I'm not asking you," Eden hissed, "I'm telling you. I'm not having Seth do it, he's likely to spill their meals in their laps." I actually laughed at her joke. She smiled at me for the first time all night, maybe liking that I thought her funny. "She only rang fifteen minutes ago, damn her. I hate this sort of pressure." I was suddenly warming to her. "Now go," she said, handing me menus and pushing me, literally.

  I had no time to think about how to act, and my arrival at the table showed Paola was shocked to see me. She was about to say something, but I spoke quickly, introducing myself and handing out menus and taking drink orders. I positioned myself between the two ladies, slightly to Paola's left, so she had to semi turn to look at me. But it gave me a good look at her boyfriend, Marcus. He had medium brown hair, tidy, dark brown eyes, his face covered in stubble which apparently some women find attractive. Probably Paola did. His face would be described as handsome and he looked friendly enough, well dressed, thirtyish at a guess. I suppose I couldn't really fault him on his appearance. It killed me to think he was fucking her and he was the second person in one night who I took an instant disliking to.

  I went to get the drinks, and Eddie was standing at the bar.

  "Eden give you that table?" he asked, a sympathetic look on his face. I nodded. "Hey, you can be miserable, or you can work for your tips," Eddie advised. I frowned, not quite getting his meaning. "Get out there and act, son," he said, and the penny dropped.

  "Like academy award winning performance?" I said.

  "You got it," he smiled. "That's a table worth money."

  I returned with their drinks, went through the menu, explaining the daily specials. I started with Helene. She couldn't choose between the lamb or veal. I recommended the veal would go better with the Chardonnay that she and Paola were drinking. She ordered it. I moved to Paola's right, but I stood back, not wanting to tempt myself by being too close, didn't want to smell her perfume, didn't want to feel the electricity. It had been three weeks since she'd left me, three weeks without a kiss, without a touch, without a fuck, and now here I was, standing less than a foot away from her, and it was expected that I would be civil, courteous to her and the man who was now fucking her. It was going to take all of my acting skills to remain unaffected.

  She ordered and I could see her trying to look at my pad as I wrote, probably trying to see what I'd named everyone. But I hadn't tonight. I was pretty sure I'd remember who ordered what.

  "Are they short staffed tonight?" she asked as I moved on to Marcus.

  "Yes," I replied, and then said, "I had to cut short training." Like I wanted to gain some brownie points.

  "What training is that?" Marcus asked. Maybe he wasn't so bad.

  "Tennis," I said.

  "Oh Paola, you're a big tennis fan, aren't you?" he said. I could see her blush, and she mumbled, "I don't mind watching a little."

  "Don't you play a bit babe?" he asked. Babe? Is that what he called her?

  "Oh no, not really," she mumbled again, "I just like to watch."

  "When would Paola have time to play?" Helene joined the conversation.

  "Indeed," Paola responded, more confidently, but she wouldn't let her eyes meet mine.

  "Are you playing at college?" Marcus asked, but I misinterpreted the question and answered, "No, I'm not that good. I just play in the school team."

  "Oh you're still a senior?" I wondered if he was giving me the third degree, or was he just making small talk?

  "Oh," Helene exclaimed, "prom night next week?"

  I nodded, and the conversation turned to them all reminiscing about their own proms a decade or more ago. I finished the orders and retreated to the kitchen. Eddie patted my back and gave me a big smile, and it made me wonder what he knew. Carlos gave me a taste of cardamom cream, telling me he wanted orders for it.

  They reordered drinks several times, but Paola I noticed was still only on her second. I still hadn't made eye contact with her, and she was avoiding me as well. Marcus' chair had moved closer to hers by time I came around with the dessert menu, and his hand rested on her thigh. I didn't like
it, and I stood closer in when I handed it to her, meaning he had to remove it.

  I stood on the opposite side of the table, between the two men when doing my spiel on the dessert specials. "Tonight, and only tonight, Chef has created a delicate espresso and vanilla cheesecake which is accompanied by a cardamom cream. Now this is highly recommended for couples who are hoping their evening doesn't end here at the dinner table." I paused, not for dramatic effect, but because I'd forgotten the word I was trying to conjure up. Yep, got it, aphrodisiac. "You know that cardamom is a known aphrodisiac, so for those who want to prolong," and I added extra emphasis to prolong, "the evening, I'd strongly advise ordering this. But for those wanting an early night, I'd go with the tiramisu." And I winked at Helene. Helene couldn't stop laughing. She giggled outrageously and clapped her hands. Paola's laugh was restrained, but I knew I'd affected her and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

  I addressed Paola first, deadpan, "So I take it it’s tiramisu for you, I believe it's your favorite?"

