CHAPTER 17
Ford
“Who chose the restaurant? You or your mom?” I ask Viveka as we pull up in front of The Second Empire. It’s one of the most expensive restaurants in Raleigh, and they have amazing food and the top-notch service to justify it.
She shoots me a smirk as the valet opens her door. “Who do you think?”
I pop my door open as I give her a return grin. “Your mother, of course.”
Viveka turns to step out of the car but then immediately looks back to me, reaching out to touch my arm. “I’m getting the bill. No arguments.”
“You’re what?” I ask, because I think I heard her right but maybe I’m mistaken.
“Getting the bill. My mother won’t pay, and God knows it’s going to be enough that you have to suffer, so you’re not paying for this extravagantly expensive meal and terrible company.”
She doesn’t even wait for me to acknowledge her command, just slides out of my front seat using the valet attendant’s hand he offers. I just watch her. I have to say, Viveka in a sleek dress that comes just above her knees in normal circumstances but rides up to mid-thigh while she sits in the front seat of my Porsche is something to behold. I had thought about driving my G550 but a dress like that deserves a Porsche. My gaze lingers on her ass until the valet shuts the door, cutting me off from sight.
I exit my car and toss the keys to the attendant when he comes around the front of the car to meet me, then push a five-dollar bill into his hand.
“Thank you, sir,” the kid says, but I ignore him.
Viv waits for me with a serene expression on her face. That’s good. I think mentally she’s ready to do battle with her mom if necessary, but she’s going to try to take the high road the entire evening.
I also think she’s extra adorable given the fact she thinks she can pay for this meal tonight.
My hand goes to Viv’s lower back as I escort her into the restaurant. I don’t see her mother but that doesn’t surprise me. She looks like the type of woman who is always going to arrive fashionably late.
I give the maître d’ our name. Within moments, someone appears at his side to escort us to our table. As Viv starts walking away, I lean into the maître d’. “I’m not sure when the rest of our party will arrive, but please go ahead and send the sommelier to our table.”
The maître d’ dips his head. “Of course, Mr. Daniels.”
“And also make sure I’m given the check at the end of the meal. Despite what anyone else at the table says.”
I get another gracious smile. “I will see to it.”
Sorry, Viveka. You’ve been overruled.
By the time we’re seated at our table, made a wine selection, and peruse the menu, Tilde still hasn’t shown up. This is fine by me because that means I get more alone time with Viv.
She sits to my left at the round table designed to hold four. I hold a glass of Pinot Noir up, and she mimics me. We clink our glasses together and she says, “Here’s to really good wine getting us through the evening.”
“Amen,” I say before I take a sip.
When I set my glass down, I reach across the table to take her hand. I like holding her hand. It’s as simple as that. “What are we going to do tomorrow?”
I ask this because it’s a given I’m going to stay at her house tonight. Tomorrow is a Sunday, and the weather is going to be fantastic. It’s ballsy and egotistical for me to assume we’ll spend the day together, but when I see something I want, I always go for it as if I’m going to get it.
“I don’t know what you are doing,” Viv says with a sly grin. “But I’m volunteering at a dog shelter tomorrow.”
“So what does that mean… volunteering at a shelter? Because if you’re talking about playing with puppies, I’m in.”
Viveka laughs and shakes her head. “It means we have to clean out cages and give the dogs baths.”
I grimace only slightly before recovering with a confident smile. “All right. Volunteering at the dog shelter tomorrow.”
Viveka takes another sip of her wine, staring at me over the rim of the glass. When she puts it down, she gives me a very pointed look. “You know you don’t have to do that, Ford. That’s kind of my thing, and I do it a few times a month. It doesn’t have to be your thing, though.”
This is interesting. Us exploring the boundaries that perhaps as a couple we should put in place. We still need to maintain our own lives for sure, but that doesn’t mean we have to.
I poke around the edges to see what she really means. “Do you like to play golf?”
She blinks those baby blues. “Um… I’ve never tried it. I’m not really into sports.”
Yeah, well, I’m not really into cleaning up dog shit, but I’m adventurous.
“Would you go golfing with me if I asked you to?”
She’s so fucking cute when she tilts her head as she ponders. “I suppose so.”
I give a nod. “That’s good. Because you see, golfing is kind of my thing. And it might be your thing, too, but you won’t know unless you try it. Just like cleaning dog shit out of cages might be my thing, but I won’t know unless I try it.”
She nods her head. “You know… you’re actually making sense to me.”
I laugh in response and give her a wink. “I’m glad you see things my way. So cleaning out dog cages and golfing is next on our agenda as a couple together.”
“Are we? A couple?”
“Of course we are,” I chide, because she should have no doubts. We’ve decided to fuck bare once she’s adequately protected, and she’s going to get in to see her gynecologist to get on the pill this week. But then I give her a lecherous grin. “Unless you’re into threesomes. That can be hot.”
I thought it would embarrass her and I really was only teasing, but she doesn’t even blush.
