The One in My Heart (16 page)

“Hmm,” he said.

“I know you want to be the one prepared and in charge. And I can see why you opted for the guerrilla strategy. But you’ve caught them unawares twice now. You won’t get much more than this stoic awkwardness out of him. So why not give him that even footing he prefers? You’ll have just as much time to prepare. It’s fair to everyone.”

Bennett exhaled. “You haven’t seen him prepared.”

“That’s fine. I’m a big girl—and you are a grown man.”

“It remains to be seen whether he thinks so—about me, that is,” Bennett said quietly. “I’m sure he’ll be duly impressed with you.”

“By and large you are not a teenage punk anymore,” I told him.

He cast a glance at me. “You’re sure?”

I almost said, “Of course,” before I stopped to think about it: the fake girlfriend, the major-dollar carrot, and the whole elaborate scheme—just so he could have this reconciliation on his terms.

“The truth dawns, doesn’t it?” Bennett murmured as he extended a hand to help me climb over a half wall.

The truth—and what he had told me at the airport in Naples: He had once been a card-carrying actor. The “confession” a few minutes ago that had mesmerized me had been but lines delivered by a skilled player.

I looked up at the sky, hoping for an approaching front that would have us scuttling back to the hotel. “They come to me as boys and leave as men,” I said. “So will you.”

But no clouds in the sky—and no way out for me.

We were walking on a narrow
via
, along a shoulder-height privacy wall. Without warning, Bennett had my back against the wall. Our gazes held—and I was nothing but agitation and need.

Tell me you meant it. Tell me you meant everything you said.

He only kissed me, a forceful, hungry kiss that left me light-headed—and even more downhearted.

“What was that about?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“You don’t come to one of the most scenic places in the world with a beautiful woman and not kiss her—that’s all.” He let go of me. “Now, do we need to take a bus to get to Anacapri?”

Chapter 9

FOR DINNER WITH HIS PARENTS
, Bennett dressed down significantly. Instead of a three-piece suit like the one he had worn for our meal the night before, his outfit consisted of a blazer and a turtleneck over jeans.

I took off the belt and the statement necklace I’d used to punch up my basic grey sheath and swapped out heels for a pair of oxfords. “Should have told me earlier you were going casual.”

“My dad has an instinctive mistrust of men who are too fashionable.”

“Why did he ever work with my father then?” Pater had taken great pride in his fashion-forwardness.

“His prejudice can be overcome, provided the man knows what he’s doing. But we aren’t at that stage yet, so…I’ll pretend to own only jeans and humble blazers.”

As you pretend about so many other things.

“Are you sure you don’t feel a little defenseless in only jeans and a humble blazer? Like you are the Death Star with its shield down?”

He snorted. “I do, unfortunately. And thanks for that simile, by the way, since we all know the Death Star is doomed.”

I patted him on the arm. “It’s okay. I’ll totally blow up Luke Skywalker to save your evil behind.”

Such a beautiful smile spread across his face that for a moment I lost my breath. He laced his fingers with mine. “Thank you for being willing to destroy my childhood idol. And thank you, by the way, for setting up this dinner.”

It never failed to startle me when he held my hand. “You might have spoken too soon,” I told him, tamping down the fluttering in my stomach. “Thank me afterward if you still want to.”

“I’ll be grateful even if it’s a complete disaster.”

“Why?”

“Because you cared enough to make it happen.” He kissed the edge of my palm. “Ready?”

WE ARRIVED AT THE LOBBY
a few minutes before eight, but Bennett’s parents were already there—as were Rob and Darren, who immediately greeted us. My heart sank as I smiled and hugged them—would Moira McAllister’s name come up?

The older Somersets came over. Bennett introduced everyone and we engaged in a round of small talk. Rob and Darren had spent their day visiting nearby vineyards and were now headed out to dinner at a little place they’d heard about.

“Let us know if you like the restaurant,” said Bennett.

“Will do,” Rob said cheerfully.

I exhaled: They would go to their dinner and we to ours.

Then Darren, with an affectionate grip of Bennett’s shoulder, said to his parents, “You have a great kid here. I was Moira McAllister’s accountant. After she had cancer for the first time, she was kicked off her insurance and couldn’t get coverage again. So when her cancer came back five years ago, the hospital bills started stacking up—eye-popping sums.

“But Bennett here rode to his old landlady’s rescue and took care of everything—more than once. Which was truly a gift of friendship and generosity. You should be very proud of him.”

All three Somersets looked stunned by this revelation, with Bennett also more than a little discomfited.

I quickly wrapped an arm around his middle. “Oh, they are,” I told Rob and Darren, my voice as full of hearts and kittens as I could make it. “We’re all beyond proud of Bennett. He’s the best.”

“Stop,” Bennett murmured, “you’ll make me blush.”

I went the extra mile and kissed him on his cheek. “Please. I live for it.”

Rob and Darren laughed. They wished us a good evening and left for their dinner. I let go of Bennett to face his parents.

There would be no airing of grievances at this particular dinner—that was for later, between father and son. Tonight was about the truce, about showing that they could sit at a table without being at each other’s throats, to lay the groundwork for when they
could
be at each other’s throats without once again tearing apart the fabric of the family.