  She glared at me like I was the devil. "I think I better try Chef's new creation," she seethed at me, and then as if her courage had built up, challenged, "Have you tried it?" I wondered if she was flirting with me.

  "Yes," I said, my eyes directly on hers, "and I can definitely vouch for the taste, but unfortunately I don't have a chance to test its aphrodisiac merits." Neither one of us wanted to be the first to look away, and it was only when Helene's husband said, "Cardamom all round?" that I averted my eyes. Marcus, I noticed, was looking at Paola intently but her gaze was fixed on the table cloth by now.

  Carlos wondered how the hell I'd pitched it seeing the whole table ordered it. He was impressed, even high-fiving me.

  When I came back to the table later, Helene's husband said, "Paola says that wasn't standard selling technique." And they all laughed. "Where did you come up with that pitch? It was very clever."

  "It's well known that cardamom is an aphrodisiac," I said confidently, though I'd only discovered that on google half an hour ago, and looking straight at Paola said, "And it's only clever if you believed what I was saying." I hoped I didn't sound insolent.

  "Oh we believe it," said Helene, still applauding, "and we'll even hold you accountable for spicing up the evening." She giggled at her own pun. I think she'd overdone her wine quota.

  As I came to collect their dessert bowls, I commented dryly, "All the plates are licked clean, I see. The dishwashers will be pleased. Guess you're all in a hurry to put it to the test." I wondered where my witty remarks even came from, but I felt quite pleased with myself. Three of them laughed, but not Paola. She looked like she was ready to hang, draw and quarter me. As I picked up her plate, I leaned in close, deliberately letting my arm rub against hers. I hesitated for a moment, pretending to adjust my plate stack and rearrange the cutlery. She moved her arm ever so slightly, just enough to send a current race through my body. I straightened, she looked up at me, mouthed, "Thank you."

  I collected Marcus' bowl, and I could feel his eyes following my every movement, from picking up the napkin, the bowl, the cutlery, wondering if he had sensed something between Paola and me. But he said, "Thanks, be sure to compliment the Chef.”

  I nodded and smiled. Eddie was right. I did well out of the table. Helene slipped $50 into my vest, Paola and Marcus left twenty each on the table. The ladies both went to the restroom, I took a bunch of menus, pretending to be taking them somewhere. The men were at the counter paying the check. I could feel my heart rate accelerate. I hoped she'd come out of the restroom alone, but I didn't expect she would. Helene came out first, my heart rate shot through the roof. I kept walking in the direction of the restroom, and then waited, suddenly not caring if anyone even saw me. I had an insane desire, just to see her, touch her, kiss her. I heard the door open and out she came. She stared at me in surprise. My eyes looked just past her, asking her if there was anyone in there. She took a step back and I went with her, through the door. Our lips joined, fast, furious, intense, brief. I pulled away, but it had been a taste, and that's what I'd needed.

  "What do you know?" I quipped, "the cardamom works." And she walked straight past me, out to reception, where Marcus took her hand and walked her out.

  PAOLA

  Fortunately it wasn't too difficult to avoid him at work, my office becoming my sanctuary. Of course it felt awkward, but he had obviously decided he would stay out of my way and I admired him for not making things unpleasant. He came in, worked as diligently as ever, was friendly and polite and smiled if necessity called for it. But there was a blankness in his eyes, a void, like he was lost somewhere. He never spoke to me other than to say Good evening or Goodbye.I actually rescheduled a few shifts, and started taking Sundays off, allowing Marcus and I full days together, where we went wine tasting, sailing, cycling even. Our relationship blossomed, my heart full of joy at being able to share in such simple outings and I raved to my mother about how easily we connected, how similar our likes. I willed myself to forget my sweet, special boy and concentrated all my energy on Marcus, all my energy on loving him.