“Me, you, and another guy?” she purrs and then licks her bottom lip. “I can totally be into that.”
I have no fucking clue if she’s teasing or not, but the tightening of my pants as my dick starts to harden tells me I hope to God she’s not kidding.
Before I can fathom the truth, though, I see her mother walking toward us with a man trailing behind her who appears to be in his late twenties.
Tilde is wearing a scandalously low-cut dress that dips well below her breastbone and exposes the interior swells of her cleavage. It’s white silk, gathered around her waist, and comes down barely far enough to cover her ass. The man walking behind her has his eyes pinned to said ass, as does about every other male patron she walks by. Tilde is aware of the attention and it’s clear she actually thrives on it. I wonder what will happen to her when she reaches the age that she won’t get that attention.
I find it fascinating Tilde walks just like Viveka. Long legs in a confident strut with hips swaying and arms swinging. I don’t for a second think Viv mimicked her mother’s walk just because she was first into the modeling thing. I would bet a year’s salary that Viv patented her own walk on the runway and her mother copied it.
I lift my chin up to indicate to Viv that her mother is walking up behind her. She takes in a deep breath through her nose and blows it out through her mouth before she turns to look over her shoulder. Because I’m a gentleman and a lady approaches, I stand. Manners would dictate that Tilde’s date pull her chair out for her, but she doesn’t give him an opportunity. She walks to the chair to my right—furthest from her daughter—and looks at me almost imperiously.
I cut a glance at Viveka, who is biting back a laugh, before I pull the chair out for Tilde.
“Thank you, darling,” she murmurs graciously in response.
I don’t respond but take my seat again, cutting another glance at Viv. She’s clearly amused, and that makes me feel much better about this evening. Viv has decided she can do nothing more than treat this like a comedy show.
Tilde’s date takes the seat right across from me and glances around the table with a genial smile. He’s got perfect teeth and a perfect face, and I am quite sure he’s a model himself.
When Tilde picks up her menu and starts perusing it without saying another word, I stand up from my chair once again and reach my hand across the table to the man. “Hey… Ford Daniels.”
The guy bobs his head and stands up to shake my hand. “Jim Delvecchio.”
Tilde’s eyes snap up from the menu to glare at her date as our hands break apart and we both sit back down. “It’s Carmine,” she instructs him with a good deal of censure in her voice. “You have to start using your professional name in all situations.”
I turn to raise an eyebrow at Viveka, who just shrugs at me.
I let my gaze travel to Jim a.k.a. Carmine. “Professional name?”
The poor dude opens his mouth to answer me, but Tilde intervenes. “Yes, Carmine is his professional modeling name. So much snazzier than Jim. I’m his manager.”
“Manager?” Viveka says with surprise, and I know exactly what she’s thinking.
She’s thinking of those two years where her mother was her manager and all the ways in which she abused that position. Viv’s face is awash with empathy for poor Jim.
Tilde looks across the table at her daughter and acknowledges her for the first time this evening, which is really shitty by the way. “It’s something I started doing on the side. You know, to keep me busy and occupied since Stephan still travels so much and is always working when he’s not.”
I can see the light go on in Viveka’s eyes. I understand, too. That way, Tilde is able to travel with her current squeeze with impunity by hiding it under the moniker of a “manager-client” relationship.
Now, I can be a dirty, kinky son of a bitch when I want, but there is something about it that skeeves me out given the massive age difference between them. On the other hand, Tilde doesn’t look her age and some dudes are into older women.
Turns out Jim… or Carmine… or whatever, is a nice guy. I’m sure he doesn’t have any deep feelings for Tilde and he’s using her as much as she’s using him, but otherwise, he seems like a decent dude.
From what I can tell anyway as I catch snippets of his conversation with Viveka. That’s because for most of the evening, Tilde tries to dominate the conversation, and by that, I mean she tries to talk only to me.
She leans toward me, talking intimately low to try to cut Viveka and Carmine out. I try a few times to include the others, but at one point, Viveka gives me a little shake of her head like “don’t bother.” The way she smiles at me tells me she’s not bothered by this either, and I swear I saw relief on her face when Carmine engaged her in conversation about the modeling business. She’d rather actually talk to him than her mother, and as Viveka predicted, she’s using me as a buffer.
This is fine by me.
After the main course is cleared away, the waiter passes out dessert menus, starting with Tilde.
“No dessert for us,” Tilde says with a wave of her hand. The waiter pulls the menu back.
“Actually, I’d like to see that,” Viveka says, and the waiter appears overjoyed that someone wants to partake.
“Me too,” I add. I’m not actually a big sweets kind of guy, but I just instinctively know I need to see that menu. That Viv needs me to order dessert along with her.
The waiter moves to Viveka and hands her one, then gives one to me. He looks to Carmine, who stares longingly but after a quick glance to Tilde, shakes his head. She totally has him by the short hairs.
“I’ll be back shortly to take your orders,” the waiter says before walking away.
