by Morgan James
Her mouth formed an ‘O’, but no words came out. For a single second, I felt a stab of vindication. Refusing to linger on it, I pressed forward. “I need to speak with her. Please.”
“I... um...” Brenda darted a glance at the younger woman, and I searched for a name tag.
“Gwen.” I appealed to her, hoping she would take pity on me. “Please. I need to know where she is. I have to speak with her.”
She bit her lip. “Well, um...”
What the fuck was going on? Why the hell was everyone being so secretive? I let out a little growl. “Where the hell is my wife?”
Gwen wrung her hands at her waist and shot a look over at the older woman before meeting my gaze again. “Eros,” she whispered. “She’s on a date.”
The fucking hell she was. Red creeped into the edges of my vision, and I managed a curt nod before spinning on my heel. I didn’t have a fucking clue where this Eros place was, but if Lydia was there, I was going to fucking find it.
I googled the address, then set the GPS to direct me to the restaurant.
I had no idea what I was going to do, but one thing was for certain—Lydia was still my wife. And I’d be damned if some other man was going to touch her. Ever.
Chapter Eleven
Lydia
My hand on the handle of the huge front door, I halted in place and drew in a deep breath. I really did not want to do this. I’d never been good at dating, and, especially after my debacles with Shawn and then Xander, I had no real desire to deal with men ever again. I glanced through the glass at all the people seated inside. Who was he? I literally knew nothing about this guy. Was he divorced, or had he been single his entire adult life? Was he as uncomfortable with this arrangement as I was? Would he be offended if I cancelled and told him I wasn’t feeling well?
Immediately, guilt assailed me. It wasn’t this guy’s fault that my previous relationships had all crashed and burned. I at least needed to give him a chance. Determined to try to be more positive, I pulled open the door and stepped inside. Tamping down my unease, I smiled shakily at the hostess. “Hello. I’m here to meet with Harvey Levenstein.”
The hostess returned my smile. “Right this way, miss.”
I followed her to the back of the restaurant, weaving between tables full of people. Groups of men who I assumed were holding business dinners were interspersed between couples seated intimately in a dimly lit dining room. The restaurant itself was beautiful. It was upscale without being overdone, the lighting soft and flattering. Large frosted chandeliers in a circular shape approximately five feet wide hung from the ceiling over various parts of the room. They cast their soft glow over the patrons, lending to the ambience.
The hostess halted beside a chair and shot me another smile. “Anything else, miss?”
“No, thank you,” I replied.
Across the table, Harvey didn’t bother to stand. In fact, he barely looked away from his phone. I settled into my seat as the hostess made her way back to the front of the restaurant. Finally, as if just noticing my presence, he lifted his head and smiled at me. A mixture of surprise and pleasure lit his eyes. “Wow, you’re a lot prettier than dad let on.”
“Um... thanks?” I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not.
The waitress came by and Harvey dove right in, ordering a bottle of red wine. I barely held back a grimace. I hated red wine, even the sweet stuff. I didn’t drink very often, but when I did it was usually a white dessert wine that tasted more like Kool-Aid than rotten grapes. Without giving me a chance to look at the menu, he went ahead and placed our orders. The waitress gave a perfunctory nod and strode back toward the kitchen.
I didn’t recognize the name of whatever he’d ordered, and I barely managed to tamp down my irritation as I turned my gaze back to Harvey. “I don’t think I’ve had that before.”
I wasn’t terribly picky, but it was the principle of the thing. I hated that he felt like he had the right to order for me.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he assured me, “you’ll love it.”
I sat back in my seat, not entirely convinced, but unwilling to fight over it. My phone buzzed as a call came through, the vibration pulsing through my purse where it hung over the back of my chair. I leaned over and peeked inside just in time to see the salon’s number flash across the screen. I briefly debated answering then decided against it. Brenda was probably calling to make sure everything was going okay, and I was determined to make it through this date if it killed me.
Silence fell between us for a moment before Harvey spoke up again. “So, you run a bridal shop?”
“Actually, it’s my shop. I own it,” I clarified.
“Ah, I see,” he said as he winked at me. “You’re one of those women.”
I bristled at the statement, but I tried my best to keep my face expressionless. “What kind of woman would that be?”
“Oh, you know.” He waved a hand in the air. “The kind of woman who wants a fairy-tale wedding. Prince Charming on a dashing horse and everything that goes along with it.”
I tried not to be insulted by the statement. “Actually, no,” I responded. “I don’t think marriage is in the cards for me just yet.”
“Oh, come on,” he scoffed, giving me a knowing look. “Every woman wants that. Actually, I think it’s great,” he commented. “I can make that happen if that’s what you want.”
Who did this guy think he was? I opened my mouth to shoot him down, but he continued, barreling right over me.
“Not that I’m proposing,” he said, lifting his hands. “Not yet.”
Was this guy for real? My stomach roiled as he shot me another wink, and I forced myself to take a drink of water to keep the contents of my stomach from ending up all over the table. It’d be a cold day in hell before that happened. The waitress arrived by the table and uncorked our wine, then poured a bit into Harvey’s glass.
