Take Me To The Beach

by K. L. Grayson, Karina Halle, A. L. Jackson, Marni Mann, Monica Murphy, Devney Perry, Kristen Proby, Rachel Van Dyken

  Unease had me shifting my feet as I shrank back from the severity of their presence.

  “Mom, Dad, this is my friend, Elizabeth Ayers. Elizabeth, this is my father, Richard Davison, and my mother, Claire Davison.”

  Christian released the death grip he had on me and gestured in my direction, although thankfully, he chose not to move far from my side.

  Richard Davison slowly rose from his seat and extended a brusque hand across the table. “So nice to meet you, Elizabeth.”

  Wrapping his hand around mine, Christian’s father shook my hand. It was firm, hard, unwelcoming.

  There was nothing nice about it.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Davison,” I forced around the lump in my throat.

  When I turned and accepted Christian’s mother’s hand, it was cool to the touch, clammy. “Very nice to meet you, Elizabeth.” It was all form and pomp, insincere.

  I struggled to keep my hand from trembling in hers and searched for confidence, reminding myself I was doing this for Christian. “Very nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Davison. Thank you for having me.”

  In return, she offered a tight nod of her head and folded herself back under the table.

  Christian pulled the chair out for me and helped me settle. Almost inconspicuously, he brushed his fingers under my elbow, a silent buoy to my spirit. I would suffer through this for him.

  “Thank you,” I murmured under my breath as I adjusted in my seat. We were handed our menus, and I crossed my feet at my ankles as I sat up straight in the chair. Rigid. Impressing people had never been something I was interested in, but something about these two told me I would fare better pretending to fit into a place where I so obviously did not.

  This was going to be a long night.

  I glanced above my menu to find Christian’s father watching me with the concentration of a hawk about to swoop in on its prey.

  My attention dropped back to the words, but I could still feel his eyes penetrating through the thickness of parchment and leather.

  In silence, we studied the menus. When the waiter arrived, I ordered a water and the Thanksgiving special, hoping to make the least impact with my presence as possible.

  After our orders were taken, Christian’s father sat back in his seat, still studying me. “So, Elizabeth, how did you and Christian meet?”

  I swallowed and swiped my napkin across my mouth. I stole a glance at Christian, and he just smiled at me in encouragement. I turned my attention back to his father. “We both signed up to be paired with a study partner in our American Government class, and Christian turned out to be mine.”

  Richard Davison nodded, and I thought maybe it was an acceptable answer.

  I sucked in a little breath of relief. Maybe I could handle this.

  “And where are you from?”

  “San Diego.”

  “A long way from home.” It wasn’t a question, just an observation I was sure was tied to another thought.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “So why New York?”

  “I’ve always dreamed of moving here. Columbia University was my first choice.”

  “Hmm. It’s a hard school to get into.” Another observation.

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  God, I wasn’t prepared for this, to be set on display, subject to Richard Davison’s scrutiny. I’d counted on Christian’s promise that his parents would find me so inconsequential that they wouldn’t look twice in my direction.

  Mr. Davison sat back while his salad plate was removed and a soup bowl was set in its place. “And what do your parents do?”

  My nerves flared, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I’d always been proud of my family, but everything about his demeanor put me on the defensive. “Um . . . just my mom. My dad left when I was young, and my mother has always worked in manufacturing.”

  He lifted his brow. “Design?”

  I minimally shook my head. “No. She works on the floor.”

  Whatever interest Richard Davison had in me was silenced in my response, as if my answer had given him all the information he needed.

  I was sure I could hear the silent judgement rippling from him.

  That I was below them. Not good enough to be sitting beside their son.

  Tension fell over the table, and Christian brushed his fingers down my leg, another apology, one I couldn’t even acknowledge.

  Instead I stared at his father, contending with the powerful urge I had to defend my mother, to tell him how hard she worked to feed us and keep a decent roof over our heads.

  I remained silent because it was clear in Richard Davison’s eyes nothing I said would matter, anyway.

  My assumptions made about Christian’s parents were right. They were as hollow as I suspected, bred too high, their heads filled with too much.

  Christian had never had a chance.

  Is this what he would become? Would he succumb to the mold of his father?

  To the distance in his mother?

  Be shaped into this machine that cared for nothing?

  The thought soured and caused nausea to roll in my stomach. God. I couldn’t stand the thought of this happening to him, for the light in his eyes to dim and the playfulness in his smile to fade.

  Finally, the main course was served.

  Christian’s mother sipped at her wine, and in between bites filled Christian in on the elite. “Did you hear Stephen Bell and Emily Cann are engaged?” She tittered a laugh. “Who would have thought those two families would come together? That will be quite the fortune for their children. Oh, and the Graham’s have sold their house and bought a historical downtown . . .”

  I had to squash the urge to roll my eyes. Christian’s mother hadn’t seen him in months, and this was all she could offer him? Gossip? She never even asked him how he was, if he was happy or troubled or was struggling in any way.

  Longing inflamed my already homesick heart. The idea that I didn’t want to be home for Thanksgiving all but evaporated.

