Griffin moved off his stool, frowning. He loathed having to acknowledge a woman he wanted to forget. “Hello, Deanna. How are you?”
“It’s all good, handsome.” Light brown eyes framed by thick black false lashes focused on the woman with Griffin Rice. “How long has it been, Griff?”
“It has to be a couple of years.”
“Try three,” Deanna drawled. “You’re forgetting your manners, darling. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your little date?”
Wrapping an arm around Belinda’s waist, Griffin moved behind her stool. “Belinda, this is Deanna...”
“Monique,” Deanna supplied. “Remember you used to joke about me having two first names?”
Griffin’s expression was impassive. “Belinda, this is Deanna Monique,” he began again as if Deanna hadn’t interrupted him. “Deanna, this is Belinda Eaton.”
Deanna waved her left hand and light caught the fire of a large diamond solitaire on her ring finger. Belinda found it difficult to pinpoint the woman’s age, so she estimated somewhere between thirty-five and forty. She thought her cute in a Kewpie doll sort of way.
“It’s nice meeting you, Deanna.”
Deanna waved her hand again. “Let me give you a little piece of advice where it concerns Griff Rice. If you’re hoping to get married, then you’re with the wrong man.”
Belinda didn’t like people who kiss and tell, and apparently Deanna either wanted to make her aware that she’d dated Griffin, or it was a case of sour grapes because he’d refused to marry her.
Griffin’s arm tightened around Belinda’s waist. “In case you’re not familiar with the name, baby, Deanna Monique is a columnist who writes for a supermarket tabloid.”
Peering up over her shoulder, Belinda made an attractive moue. “I never read them.”
A waiter came over to Deanna. “Miss Monique, your table is ready. Will you kindly follow me.” Waving to Griffin and Belinda, the reporter followed the waiter, tiptoeing as if she were walking on ice.
“She’s quite a character,” Belinda said after she’d disappeared from view.
Griffin signaled to the bartender. “That she is,” he remarked, retaking his stool. “Eccentric but harmless. I’m going to order a martini. Would you like something?”
“I’ll have an apple martini.”
The bartender had just served their drinks when a waiter informed them that their table was ready. Belinda felt the way Deanna appeared, as she attempted to maintain her balance while she carried her cocktail to the table without spilling it. She placed the glass on the table and thanked Griffin when he seated her. Their waiter handed them menus, then stood a short distance away, waiting for them to select their entrées.
She glanced around the dining room. “This is very nice, Griffin.” The ground floor of a Rittenhouse Square apartment building had been transformed into a restaurant resembling a library with elegant crystal chandeliers, marble tables and walnut bookcases.
Reaching for his glass, he extended it, and he wasn’t disappointed when Belinda raised her glass and touched his. “Here’s to the woman who makes me appreciate being a man.”
Her face burned as she recalled what had passed between them earlier that morning. They’d been insatiable—making love, sleeping and waking up to make love again. “Same here. But, of course, being a woman.”
Belinda took a sip of the icy concoction, finding it delicious. The chill warmed and spread to her chest and lower, to the nether portions of her body. By the time she’d had her second sip she’d forgotten her former annoyance with Griffin and settled back in her chair to enjoy her drink and the man whom she loved with every fiber of her being.
* * *
“That is the best steak I’ve ever eaten.” Belinda had ordered the Australian Tajima Kobe filet that literally melted on her tongue.
Griffin smiled. “Eating here will turn a hard-core vegetarian into a carnivore.”
“Shame on you,” she chided softly, smiling.
“It made a believer of me.”
Her fork halted midair. “You were a vegetarian.” Her query came out as a statement.
Dabbing his mouth with a napkin, Griffin angled his head. “There was one time when I flirted with the notion of becoming a vegetarian. I’d given up beef and chicken, eating only fish, veggies and fruit.”
“That’s sacrilegious, Griffin.”
“Why is it sacrilegious?”
“It would mean giving up a Geno’s Philly cheesesteak.”
“That’s easy. Now, if you’d said Pat’s King of Steaks I’d have to agree with you.”
Belinda placed a hand over her chest and pretended to swoon. The mellowing effects of martini had kicked in. “What! You prefer Pat’s to Geno’s?”
“It’s been documented that Pat outsells Geno twelve-to-one.”
“I beg to differ with you, counselor. It just appears that way because if ten people crowd into Geno’s, it’s packed. But twenty-five or even thirty can fit into Pat’s with room to spare.”
Griffin and Belinda continued the good-natured debate over who made the best Philly cheesesteak over a dinner of premium aged beef, truffle-whipped potatoes, asparagus and shared a Barclay salad for two. Both agreed that substituting pork or chicken for beef was truly a crime.
Reaching across the table, Belinda rested a hand atop Griffin’s. “It’s still not too late to convert to vegetarianism. I’ve heard there is a veggie cheesesteak.”
“How can a steak not be meat? And is there such a word as vegetarianism?”
She managed to look insulted. “Of course there’s such a word. After all, I am a teacher.”
“A history teacher, Miss Eaton,” Griffin reminded her.