  It hadn't taken long for Marcus and I and Helene and David to become a somewhat regular foursome. It turned out that Marcus and David went back quite a few years, had grown up in the same neighborhood, and though David was several years older, they had played baseball together at some point in the past. Every time they were together they would have the same conversation that they should start playing again, but so far it had not come to fruition, and it was doubtful that it ever would as neither of them seemed to have any time.

  This particular Tuesday evening happened quite spontaneously when Helene had phoned to say the electricity and gas had been off in her street because of some leak, so as I had had the day off, I had suggested dinner at Assisi and I then let Eden know that I required a table for four at seven thirty. I felt quite powerful knowing Eden would be put under stress, but she usually responded well under pressure. At that time I hadn't known half her wait staff had come down with illness.

  The evening had had the potential to be a disaster, especially when I saw Cassian approach our table, menus in hand. Hell in all his time he'd never, ever worked a Tuesday night. And why he was serving our table, when it appeared he was tending to another section, well it almost felt as if fate was intervening, luring us together, and I had a fleeting fantasy that we were destined to be together. Though later I found it was in fact Eden, who had phoned six other waiters before getting any success and that she had no tolerance for Seth, a new waiter with incredibly uncoordinated hands, as she put it.

  To begin with he kept his distance from me, but his easy banter with the table endeared him to Helene and David, and it even seemed as though Marcus found him likable. And then he seemed to become more bold, as he became more attentive, looking directly at me, brushing his arm against me, his flirting less than subtle. It stirred me, sent a pulsating sensation where it shouldn't have, and when Marcus leaned in closer and dropped his hand on my thigh I willed him to have the same effect on me. I tried to show Cassian that I was unaffected, that with a stony glance I didn't find his humor appropriate, even though Helene was lapping it up like a Pomeranian puppy.

  I had missed him, of course. Missed him dearly. Initially my sobbing had been nightly and my heartache deep, but Marcus had eased it with his assiduous attention and his unabashed affection. Marcus was not shy in forging ahead with our relationship and at times it almost seemed as if our desire for one another was desperate, as if we were afraid our relationship wouldn't work out, so we were doing our darnedest to make sure it did. As if we needed to make it work, like it was the last chance either of us would have, as if life was passing us by. My mother was scrutinizing every date we had, every meal we shared, every conversation. She checked her calendar like the end of the world was nigh.

  Yet I felt I had put Cassian behind me, had erased his touch, his voice, his words from my memory. Had moved on to more adult behavior, telling myself, imploring
myself to believe that it would never have been a permanent relationship. Could never have been. It was only ever a distraction, a fling, an affair, a short-lived romance, a pre-midlife crisis for god sake! As if he could ever love me forever. That the day I turned thirty he would see me in reality, for what I was, an aging woman, with fine lines and sagging boobs and the odd grey hair. Why, I tried to convince myself, he probably already had a new girlfriend, would be taking her to the prom next week, and then graduation. A pain stabbed at my heart then, because I had envisioned me attending his graduation ceremony. A mystery woman dressed in black and killer four inch heels, wearing a large hat and dark glasses sitting in the back row. In my vision I was wearing gloves and clutching a Prada purse, though I owned neither. I'd clap politely as he received his diploma and he would see me and his recognition would have him grinning from ear to ear and later he would take me to a room, a closet, a corridor and fuck me hard, still wearing his cap and gown.

  "I'll just visit the bathroom," Helene said, shaking me from my reverie. I blinked myself back to reality, seeing Cassian presenting the check. I rose and murmured that I would follow Helene, wondering how I was so ditzy after only two glasses of wine. I fumbled for a tip, leaving a twenty on the table, though he probably deserved a lot more. I felt somewhat flustered, as if everyone had just watched me orgasm, and I loitered in the bathroom, waiting for Helene to leave before coming out and composing myself. I patted my face with cool water, which had no effect on the pink flush of my cheeks and then rearranged a few strands of hair before pushing through the door.

  He was there, his arms laden with a stack of menus. He looked at me, then behind me. My heart rate escalated. I stepped back and he was there with me, a bundle of menus between us, but our lips found each other in only a moment, or moments of longing. And then he stepped away and said, "What do you know, the cardamom works." And in a state of shock I walked straight past him, out to the front, my legs shaking and my panties wet.