Was this a date? Dinner? A friend thing? After the kiss and the offer of the economic bailout, I didn’t really know. My life was upside down, that was for sure.
I also didn’t have any idea why of what I should wear. My closet didn’t have much to begin with, but I must have tried every decent combination inside it. The black skirt felt too long, my gray dress was too informal, the blue dress I’d worn to high school graduation barely fit, and the woolen shift Mom had purchased for my uncle’s funeral three years ago now seemed far too short.
That left me with one option: a royal-blue sundress with white rickrack trim on the hem. I twirled in front of the mirror and decided it was satisfactory. It had to be. I didn’t want to show up in my uniform or a bad combination of leggings and a T-shirt, which were my other main options.
I curled my hair, put on some light makeup, and drove to 346 South Ocean just before eight. My mom had looked a little more like herself that day, but she was still very weak. She’d spent most of the day sleeping, which I’d been told was the body’s way of healing itself. When I told her I’d been invited to a friend’s house for dinner, she berated me for still sitting beside her. Of course she does. Even laid up, she is still fierce and selfless. Wasn’t she as scared as I was? But once again I had listened to her request and left her in the hands of the hospital staff.
As I pulled into the long brick driveway, a shiver raced up and down my spine. The property looked different from the last time I saw it, but the same too. A long time ago, the mansion had been two separate homes, but as the Armstrong fortune grew, the family scooped up adjacent properties, renovated it all, and linked them with a catwalk. The estate also had a tennis court and several pools, all designed for entertaining and flow more than functionality.
And the memories were still there. All of them. With a gulp, I parked the car in a space near the garage.
He must have been waiting for me, because Davis walked out the back door of the house just as I began walking down the garden pathway that linked the garage with the pool and the main building.
“Hey,” he called as he jogged over. “I guess you didn’t have any trouble finding the house.”
“Nope. I remember it very well.”
“We did some renovations after Dad died. Grandfather wanted a change.” Davis wrinkled his nose and regarded the main building. “I think it was somewhat painful to have it the way things were. A lot of bad memories.” He looked back at me. “Anyway, that doesn’t have to always be the way things are, right?”
I nodded.
“We’re having dinner in the main dining room. Scallops are on the menu.”
“Sounds good.” It did. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten scallops, if ever. Those didn’t make the usual grocery list.
Davis motioned for me to follow him toward the house. “Stuart, our head chef, is famous for them. Three years ago, Grandad was dining at the La Cirque in New York and decided they were the best scallops he’d ever had. He offered Stuart a job on the spot and doubled his salary. He’s been in Palm Beach ever since.”
“Must be nice,” I muttered.
Seconds later, we were through the back door and inside the mansion. Davis was right. The renovation had changed most of the décor and the layout of the house, rendering it unrecognizable to me. In a way, I found that refreshing. It felt like whatever happened that night was a new start, not a continuation of my old life.
And how I just wanted my old life to end.
The dining room was awash in low light and a large pink-and-white-peony arrangement. A long table in the center of the room had two place settings on the end, and the elegant sideboard featured a large silver tea service. A large painting hung above the sideboard.
“It’s a Picasso,” Davis said when he noticed me admiring it.
“It’s beautiful.” As if I would have made any other comment. “From his blue period, I can see.”
“You know a lot of about Picasso?”
“Enough. Most people like his cubism, but I think his post-impressionism works are the best ones. He did one called Le Moulin de la Galette that is my favorite.”
“Grandad got into his work a few years ago.” Davis moved closer to me. “I’ve never been a huge admirer of Picasso’s work; it’s not my type of painting. I prefer pop art. Warhol, etc.”
“Do you collect any?”
“I have a few pieces.”
“Warhol is interesting.” I looked away, as a pang of regret twisted my stomach. “I minored in art history at Florida State. Mom said it was frivolous, but I like how art and historical events dovetail together. I like the way people express what is happening around them.” I regarded the Picasso again. “He was so angry during this time in his life. You can almost feel it radiating off the canvas.”
“You need to finish your degree,” Davis replied, and put a hand on my arm. “Someone like you deserves to get one. Promise me you’ll go back.”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged my arm out of his grasp.
“That’s why I want you to take the money,” Davis said. “You need it, and it’s a worthy investment.”
I scoffed. For a smart man, Davis was a little clueless. No one gave away money for free. There had to be a catch, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what it was.
“No, listen to me.” His voice turned firmer. “I know how to make good investments. It’s in my blood. And you are a good investment, Samantha. You always have been.”
He made a move like he wanted to embrace me in front of the painting, but I stepped away from him when I saw a butler arrive in the doorway.
The staffer cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Armstrong, but Chef Stuart has advised that dinner is ready at your convenience.”
“Of course.” Davis let out a small laugh. “Shall we?”