  What I would give to be in the midst of the shuffle of my mother’s kitchen now, the scents rising up from the oven as the turkey cooked to perfection. What I would give to feel the tender hand of my mother while she pushed my hair back from my face as I peeled potatoes, how she’d be so thankful that all of her daughters were there.

  The only difference was I wanted Christian there with me.

  I peeked over at him. He ate in outright discomfort, though with an obvious sense of normalcy.

  A pang struck me at my core.

  He’d never had that—love without expectations, someone there to cherish him despite his faults, someone to praise him for his strengths.

  The love I’d been too scared to acknowledge before glowed and burned, whipped and stirred as it grew. From the outside, it was nearly impossible to see the damage his parents had created on the inside of that gorgeous exterior.

  As he sat there now, it was obvious, these bold marks of ruin that scored his spirit.

  Casting a furtive glance in his parents’ direction, I cut another piece of turkey and brought it to my mouth. Could they really not see him the way I did?

  “So, Christian, tell me how your classes are going,” his father said between bites.

  Christian stiffened.

  Here we go.

  I wondered how his father had restrained himself this long.

  Clearing his throat before he spoke, Christian seemed to measure his words to evoke the least reaction from his father. “They’re going really, really well. My grades are good. Just have to make it through finals and I should have all As.”

  “Mmm . . .” his father mused, sliding a forkful of mashed potatoes into his arrogant mouth. “You know you need to focus these next couple of weeks. Don’t for a minute get confident. It just takes one slip and you’ll lose all the footing you have.”

  “I know that, Dad. We study constantly.”

  It was clear in the way Christian’s eyes darted in my direction that his assertion incl
uded me.

  We.

  Richard Davison’s brow arched in speculation, his appraisal clear and unjust. “And you think it’s wise to distract yourself this way?” he asked Christian, though his gaze remained unwavering, locked on me in decided disgust.

  The man had no right to look at me like that.

  I struggled to maintain a straight face, reminded myself I was here because I’d been invited, remembered my mom had always taught me to be respectful, even when someone so obviously didn’t deserve it.

  “Dad, you have no idea how much Elizabeth has helped me this semester. She studies just as hard, if not harder, than I do. She’s going to be an attorney, too.”

  I could feel Christian almost pleading with his father to like me, the way his body drifted forward and his head tipped to the side in supplication.

  A condescending smile cracked Richard Davison’s face. “Oh, really? Don’t you two make the perfect little couple.”

  “Dad,” Christian begged beneath his breath, his body jerking in embarrassment.

  “We’re just friends.” The sudden denial flew from my mouth. Saying it felt like a lie.

  Christian blanched, and the dislike on his father’s face grew. Neither of them believed it either.

  I blinked hard, as if I could deflect whatever blow was coming. I could feel it, this quiet hostility that had built throughout the night, this agitation that had his father sitting on edge.

  Richard Davison leaned in across the table with his voice quieted. “Do you even understand the amount of work this is going to take, Christian? The devotion required if you plan to take over for me one day?”

  “Of course, I do.”

  “Do you? Really? Do you have any idea the foundation I’ve set to ensure my son has the best opportunities? The best chance at succeeding in life?”

  “God, Dad, would you just lay off me for once? I get it. It’s fine.”

  His father’s voice dropped lower, though it hardened. “Goddamn it, Christian, it is not fine. Have you not learned one single thing I’ve tried to teach you? You can’t waste this time. It is more important now than ever to stay focused on your goals.”

  Christian straightened in his chair, his voice just as low and tight as his father’s. “Not everything is about what you want.”

  His father just laughed below his breath, though there was no hint of humor. It was mocking.

  “You have no idea what strings I had to pull to get you here, do you?”

  My attention darted to Christian to watch his face fall as understanding dawned.

  How could his father be so cruel? To do this now, in front of an audience?

  I wanted to speak, to touch Christian’s arm and tell him that his father was wrong. I’d never met anyone as intelligent as him or who worked as hard.

  But I could say nothing before his father spoke again. “You’re so ignorant you don’t even notice when a gold digger is trying to sink her claws into you.”

  In shock, I froze, then humiliation unfurled over me in a hot sheet of disgrace. With what he was insinuating, he may as well have slapped me across the face.

  I jerked my chin to the side to block the blow, felt tears welling under the surface. I would not let this guy see me cry.

  Fumbling out of my chair and onto my feet, I steadied myself on the table as I wobbled on the heels I was so unaccustomed to wearing.

  Mortified, Christian looked up at me. He wrapped a gentle hand my wrist. “Elizabeth, please, don’t go.”

  How could he ask me to stay?

  I shook my head and twisted from his grasp. “I’m sorry, Christian, but I can’t do this.”

  Sorrow tore me straight through as I finally let that flicker of hope I’d clung to all night slip away.

  I didn’t belong in his world, could never fit into it. I was strong enough to know I didn’t want to.

  I’d never strive for money or position, had no intention of spending my life sitting like some mindless bimbo next to a man just because I wanted something from him. I couldn’t stand the thought that Richard Davison had even planted the idea in Christian’s mind.

  As much as I loved Christian, I refused to subject myself to this. I felt violated.

  Wronged.