I watched as Harvey swirled the deep red liquid around the glass, then inhaled deeply. He took a tiny sip and seem to chew on it for a good ten seconds before finally swallowing. Pressing his fingers to the base of the glass, he slid it toward the waitress. “That’ll do.”
Oh, God. Figured the man would be a wine connoisseur. I barely managed to hold back my eye roll. I knew this date hadn’t been a good idea. Still, it was the first time I’d been out in months, and I was determined to enjoy it despite the poor company. Harvey prattled on, making small talk, and I made noises at the appropriate times to acknowledge his statements. I allowed my mind to wander, thinking about next season’s fashions and the samples that I wanted to order. The new Marchesa was to die for, and I couldn’t wait to get it in my shop. I needed to make sure I ordered some new shoes too, since the style had changed from spring and we were moving now into summer and fall wear. I also needed a couple new headpieces—
I jumped in my seat, ripped away from my thoughts as Harvey let out a cringeworthy guffaw. My shoulders shot up to my ears, and I fought the urge to look around the room to see if everyone’s eyes were on us.
God, the man had the worst laugh ever.
Thankfully, we were saved seconds later by the waitress delivering our meals. “Anything else?”
“No,” Harvey responded for both of us. I was too busy eyeing my food to formulate a thought. Bones stuck up out of a cut of meat that looked less than appetizing. I picked up my fork and poked at it. “What did you say this was again?”
“Osso buco.” Harvey gestured with his chin. “It’s good, you’ll like it.”
“Right...” I drew out the word as I cautiously cut into it. “But what exactly is it?”
He looked at me like I’d just asked what year it was. “Veal.”
Nope. Just... nope. I set the knife at the edge of my plate and speared a potato, then popped it into my mouth. I liked hamburgers at a backyard barbecue. I even loved the occasional steak once in a while, though it wasn’t really in my budget these days. But I drew the line at eating meat from baby animals.
I pasted on a polite smile and forked up a carrot, counting the minutes until I could escape. Maybe not out the front doors—because that would be rude, right? Hell, at this point, I wasn’t sure I even cared. I’d been on a handful of bad dates in my life, but this one took the cake. His sheer obnoxiousness grated on my nerves, and I gritted my teeth before setting my fork on the edge of the plate. I glanced around, desperately trying to catch the eye of our waitress. God willing, she’d take pity on me and bring the check so I could get the hell out of here.
All I wanted to do was go home, kick off my heels, and have a glass of wine. Or maybe the entire bottle. And not the crappy red that I could smell from here, the smell of fermented grapes so potent it permeated the air. I sighed. Though it sounded nice, I knew I would never do it. Being a single mom, I always had to think about Alexia first. What if there was an emergency in the middle of the night? I hadn’t drunk a drop since I’d found out I was pregnant, wanting to always be coherent in case something happened.
Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I had the sensation of eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. I glanced surreptitiously toward the tables to my left, then right, but everyone was busy eating or talking. Unable to seek out the source of my unease, I picked up my fork and speared another stalk of asparagus.
“Do you need something?”
The sound of Harvey’s voice jerked my attention across the table. I opened my mouth to speak just as I realized he was looking over my shoulder.
“Yeah.”
That voice... Deep and masculine, I was sure I had heard it before. That same tingly sensation skittered down my spine as I slowly turned toward the man hovering beside my chair. I took in the thick, muscular thighs and a snug black T-shirt that if I looked closely enough—and I totally did—I could just barely see the outline of the man’s abs. Thick, corded arms and broad shoulders came into sight next. Then something caught my eye. The neckline of his shirt played peek-a-boo with a dark tattoo that I swore I’d seen before. My eyes lifted to the man’s face, over beautiful lips curved into a smug smirk, a nose that I was sure had seen a fist or two, then...
My heart thudded to a stop as my gaze collided with a pair of blue eyes—eyes I hadn’t seen for almost two years. He knew the moment it clicked; I could see the satisfaction in those glimmering depths. I was dimly aware of the fork falling from my fingers, the clank of silver on porcelain muted as blood thrummed in my ears, blotting out everything else.
Oh, God... Why was he here? What did he want?
His smile changed, becoming more predatory as he seemed to read my mind. “My wife.”
Chapter Twelve
Xander
My heartrate increased the closer I got to the high-end restaurant. Pulling up in front of the imposing stone façade, I threw the truck in park and hopped out. The kid at the valet stand passed me a ticket and I shoved it in my pocket, not missing a stride as I pushed through the front door.
I was already three steps into the room before common sense kicked in. What the hell was I doing? I had no idea what her reception to me would be. Did she even know we were still married? I had to imagine she didn’t; otherwise she would have hounded me for the annulment.
My gaze slid over the dim interior, searching for a familiar face. As if my eyes were drawn to her and her alone, I zeroed in on the elegant slope of her shoulder, made more prominent by her hair pulled severely away from her face. Though her back was mostly to me, it was undeniably her. My breath caught at the sight of her. Suddenly, time slipped away, and I was back in that bar with her, throwing back shots of tequila. I narrowed my eyes as I studied her. She sat ramrod straight in her chair, one hand placed in her lap as she ate, the perfect picture of grace and propriety. Something else occurred to me in that moment. She looked... uncomfortable.