“Oh. Are you implying that history teachers don’t read, Mr. Rice?”
“They know dates and historical facts.”
“We also read,” she insisted, smiling.
“I’m going to give you a pop history quiz.”
“Let’s hear, counselor.”
Griffin’s eyes glittered with merriment. “Who were the candidates in the...” He hesitated. Presidential elections were always held during a leap year. “Who were the candidates in the eighteen seventy-six presidential election?”
Belinda wanted to tell her lover that he’d walked into a trap of his own choosing. She knew the details of every election from Washington to the sitting president.
“Republican Governor Rutherford B. Hayes of Ohio ran against New York Democratic Governor Samuel J. Tilden, who won a majority of the popular vote, but was one electoral vote short of a necessary majority, while Hayes was twenty votes short.”
“Tilden had more votes, yet Hayes became President?”
Belinda stared at Griffin, wondering how much he knew about the centennial election. “Yes. Charges arose of irregularities concerning vote-counting procedures in three Southern states: Louisiana, South Carolina and Florida where the election boards were under the control of Reconstruction-era Republicans.”
Belinda’s intelligence never ceased to amaze Griffin. She was very smart and she knew it. It was why she came back at him whenever she felt he was talking down to her. “I know Hayes was sworn in as president, but how did he pull it off being down twenty votes?”
“After the election board count indicated these three states had given Hayes the majority, Democrats charged the vote in each state actually went to Tilden, which would’ve given Tilden the victory. The three states sent two sets of returns to Congress, one to the Democrats and one to the Republicans.
“Congress then established a fifteen-member electoral commission—the Electoral Count Act—to resolve what had become an unprecedented constitutional crisis. After a lot of rhetoric, the commission members agreed to accept the Republican returns, giving Hayes a one-v
ote electoral victory. The two parties decided to play nice with each other when the Democrats agreed Hayes would take office in return for withdrawing federal troops from the last two remaining states—Louisiana and South Carolina. The action officially ended military Reconstruction in the South. Most people are unaware the 2,000 election wasn’t the first time questions as to voting irregularities had become a national issue.”
“It looks as if our election process hasn’t come that far in one hundred twenty-four years.”
Belinda wrinkled her nose. “It’s called poli-tricks.”
Griffin stared at her and then burst out laughing. “Speaking of poli-tricks, I have tickets to a fundraiser for a local politician next month, and I’d like you to come with me.”
“Will it be a date?” she teased.
“Of course it is. Don’t you know when you’re being courted, Miss Eaton?”
A cautionary voice whispered in her head that Griffin was changing the rules of their relationship. To her, courting meant a social interaction that led to an engagement and marriage.
It was apparent he was sending mixed signals. “No, I didn’t.”
“Well, consider yourself warned.”
She stared at him with complete surprise etched on her face. The seconds ticked off, then she said, “Point taken.”
Chapter 11
Griffin peered over Belinda’s shoulder as she gathered the ingredients for Sunday dinner. Not wanting to break a family tradition, she’d offered to cook rather than go out or order in.
“What are you going to do with Bruiser?” A large whole chicken rested on a cutting board.
Belinda smiled up at Griffin. “I’m going to put garlic butter under the skin, stuff the cavity with carrots, potatoes and shallots and cook it in a roasting bag.”
He took a step and grasped the chicken’s wings, lifting it in the air. “Hey, dude, you look as if you’ve pumped a little iron. Lindy, look at the thighs on this sucker.”
“Griffin! Put that bird down. I just washed it.”
“You think you can take me?” he asked the roaster, shaking it from side to side. “No? What are you? Are you chicken? You’re not a chicken. You’re a punk,” Griffin said, continuing his monologue with the bird. He gave the roaster a final shake. “Tell me now. Who’s ya daddy?”
Belinda couldn’t help herself doubling over in laughter. The sight of Griffin Rice challenging a chicken to a fight was priceless. She was laughing so hard that tears rolled down her face.
“Stop it,” she ordered, hiccuping while trying to catch her breath.
Griffin tossed the chicken on the board. “You’re an embarrassment to the poultry community. I wash my hands of you.” Using his elbow, he activated the long-handled faucet in one of the two stainless-steel sinks, washing and rinsing his hands.
Belinda handed him a paper towel. “You know you’re a very sick man.”
“Why would you say that?”
“You were talking to a chicken, Griffin. A dead chicken.”
“Nigel and Cecil refuse to play with me, so Chicken Big was next.”
She shook her head in amazement. Griffin was a bigger kid than his nieces. “Why won’t they play with you?” He’d gotten up early to clean the cage and give the pups fresh food and clean water.
“I don’t know. When I opened the cage door they just sat there looking at me. And when I reached in to take them out Nigel tried to bite me, while Cecil started growling and showing his teeth.”
“You can’t deal with two three-pound puppies, so you decide to take your frustration out on a chicken—or should I say our dinner.”
Resting his hands on Belinda’s shoulders, Griffin kissed the nape of her neck. “I’m sorry about abusing Bruiser.”
“An idle mind is the devil’s workshop. Perhaps I should put you to work...”
“What do you want me to do?”
