Forever with Him

by Sofia Tate

  “She’s planning your engagement party? Lovely,” Maggie remarks.

  “I know. She didn’t have to, but Davison sort of inadvertently mentioned it, and there’s never a challenge Lucy will back away from. Right, sweetie?”

  Suddenly, I hear someone sniffling and a tearing sound of something crinkly. I look over at Lucy, who is ripping open a bag of salt-and-vinegar potato chips, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Lucy!”

  “What?” she asks without looking up from her snack.

  “What’s going on?”

  Her shoulders move up and down as tears run down her face. “Nothing.”

  My eyebrows furrow in curiosity. “You’ve come to every fitting with me, and you’ve never reacted like this before. Something’s up with you.”

  She shakes her head. “It’s nothing. I’m just happy for you.”

  I soften at my best friend’s reply. “Thanks, sweetie. But I was asking you how the engagement party planning was going.”

  “Oh, fine,” she mutters under her breath, her face buried again in the potato chips.

  “Hey, if I didn’t have Maggie sticking me with sharp pieces of thin metal, I’d come over and hug you.”

  “Too right, darlin’,” Maggie agrees. “You’d look like a pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey game at a child’s birthday party. Lucy, I’ve got a box of Kleenex on the side table there. Allegra, face forward.”

  I do as I’m told. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I take a deep breath and am about to allow myself to look in the mirror when I hear another tearing sound, this time something plastic.

  I glance over at Lucy, and now she’s pulling out a Twizzler from a jumbo-sized bag.

  “Lucy! What the hell?”

  She looks up at me, a red string of licorice hanging from her mouth. “What?” she mumbles.

  “What do you mean ‘what’? You’re inhaling an entire package of salt-and-vinegar potato chips, and now you’re digging into a feed bag of Twizzlers. What’s going on with you?”

  “I’m hungry,” she murmurs, not even glancing at me, her focus fixed on the candy in her hands.

  “Okay,” I whisper, not convinced in the slightest.

  “There,” Maggie announces. “I think we’re done.”

  Lucy joins me at my side when I finally look at myself in the mirror. I bite my lower lip to keep myself from losing it completely.

  “You look beautiful, love,” Maggie declares.

  “Davison is going to lose his shit when he sees you, Alli,” Lucy adds.

  And now, at last, I allow myself to cry. I hear Maggie and Lucy start to sniffle as well.

  I laugh to myself and shake my head at the sight of the two women, just to bring some levity to this moment.

  “So, where are you going on your honeymoon?” Maggie asks. “Paris? Hawaii? Bora-Bora?”

  “Nope, nowhere that exciting.” I sigh resignedly. “Between Davison’s new company and my rehearsal schedule, we’re both too busy now. But Davison swears he’s planning a special surprise for me.”

  She smiles at my reply. “Mmmm, that’s lovely. Now give me your hand and I’ll help you out of the gown.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. Lucy can do that.”

  Maggie shakes her head. “Not on your life, darlin’. I’m not letting those sticky fingers covered with salt and vinegar touch this gorgeous gown. I’ll have it pressed for you, and I’ll call you when it’s ready for pickup.”

  I take Maggie’s hand and step down from the platform. “Oh, thank you. That would be great. Before I forget, could you give me the final bill? I brought my checkbook and—”

  “No need. It’s already taken care of,” she informs me.

  Lucy and I give each other puzzled looks, then I turn back to Maggie. “I don’t understand.”

  Maggie grins at me, steps away to her desk, and returns with a letter in her hand addressed to me written in an elegant hand.

  I slowly open the envelope with my thumb, careful not to rip it.

  My dearest Allegra,

  I knew that if I told you I was doing this, you would protest and not allow me to give you this wedding present in return for the one you have given me—my son’s happiness. I have never seen him so full of joy, finally being able to be his true self with someone who loves him for the man he is and not his name or money, and that is all because of you. You are so kind and sweet, and it has been such a pleasure to get to know the woman who will marry my only child, knowing that he has finally found the person he is meant to be with.