We sat at the enormous table, and the butler served the first course, a pear and endive salad with a glass of pinot grigio. Davis offered a toast then dug into the mixed greens with gusto. I stared at my plate.
“What’s the matter?” Davis asked after his second bite. “Don’t tell me you have something against lettuce.”
“No, I”—emotion caught in my throat—“it’s just that this looks too good to eat.” I caught his gaze with mine. “And I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything arranged so beautifully.”
He glanced at the salad. “Stuart does do a remarkable job. It’s funny how often I forget it.”
“It looks like he cut every piece of this lettuce by hand.”
“Probably. He’d do something like that.”
“Well, it’s beautiful.”
“Wait until you see what he does with scallops.” Davis ate another bite. “He’s a master for a reason.”
“Can’t wait.” I hesitated then picked up the outside fork at my place setting. Once, a long time ago, I’d watched a movie where the hero was taught to start from the outside and work his way in when it came to be eating a meal with several courses. From working at Haute Holidays, I’d filed that tidbit away in my mind, and I was grateful to have use for it. I peeked at Davis’s plate. He’d chosen his outside fork too.
Whew.
I speared a small bite of the salad and ate my first mouthful. He was right. It tasted unlike any salad I’d ever had. The lettuce complemented the pears and apples in a perfect balance, and the light vinaigrette dressing gave a sweet and sugary spice to the dish. I could have shoved the entire serving in my mouth—I didn’t want to waste any of it.
But I didn’t. Doing so would only show Davis I was woefully outside his gilded world.
The butler served us an appetizer of lamb pâté and another round of wine before the entrée course, which arrived with a flourish. Chef Stuart had arranged six scallops on the plate, along with a creamy sauce, a filleted tomato, some baby carrots, and asparagus. The whole thing looked as gorgeous as a fine painting.
“Well, what’s the verdict? Was I right?” Davis asked after we’d both eaten a few scallops. “You like it?”
I nodded. “I really do. This—you have meals like this all of the time, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “I suppose I’ve gotten used to it.”
“Seems like it would be very easy to do.”
Davis ate another scallop. “And you know what? You’re right. I take it for granted more times than I want to admit.” He looked around the room. “I forget the natural beauty we have because I’m so used to living in a world where the finer things are simply expected.”
“Well, don’t take that comment as a criticism.” I regarded my half-eaten dinner. “I mean, if you need someone around to help you appreciate things more, I’m your girl.”
He chuckled. “I bet you are.”
“Hey, someone has to do it, right?” I cut into another piece of seafood then dipped it into what remained of the sauce. “Very tough work, but I’m willing.”
“And that’s exactly what I’m hoping you’ll do.”
“I see how it is.” I ate my bite. “You’ve been scheming this whole time.”
“What if I have?”
I drank some wine, feeling the alcohol gain a small foothold in my blood. It felt good. Like I could relax for the first time in a long time. And God knew I needed that. “You’ve always been sneaky, Davis. One of your more consistent qualities.”
“I wouldn’t call it sneaky. I know how to get what I want, and I don’t stop until I get it. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I guess there isn’t,” I replied, finding myself unwilling to have a meal like this end. There was always a first time for everything, and first times needed to be savored, drawn out, and enjoyed.
And all the little things about it needed to be catalogued and appreciated.
That night, there was only us, locked away in my grandfather’s house as night fell in Palm Beach. The world turned around us, but I hardly noticed it. I only noticed her.
Samantha Green was everything I didn’t realize I’d been searching for in my life. All the empty relationships, mindless hookups, and nights alone had led me to her. I’d had her once and lost her.
But I wouldn’t lose her again.
“Let’s go outside,” I said after we finished our chocolate mousse dessert. “We can have coffee by the pool if you’d like. It’s a clear night, and the view is spectacular.”
I was grasping at anything to keep her at the house longer. Anything to continue this evening. The four-course meal had taken an hour and a half to finish, but it was still early.
“Or we could go to the beach,” I suggested. “Should have a nice tide coming in.”
“Hmm.” She chewed on her bottom lip and regarded me over the candlelight of the dining table. “Pool versus beach. Tough decision.”
“Either one is a good idea on a night like this.”
I didn’t add that both would also get us alone, away from the prying eyes of our staff. No matter how much I trusted them, they were still employees, and loyal to my grandfather. I wanted her alone.
Now.
“I’ll go with the beach,” she said. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had the chance to enjoy it. Sometimes, I forget how close I live to it.”
I stared at her, realizing once again how privileged my life had been. Yes, I’d worked hard at Harvard, but I’d also partied hard at other times, and certainly I hadn’t had to work throughout college or law school to pay for fees or textbooks. The differences seemed a travesty. Not enjoying the beach when living so close was a travesty as well. And it was only because her current life hadn’t given her time to savor anything. I could change that.
And I vowed that I would. That night.