She glanced up at him. “I need for you to make garlic butter.”
He brushed a kiss over her lips. “Yummy.”
“Sweet,” Belinda crooned, deepening the kiss.
Griffin enjoyed cooking with Belinda. He wasn’t a novice when it came to food. Most of his dishes were simple and palatable. However, Belinda would add the pièce de résistance with exotic seasonings and presentation.
He had to admit they worked well together—in and out of bed. They didn’t agree on everything, and he still found her rigid and unrelenting when it came to some child-rearing issues. Griffin attributed that not so much to her upbringing as to her career as a teacher. Ten years of teaching young adults was challenging. Teaching young adults in one of Philadelphia’s most challenging high schools was not only demanding, but difficult.
After the classroom shooting incident he’d broached the subject with Belinda of possibly transferring to another high school, one that was less violent. She’d calmly replied, “When I want or need your advice I’ll ask for it.” It was a not-so-subtle way of her telling him to mind his own business.
What Belinda needed to understand was that she was as much his business as Sabrina and Layla, and he was as much her business as her nieces. The four of them were inexorably linked by blood and marriage. His bloodline and Belinda’s would continue with their nieces and that meant they were family.
Griffin inserted a clove of garlic in a garlic press. The fragrant and distinctive aroma filled the kitchen. He added it to the dish of butter that had been left to soften to room temperature. “Is one clove enough?” he asked.
Belinda stopped peeling carrots. “It could use another one. Don’t blend it yet. I want to add a few sprigs of fresh chopped parsley. Who taught you to cook?” she asked Griffin when he chopped parsley as if he were a professional chef.
“I had a girlfriend who was a chef,” Griffin admitted reluctantly. He didn’t want to talk about a woman or the women in his past. The soothing sound of music coming from a built-in radio under the kitchen cabinet punctuated the silence that ensued.
Belinda smiled as she sprinkled coarse sea salt on small redskin potatoes. “Lucky you.”
His head came up as he stared numbly at her. “Why would you say that?”
“You don’t have to rely on a woman to cook for you. Do you know how many men hook up with women because they’re looking for someone to feed them?”
“That’s a lot of bull, Lindy. They could always pay someone in the neighborhood to cook meals for them. They hook up with women because some of them are parasites. There’s a guy I know who refused to commit to one woman because he said he needed variety. There was Sandra, who was always willing to cook, whenever he dropped by for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Then he had Jackie because she did everything he wanted her to do in bed. And then there was Melissa, his baby mama, who opened her door to him even if he stayed away for months because she claimed she wanted her son to have a relationship with his father.”
“That’s ridiculous, Griffin. A child can’t bond with a parent when he or she sees them only two or three times a year.”
“That’s what I’d tell Jerrold, but anything I said fell on deaf ears. Although my parents lived under the same roof, my dad’s cheating not only affected my mother but Grant and me.”
Belinda gave Griffin a sidelong glance. His expression was one she’d never seen before. It was obvious his father’s infidelity had scarred him. “I don’t believe Grant ever cheated on my sister.”
“That’s because he couldn’t cheat, not after hearing my mother argue with Dad because he’d come home with the scent of another woman still on him. Grant used to put his hands over his ears to shut out their shouting at each other.”
“What did you do, Griffin?”
“I sat on the back porch until Dad left. It didn’t matter how late he stayed out screwing other women, he always came home and he always
went to work.”
“Why didn’t your mother leave him?”
Griffin’s motions were slow, methodical as he folded the chopped parsley and minced garlic into the softened butter. “Her father died when she was a little girl, so she said she didn’t want her children to grow up without their father.”
“But your father cheated on her.”
“Yes, he did. And the ultimate indignity was that he didn’t try to hide it.”
“Why do men cheat?”
Griffin’s eyes caught and held hers. “Why do women cheat?”
“They don’t cheat as much as men.”
“Are you certain about that statistic? Didn’t Oprah have a segment about women who admitted to cheating? That the percentage of women who cheat is a lot higher than most people believe, so let’s not get into comparing genders.”
“I didn’t ask the question for you to answer with another question.” Belinda’s voice was low and soft.
The seconds ticked away as they regarded each other. “I wouldn’t know, Lindy, because I’ve never cheated on a woman. Even if I thought about it I don’t think I would cheat because I saw what it did to my mother and how it affected Grant and me. Instead of being children and enjoying the things little boys did, we were drawn into a battle that involved marital problems. Six- and nine-year-olds shouldn’t have to hear words like pussy and dick thrown around like please and thank you—especially from their parents.”
“Even though she didn’t grow up with her father, your mother didn’t have to stay, especially when you and Grant were older.”
“That was something Grant and I asked her, and her response was that she loved her cheating husband. That was something I couldn’t wrap my head around until Gloria Bailey-Rice told me about the man she’d fallen in love with, who was not the one he’d become.”
Belinda knew she would never stay with a man who she knew was cheating on her. When she’d discovered the teacher she was dating was also dating another colleague she ended the relationship before he could open his mouth to explain.
Forever an Eaton: Bittersweet LoveSweet Deception Page 13