  Please allow me to do this for you. It is the least I can do for everything you have given to my son and me.

  With love,

  Mona

  And that’s when I completely lose it and start to cry, reaching for my phone to call Davison’s mother. I take a deep breath, the phone shaking in my hands as his mother’s voice comes over the line.

  “Mom?” I whisper through my tears. I freeze, realizing what I just said. “I mean… Mrs. Berkeley… I mean…”

  I can hear my future mother-in-law’s voice start to choke up from the other end. “Oh, my darling girl, it’s fine. You can call me ‘Mom.’ I’d like that very much.”

  I take a deep breath before I go on. “I just wanted to thank you for taking care of everything with Maggie. I read your letter, and everything you said… I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “It’s all right, Allegra,” she replies in a soothing voice. “You just said it all. Why don’t you come by for a cup of tea when you get home? We can talk more then.”

  I smile into the phone. “I’d like that very much. I’ll see you soon… Mom.”

  “Good-bye, sweetheart,” she replies before ending the call.

  I press “end” on my phone and instantly dissolve into an ocean of tears. For a moment, I feel so guilty for calling Mona “Mom,” thinking it’s a betrayal to my own mother, mia mamma. But then, a flash of my mother’s face crosses my mind, her shining brown eyes lit up in joy, her soft lips extended across her face in a wide grin. I think she’d be happy for me, that I found a second mom who will love me as much as she did.

  Lucy takes me in her arms, embracing me tightly. “It’s okay, Alli,” she whispers. “I bet your mom is smiling down at you.”

  And this is why Luciana Gibbons, a blonde, smart-mouthed soprano from Tribeca with a big heart, is my best friend.

  * * *

  Once I use up Maggie’s entire inventory of tissues, giving her a tight hug on the way out of her shop with Lucy, I pull Lucy aside on the street. The Maybach is idling on Madison Avenue as I watch Charles pop out to open the door for me.

  “Charles, I just need a minute.”

  He nods and waits by the car. “Of course, Miss Orsini.”

  I turn back to Lucy. “Okay, talk to me, sweetie. What’s wrong?”

  She takes a deep breath. “Something’s going on with Tomas.”

  “Like what?”

  Her jaw clenches. “That’s the thing. I don’t know. He’s been acting all sullen and moody. He won’t talk to me. Every time I try to get him to open up, he says nothing is wrong.”

  I purse my lips. “I bet you it’s nothing. It’s probably just the pressure of being onstage, the demands he’s under now. You know what that’s like.”

  She sighs. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Okay, topic two. What’s with the snacking and the crying?”

  Lucy’s eyes glare back at me. “Give me a break, Alli. It’s just hormones and PMS. Don’t get your panties in a fucking twist.”

  I take a step back from her, completely caught off guard at her tone, which Lucy picks up on within seconds. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go all DEFCON 1 bitch on you.”

  I laugh, embracing her with one arm around her shoulder. “Hey, you’re PMSing. You’re allowed.” I point to the Maybach. “Do you want a lift downtown?”

  “No, no, I’ll be fine. I might go for a walk in the park and just clear my head.”


  “Okay, but call me if you need to talk.”

  Lucy grabs me and hugs me good-bye. “I will. Promise.”

  I watch Lucy walk up the street and turn west toward Central Park.

  Charles starts to open my door. I take two steps toward the car when I hear someone call out my name. It’s a female voice, a voice I’d hoped I’d never have to hear again.

  I spin around slowly. Standing before me is Ashton Canterbury, Davison’s ex-girlfriend and the woman who took great pleasure in making my life a living hell. Yet she’s not the same Ashton at all.

  Instead of her typical ensemble of a sweater set, pearls around her neck, and headband holding back her blonde hair, she’s wearing all black—a tight cowl-neck sweater, skinny jeans, and stiletto boots, and a quilted tote bag slung over her shoulder. Her hair is loose and flowing.

  She is no longer the epitome of a WASP princess, but more like an editor from Vogue.

  I turn back to look at Charles. “I’ll be right back,” I whisper.