Tilde stares across the table toward her daughter in disapproval, her lips pressed tight. I can see it on her face… the warring within herself on whether to say something.
When her lips part, I brace for her onslaught.
“Viveka,” Tilde says in a falsetto voice in an attempt for this to come off as merely a pleasant piece of advice. “You know carbs and sugar go right to your hips. You and I both have that body type unfortunately, so perhaps you should pass.”
My inclination is to jump to Viveka’s defense, but I also know my girl waged a war once upon a time to sever her mother’s parental ties, at least in the eyes of the law when she was just seventeen. I suspect that in order to keep the boundaries clear, Viveka needs to defend herself and doesn’t need her guy to rush in to save her right now.
Viv takes a breath and shuts her eyes—probably asking for grace from above—and when she opens them again, they are lasered onto her mother with a ferocity that makes me actually feel a little bad for Tilde.
“Mor,” she says softly, but it’s not meant to make her feel safe and protected. It’s with warning. “You lost your right to direct what I put in my mouth a long time ago.”
Tilde actually appears surprised to hear this news. Her chin pulls inward, and her tone is affronted. “I’m only looking out for your best interests.”
“No, you’re not,” Viveka says firmly. “You’re trying to assert power and control over me because you can’t stand you lost it long ago. You also delight in trying to put me down in little ways like making comments about my weight. But you need to know it doesn’t hurt me. Doesn’t piss me off. Doesn’t make me feel bad about myself at all. It only makes you look foolish for trying to make me feel bad so you can feel good about yourself.”
“Viveka,” Tilde says sharply and with warning in her own voice. She’s trying to come off as a parent reminding their child of their manners, but sadly, it’s sort of whiny. “I did not raise you to speak to me that way.”
Viv gives her mom a smile, and there’s nothing but empathy there. She understands her mom and feels bad she can’t be more than what she is. What’s amazing to me is that Viv doesn’t feel bad for herself. She feels bad for this woman who is probably missing out on a lot of really amazing things with her daughter if she just opened herself up to true motherhood.
I think perhaps Viveka may continue schooling her mother in the reality of their relationship and the fact it resembles nothing of a mother-daughter dynamic whereby Tilde might have the right to offer advice.
But instead, she turns to her left and says, “Carmine… it was fabulous meeting you. Good luck with your career.”
Her head then swings in the opposite direction, bypassing a glance at her mother until her summer-blue eyes land on me. “Let’s get dessert on the way home, okay?”
“Okay,” I tell her with a smile, and I stand up from my chair. When I hold my hand out to Viv, she places her fingers against my palm. I let mine curl around to grip her lightly as she stands from her chair.
I turn to Carmine, give him a nod. Then to Tilde with a smile. “Lovely meeting you.”
Tilde looks absolutely befuddled as her gaze snaps back and forth between her daughter and me.
I see the waiter coming back to take our dessert order, and I pull Viveka around the table to meet him. “No dessert tonight. But if you’ll give the bill to that woman right there,” I point at Tilde, who still seems a bit shell-shocked, “she’ll be glad to pay.”
Viveka snickers and then squeezes my hand. She heads for the exit with long strides, pulling me along behind her. I give one last look at Tilde, who is staring after us with an expression on her face like she just smelled a pile of shit.
When we step out onto the sidewalk, Viveka turns and launches herself into my arms. Her hands come to my face, and she grins like a lunatic on a drug high. “Damn… that was fun. I kind of want to go back in and do that again.”
“Never got much of a chance before to put your mom in her place, have you?” I ask with a chuckle.
“I always felt icky about doing it,” she admits as she drops her hands. “For a very long time, I felt guilty for leaving my career and her behind. There were years where I tried to overcompensate, and by that, I mean I let her run all over me because it made her feel better and that alleviated my guilt. But tonight… it just seemed the right way to handle her.”
“It was absolutely the right way,” I assure her as I reach into my pocket for my valet ticket. I hand it to the attendant and then take Viveka’s hand in mine. “And please don’t feel guilty for putting her in her place. Perhaps she’ll think twice before she does that again.”
“Well, that will be probably in about a year. We don’t see each other often.”
“I’m sorry,” I say as we step to the side as other people exit the restaurant.
Viveka’s head turns my way, her eyes round. “Why are you sorry?”
“That you even have to worry about this shit with your mom,” I say as I pull her into my side and wrap my arm around her shoulder. “It’s absolutely dysfunctional and a stress you shouldn’t have to deal with. You’re too good a person to have that crap in your life.”
“I know,” she murmurs as her arm comes around my waist. “And thank you for validating that.”
“Anytime,” I promise. I’ll validate her anytime she wants. “Now… what kind of dessert will we pick up on the way home?”
She cranes her neck to stare up to me. “A few cans of whip cream.”
“Just whip cream?”
Her smile is mischievous and erotic, and it punches me in the gut. “We can do a lot of creative things with whip cream, Ford.”