I’ve always known Roman’s family is rich. He’d come to us every summer with designer clothes and a gift basket fromFortnum and Mason’s for my parents. But by the second week he was borrowing Mase’s hiking gear and looking perfectly at home in our modest farmhouse and it was easy to forget that Roman came from money. Serious money. Buy a thousand-dollar bottle of wine without a second thought type money.
I put down the menu and smooth over the pale bronze satin dress I’d chosen to wear. Roman had warned me we’d be dining posh, but I have a feeling my sixty-dollar dress pales in comparison to Richard’s black suit with peak lapels and three flap pockets on the front. It looks like something Tom Ford would wear on the red carpet.
“Dad, about the job,” Roman starts but his father waves him off.
“Come now, you may have shunned your legacy, but you know the rules—no business talk till dessert.”
Roman’s jaw pops but his dad’s eyes twinkle.
“A joke, Roman. Relax.”
“You don’t make jokes.”
“Well, perhaps my new lease on life has me expanding my horizons. Now, I want to spend some time with my son and his lovely lady.”
Roman hesitates, his eyes tracking over his father like he’s trying to work out his game plan.
I reach under the table and squeeze his leg. Richard Banks puts on a good front but he’s still the same person who missed Roman’s graduation. Who sent his son to spend Christmases with us because he was too busy to make time for his own child. Who hired a PI to find dirt on Roman so he could blackmail him.
Roman links his fingers through mine. “Thank you for the dinner invite.”
Richard bats his thanks away with a hand in the air. “Of course.” He smiles and looks at us over the top of the menu. “So,how’s that orchard of yours doing? I was telling your mother how impressed I was after my last visit.”
“Your only visit you mean?” I say, because apparently, I’m not so good at pretending to play nice.
Richard sighs and lowers his menu. “Yes, well, that’s my error and one I intend to rectify.”
“You have a lot of errors to rectify.”
Roman strokes his thumb down my thigh, and I think he’s going to scold me but he just looks at me, wonder in his eyes, and I decide I’ll come to his defense every day if it makes him look at me like he’s seeing the ocean for the first time.
“The orchard is doing great,” I say, when Roman makes no move to answer. “The U-Pick addition Roman added last year is really popular with the tourists.”
Roman shifts to face his father. “And we’ve just signed a new contract to sell our bruised stock to Lola.”
Richard’s brow tweaks. “Have a preference for copious amounts of bruised fruit, do you?” His lips twitch with laughter.
I give him a cold smile. “They’re for the coffee shop I’m opening. We’re going to sell apple fries.”
“Ahh, an entrepreneur. A girl after my own heart. I can see why my son likes you.” The words are nice, but slime coats my skin. I’ve only been in Richard’s presence for five minutes and I finally understand why Roman thinks he has to work so hard to be loved.
After a few tense moments, the waiter returns with the wine, and we place our orders. The food, when it comes, is decadent and heavenly, like eating hundred-dollar bills if they were made out of duck confit and cotton candy.
By the time dessert comes, Roman’s shirt sleeves are rolled up, his leg jittering with the urge to get out of here.
Finally, Richard clasps his hands together. “So, my offer.”
A crash from behind has me jumping and I spin in my seat to see a man in fatigues barging past the maître d’.
My heart flatlines, dread fizzing through my veins.
“Excuse me, sir, you can’t come in here,” she calls after him, but he stumbles forward towards the bar.
“I’m looking for my sister. I need my sister,” the drunk man, mybrother, slurs.
Anger pulses through me. “Fuck. I’m so sorry,” I say to Roman before moving to get up.
Roman settles a hand on my shoulder and gives a small shake of his head. “Stay here, I’ll deal with him.” He gets up before I can stop him and strides over to the bar.