  He nods firmly in return. “Yes, Miss Orsini.”

  I walk away from the car as Charles shuts the door. When I look back, he is standing at attention against the car while watching me like a hawk.

  I slowly approach Ashton, taking a deep breath before I speak. “Hello, Ashton. You look…”

  She smiles stiffly. “You can say it. Different.”

  “Well, yes. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve met someone new.” She looks up at the building. “You just came from Maggie’s, didn’t you?”

  “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

  “Rarely.” She grimaces before opening her mouth again. “I suppose I should give you my congratulations.”

  “Not if it makes you physically ill.”

  She smirks at me. “I deserve that. Look, Allegra, I know we’ve had our differences in the past—”

  I shake my head, laughing to myself. “Understatement of the damn year.”

  “But when I heard what happened to Davison, I felt terrible, and I was so grateful that he recovered.”

  I don’t say anything, curious to see where this is going. I watch her face turn away from me, and when she looks at me again, her eyes are moist with emotion.

  “Allegra, I’m not proud of what I did to you when you were dating Davison, how I sabotaged your performance at his mother’s benefit. I’m ashamed of my behavior, and for that, I’m truly sorry.”

  I step back in complete shock, and quickly check the sky to see if any pigs are flying above me.

  “I have to admit I never expected to hear that from you, but I appreciate that and I accept your apology.”

  She comes forward to me and touches my arm. “I truly do wish you and Davison all the best.”

  My natural instinct would usually be to pull away, as if her touch singes my skin. But her words and the tone in her voice make me think differently.

  “Thank you, Ashton. I’ll pass that on to Davison.”

  “Please do.” She checks the rose-gold watch on her thin wrist. “I have to run. I’m glad I ran into you, Allegra.”

  “Same here,” I reply, which surprises me when I say it because it’s the truth.

  Ashton gives me a quick smile and begins walking down Madison.

  I shake my head in wonderment, heading back to the Maybach, where Charles is holding the door open for me once more.

  “I guess miracles do happen, Charles.”

  He grins. “It would appear so, Miss Orsini.”

  Chapter Four

  Davison

  Leaning against the wall of my private elevator, I start tugging on my tie as if it were choking me. Another fucking frustrating day. All I need is Allegra and a tumbler of Glenlivet.

  Fuck. She has rehearsal tonight.

  The elevator opens to an empty apartment. I miss the nights when I would come home from the office and she would shout to me from wherever she was in our home—the bedroom, the kitchen, or sitting at the piano. Her voice alone can cure me of any stress or pain.

  I turn for the bedroom, where I strip out of my suit and throw on my Harvard sweats, leaving my clothes on the floor, knowing Allegra will chew me out for it when she sees them there, but honestly, I love it when she does that because I’d rather hear her hurling her smart-ass admonishments at me than not have her with me at all, something that’s happened more than I care to remember.

  I walk into the kitchen, where I pour myself a Scotch and stare out into the living room. It’s too quiet.

  Drink in hand, I go back to the bedroom, put on a pair of sneakers, and grab my cell phone, keys, and wallet, heading for the elevator.

  Two floors down, I step out and turn down the hallway to the corner apartment and ring the bell.

  Dressed in a white cotton robe and a sky-blue silk pajama set with matching slippers, my mother, Mona Cabot Berkeley, opens the door.

  “Davison, what a surprise,” she greets me with a hug and peck on the cheek. She glances at the glass in my hand. “Tough day?”

  I nod. “I’m sorry. Is this a bad time?”

  She waves her hand dismissively at me. “Nonsense. Just come in already.”

  After the Feds seized my parents’ home on Sutton Square for my father’s crimes, I bought my mother a one-bedroom apartment in my building and told her she could decorate it any way she wished. She went with French country, a palette of soft yellow, rust red, and azure blue, a carved wood coffee table, and bookshelves and plush sofas you can sink into—much warmer than our former home with its stiff Regency furniture and antiques.

  We ease down into one of the sectionals.

  “Tell your mother all about it, darling,” my mother insists, picking up a glass of white wine from the table and taking a sip.