I waved off the hostess at the stand, and, ignoring the curious stares from the patrons around me, I cut right through the middle of the room. As I neared the back of her chair, I heard the man across from her speak in his nasally tone. He flicked a glance toward me as I neared the table, his brow puckering with a combination of concern and confusion. I rested one hand on the back of Lydia’s chair and speared him with a glare.
“Do you need something?”
“Yeah.” Lydia turned toward me, and I watched her expression as her eyes glided over me, starting at my midsection and working their way up. She still hadn’t figured it out yet. What would she say? My heart pounded against my ribcage as her gaze traveled over my chest and shoulders, then finally up to my face. I felt a little surge of smug satisfaction as she met my stare, her eyes widening comically. A clatter filled the air as the fork slipped from her fingers.
My smile probably spoke more of a wolf preparing to pounce on its prey than a friendly greeting, but I was here for one reason and one alone. “My wife.”
“What?” I dragged my gaze away from Lydia and back to the man across the table. One perfectly plucked tawny eyebrow lifted, and his lips twisted into a sneer. “Who are you?”
Stretching my hand across the table, I offered it to him. “Nice to meet you. I’m Xander. Lydia’s husband.”
His mouth dropped open, but he ignored my outstretched hand. I couldn’t hold back a smile at the ridiculous sight of him gaping like a fish. Dropping my hand back to my side, I shot him a sly wink. “Thanks for taking care of her for me. I’ve got it from here.”
I turned back to Lydia, who had been strangely silent up to this point. Wide gray eyes bored into mine, and she blinked slowly, as if to make sure I wasn’t an apparition. Pulling out the chair beside her, I sank down and crossed one ankle over my knee. Angling myself toward Lydia, I directed my next words to her. “How ya been, darlin’?”
My words seemed to snap her from her trance, and her pretty gray eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.
“Came to find you, of course,” I replied. “Heard you were here, and I had to come see for myself.”
The guy leaned across the table. “Who the hell is this, Lydia?”
She darted a quick glance at me, then back to him. “It’s... This is Xander. He’s...”
“Her husband,” I supplied helpfully.
She shot me a withering glare, and the man huffed. “What the hell is he doing here?”
“He”—I stressed the word as I threw a look at the man—“is busy reuniting with his wife.”
“I’m not your wife,” she hissed at the same time the man spoke.
“I thought you said you were a widow?”
I turned a bewildered look on Lydia, who at least had the good sense to look ashamed. “You told him I was dead?”
“I didn’t...” Her hands moved agitatedly in front of her face. “It wasn’t... Never mind.”
I couldn’t fucking believe it. She couldn’t even own up to our marriage. And to tell people I’d died? “That’s a little cold, even for you, Liddy.”
Her guilty flush deepened with anger. “First of all, my name is Lydia. Not Liddy. Don’t call me that. Second, I’m not your wife.” She turned to the man. “I’m so sorry. I have to go.”
She jumped up, grabbed her purse, and was gone in a whirl of black skirt before either of us could say another word.
“Hey!” the guy called to her back. “The check!”
I turned a disgusted look on him. “Seriously? What kind of man takes a woman out and makes her pay?”
The asshole had the nerve to prop his hands on his hips. “It’s expensive.”
“What the fuck ever.” I pulled out my wallet and tossed a fifty on the table as I f
licked a glance at her nearly untouched plate. “She eats like a fucking bird. I’m sure that’ll cover it.”
I followed Lydia, determined to catch her before she could ditch me again. Luck was on my side, and I spotted her by the valet stand just outside. She threw me an aggravated glare as I stepped up beside her.
I remained silent for a moment, allowing my gaze to skim down her body. She’d filled out since I’d first met her, but it looked good on her. Healthy. Her bust and hips had rounded a bit, but she was still as beautiful as ever. Maybe even more so. I wanted to reach out and touch her, let my fingers trail over each dip and curve to see if they really were as addictive as I remembered or if my memory had played a trick on me. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I rocked back on my heels. “So.”
She redirected her gaze across the street, trying her best to tune out my presence.
“You drove separate.”
Her brows drew together. “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”
“The fact that you’re not leaving with that prick”—I hitched a thumb over my shoulder toward the restaurant—“means a hell of a lot. Believe me.”
“Your opinion means nothing to me.” She lifted one elegant shoulder. “Harvey is...”
She trailed off, either unwilling to finish or unable to come up with anything flattering. From the little I’d seen, I was more than willing to bet it was the latter. As if her words conjured the idiot, he came barreling through the door of the restaurant barely a second later. Placing himself between us, he addressed Lydia. “Can we reschedule?”
I snorted. “So you can split that tab for that meal, too?”
She glanced at me over the man’s shoulder, her face twisting into an expression of incredulity. “What? Never mind.” She held up a hand and met the guy’s gaze. “I’m flattered, but I don’t think so. Now excuse me while I go settle my check.”
He threw me an angry glare before stomping off, and Lydia turned toward the restaurant, muttering under her breath, “Asshole.”