  Remorseful blue eyes stared up at me. My heart hurt so much for him. This was his life, the way he’d been raised.

  “I’m so sorry, Christian,” I said again. This time, my words were a goodbye.

  Heat burned my ears and tears stung my eyes as I turned to flee. Wearing my embarrassment like a coat, I twisted through the tables to make an escape. I forced myself forward, praying I’d get outside before the tears began to fall.

  I didn’t take the time to get my jacket from the front. I fled out the door.

  The sharp bite of cold slammed me. I sucked in a ragged breath and pushed myself forward. My heels clattered as I clamored toward the street.

  Relief slipped between my lips as a small cry when I saw the two cabs waiting at the curb.

  “A cab, please,” I nearly begged as I ran, struggling to keep myself upright as I approached the cab.

  A hand grabbed my upper arm before I could make it inside. I knew it was him. The hold was firm but gentle, filled with as much confusion as I felt. I needed to get away from him as much as I wanted to stay. I struggled to break free.

  He spun me around and cupped my cheeks, forcing me to look at him. “Fuck . . . Elizabeth . . . would you just stop for a second?”

  With the sound of his voice, the tears broke free. I tried to hide them, to tug away from the hold Christian had on me, heart and soul.

  His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his eyes searching as they took in every emotion firing across my face.

  “I can’t believe he pulled that shit in front of you.” His hold tightened in emphasis. “Tell me you know I would never think that about you. It doesn’t matter who I brought, they would never be good enough, Elizabeth. I will never be good enough. Don’t you see that?”

  Tender fingers came up to brush the hair from my face, to wipe my tears.

  “I hate him, Elizabeth . . . hate that he would make you feel this way.”

  I wrestled to discern what I felt, who I was angry with and who I was running from.

  All I came up with was another question, another miserable why.

  Why did I have to love someone like him so much? The moment he walked through the café door, my instincts had told me to run. Why had I been such a fool to put myself in the position to be standing here now?

  But none of this was really Christian’s fault. We were separated by a gap neither of us had created, each a product of our heritage, a distant span of cultures that made us completely incompatible.

  “Just go back inside with your family, Christian.”

  Shaking his head, his grip increased, the slight sting of his fingertips digging into my cheeks. “No. It’s Thanksgiving and I want to spend it with you.”

  “They’re your family, and I don’t mean anything to you.” My assertion rang with deceit.

  “How can you say that? You mean everything to me.” Christian pressed his lips to my forehead, this gentle show of affection that weakened my knees and left me gripping his wrists, desperate to believe every one of his words.

  And I felt it again, a glimmer of what I’d seen in his eyes earlier.

  I longed for it.

  His father’s mocking voice found us from somewhere behind Christian. “Just friends, huh? Looks that way to me. She’s a waste of your time, Christian. Put her in a cab and come back inside where you belong.”

  A tortured cry erupted from my throat.

  “Just go inside, where you belong,” I rasped, mimicking his father’s words, tripping over the heartbreak that had lodged in my throat.

  “Elizabeth . . .” Christian wavered, looking back to where his father stood confronting us.

  The gap.

  Christian held no true conviction. He didn’t know whether to stand up for
me or give in to his father. He still didn’t know.

  I ripped myself from his hold and jumped into the cab. Christian just stood there, staring at me.

  My spirit splintered a little more.

  I slammed the door shut behind me to shut Christian out. The cab driver looked up in the mirror, and I cried out, “Go . . . please . . . just go.”

  I slumped back in the seat as the cab jerked into traffic. My head sagged back on the headrest and I lifted my face to the ceiling. Tears streaked down the sides of my face and ran into my hair. Reaching up to scrub them away, I released a bitter bark into the air.

  I already knew this. When did I forget?

  Christian Davison was so off limits.

  Christian

  Motherfucker.

  I wanted to scream.

  Instead, I just stood there staring in shock as Elizabeth’s cab drove away.

  The day I finally got it—accepted it—had to be the same day I laid her at my parents’ feet.

  Slowly, I turned around to face my father.

  He stood near the restaurant door. Smugness clung to his posture, his jaw tight and shoulders squared as he stared me down.

  Embarrassment and anger seethed in my veins, curling my hands into fists. So many years I’d strived to be just like him, and now I was ashamed to even know him.

  A taunting snort slipped through his nose and he just barely shook his head. It was full of condescension, as if daring me to contend with him. “Come back inside and finish your dinner.”

  He spun on his heel, like what had just happened mattered none.

  “What is wrong with you?” I called out just before he disappeared through the door. “I invited her here and you insult her? She’s my friend.”

  Pausing, he craned his neck around to look at me. Then he laughed, this incredulous sound that punched me in the gut. “She’s trash, Christian.”

  The words knocked around in my head.

  Elizabeth . . . this girl . . . the one.

  The strongest surge of protectiveness welled up inside me, and I took two steps toward him.

  “I love her.” I felt pride saying it aloud, the kind of pride I’d put money down that my father had never experienced.

  His face slowly twisted and he shook his head as if he didn’t know me at all. “Then you’re more of fool than I pegged you for. Now get inside. Your mother and I flew all the way here to spend Thanksgiving with you. You’re ruining our evening.”