  I sigh. “I wish someone could tell me how long it’ll take until people realize I am not my father.”

  “I hate to point out the obvious, but unless you change your name, I’m afraid that will never leave people’s minds,” she acutely observes. “Surely, you can’t be doing that badly.”

  “No, we’re not in horrible shape, but we could be doing much better. What could possibly have come over him when he decided to do what he did?”

  My mother pauses before answering, slowly rubbing the stem of her glass with the pad of her index finger. “Hartwell was always obsessed with power and money. It didn’t matter that his family was already wealthy. He wanted more, which in turn made him greedy.”

  I glance across at the photo on the mantel. I’m seven years old, posing with my father on a mountaintop in Gstaad, both of us outfitted in the finest skiwear, during one of our Christmas vacations when we still owned our chalet in Switzerland, until we had to turn it over to the authorities a few months ago as part of my father’s penalty.

  “I idolized him growing up, you know. I wanted to be exactly like him, always wanted to please him. I did what was expected of me, went to Exeter and Harvard. But it was all part of the image we had to maintain.”

  She nods her head. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  I watch as my mother absentmindedly rubs the base of her left ring finger.

  “Still not used to it, are you, Mom?”

  She looks down at the space where her wedding ring used to sit. “No, I’m not. It’s just so natural for me, you know. It used to be such a comfort knowing it was there, but now it’s like a ghost limb that’s been cut off.” She laughs and reaches for her wine. “You must think I sound like a complete loon.”

  “Not at all. Giving you a divorce was the most unselfish thing he’s ever done. You know, I can’t change my name, but you could always go back to being Mona Cabot.”

  She reaches for my hand, placing it over mine. “As long as your name is Berkeley, Davison, so is mine.”

  I clasp my fingers around hers. “Speaking of unselfish things, not that you’ve ever been selfish, but Allegra told me what you did for her with Maggie. That was incredibly generous of
you, Mom.”

  My mom waves her hand dismissively in the air. “Oh, generous schmenerous. It’s the least I could do. She was so sweet when she called me from Maggie’s after she saw my note. That darling girl…” She shakes her head. “Whatever superior being decided to bring her into your life and mine, it was utter kismet. You’re a different man now because of her. Knowing that my only child is happy means everything to me.”

  I smile as my phone pings with an incoming text, then grin even wider.

  Hey, Harvard, I’m home. Where the hell are you? I want to eat dinner with my fiancé.

  My mother sighs. “Hmm. That smile only means one thing.”

  I lean over to kiss her on the cheek. “Sorry, Mom. Gotta go. My fiancée awaits.”

  We rise from the sofa together and hug each other tightly. “Give her my love.”

  “Will do. Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you too, son.”

  I swallow the last of my Scotch and sprint to the door, leaving the empty tumbler behind on my mother’s coffee table.

  * * *

  The second the elevator opens, Allegra’s voice fills the apartment. “Hey, Harvard! Do you want lasagna or manicotti? We still have some of Papa’s leftovers and—”

  Before she can say another word, I rush to the kitchen, taking in and admiring her state of clothing because all she’s wearing is one of my Harvard shirts that falls to her midthigh. I pull her to me, slamming my mouth over hers. Within seconds, her tongue tangles with mine, her arms circling my shoulders to bring me into her as close as she can, her luscious tits pressed up against my chest.

  When I pull my mouth away to hoist her up onto the counter, she pants, “Whatever you need, baby, just do it… I love you so fucking much.”

  She allows me this. My Venus. Her trust and her love are everything to me. Everything.

  I stare into her eyes, seeing her love and hunger for me mirrored in them. She uses her hands to prop herself up so I can quickly remove her thong, dropping it to the floor, followed by her shirt.

  “Spread, Allegra,” I command her roughly.

  She opens up her legs to me, and I dive for her pussy with my mouth. She is already drenched, and I devour her as if she were my last fucking meal on Earth, licking and sucking on her folds, then roughly pushing my fingers into her while laving her clit desperately with my tongue.