It would have been better accomplished without Moira McAllister’s name being brought up—but it wasn’t as if she wouldn’t have been there anyway, the white elephant in the room.

I smiled at Mr. and Mrs. Somerset. “I admire a man who’s willing to be the knight in shining armor to his ex, especially when they have both moved on. Now, should we head to the restaurant?”

BENNETT AND I HELD HANDS
as we walked into the restaurant behind his parents—and let go only when we’d been shown to our table. The reluctance was not on his part alone: My stomach was knotted so tight I felt the strain all the way up in the vertebrae of my neck.

It was too late to run; I was in the trenches with him. If he didn’t succeed, then I’d always carry this failure with me.

But we certainly
looked
like a family, at least attire-wise: Mr. Somerset too wore a blazer over jeans, and Mrs. Somerset’s dress was a strong echo of mine, except hers was a cheerful coral in color.

As the waiter handed around the menus, Mrs. Somerset asked her son, “You’re still a vegetarian, Bennett?”

“Uh-hmm,” he answered, scanning the wine list.

What?
I almost said aloud. In hindsight it was painfully obvious: I’d never seen him eat anything that used to walk, swim, or fly. But I was so distracted by the man I’d paid no attention to what he did or didn’t put on his plate.

Beneath the apparent pleasantness at the table, tension rippled—until I placed my order. “I’ll have the salad with scallops to start and the roasted duck breast.”

“You’re not a vegetarian, Evangeline?” asked Mr. Somerset, the first time he’d spoken since we exchanged greetings.

“No, I’m not.”

“Bennett hasn’t sung the virtues of a meatless diet to you yet?”

So he had been a militant vegetarian in his youth—probably as much to annoy his dad as anything else, I’d guess.

“Bennett would no more dream of changing my diet than I would of changing his,” I said firmly.

My fake boyfriend sent me a grateful look. I gave his hand a squeeze under the table. He might be a man of many flaws, but his diet wasn’t one of them—and he’d been completely unobtrusive about it.

I asked his parents about themselves. Mr. Somerset was semiretired—after having divested the shipbuilding portion of Rowland Industries, the family firm, he was using some of the proceeds to build a solar portfolio. Mrs. Somerset was a member of the managing committee at the Federal Bank of New York—and didn’t see herself slowing down anytime soon.

“Rowland never really wanted to be a businessman, so he is more than happy to step away,” she explained. “But I’m doing exactly what I want to do.”

They in turn spent some time asking about my work, and I gave more detailed answers than I normally would, to satisfy their curiosity. After that the topic turned to Bennett’s siblings: Prescott the economist in Singapore and Imogene the techie in Silicon Valley.

Apparently Imogene had a new boyfriend, but no one was particularly excited.

“My sister is a major player,” Bennett said to me. “I had to tell her to stop bringing her current conquests to meet me, because I couldn’t keep track.”

“Imogene told me that she kept hauling her boyfriend du jour to lunch in the hope that you might bring a girlfriend,” said his mother. “She claimed you never did.”

He slanted me a glance. “I was waiting for the right one to come along.”

My heart gave its usual pathetic throb. I smiled at his parents. “Please excuse Bennett. He does get a little carried away.”

On second thought, that might not have been the best thing to say—they already knew how carried away he could get in a romantic situation. But Bennett only laughed softly.

“So you two are official now?” Mr. Somerset asked me.

I speared a piece of carrot that had been braised in duck
jus
onto my fork. “I’m a bit of a commitment-phobe, but…neither of us is seeing anyone else.”

“Official enough for me,” said Mrs. Somerset, leaning forward. “Do excuse a nosy old lady, but I’m dying to know how you finally met.”

Bennett dug into his pasta. “Technically, it was on a dark and stormy night.”

I gave an indulgent, didn’t-I-tell-you-he-gets-carried-away eye roll. “That makes it sound like we met in the middle of a nor’easter. It was Cos Cob in August. I was taking a walk and Bennett stopped in his car because he was worried that I’d be flattened by a stampede of other concerned neighbors.”

“It’s that kind of neighborhood,” he murmured.

“And that’s how we met, more or less,” I said.

“That was more or less it for Evangeline. But for me it was the culmination of weeks of internal debate over whether to approach her.”

I turned toward him in surprise.

“Why the hesitation?” asked his mother.

“Because I thought it might turn out to be serious.” He was smiling, the same kind of smile he had on when he’d said that he’d marry me any day of the week. “But once my lawyers and technical advisers evaluated her patents, it was a no-brainer: I had to get her before anybody else could.”

If only I had a team of technical advisers to evaluate the bullshit content of everything he said.

“Aww,” I said. “Dream on. You’re not putting a ring on this until you sign on the dotted line of an ironclad prenup. I and my future billions will not be parted by a pretty face and a lot of sweet nothings.”

“Hmm. Maybe I need to go back to gold-digging school. I’m obviously falling down on the job here.”

At this, even Mr. Somerset smiled a little.

We had all sat down at the table rather stiff and cautious. But by the time appetizers appeared, Bennett already looked as relaxed as he had been at our dinner with Rob and Darren.

In stark contrast, his father became noticeably more taciturn and stern-looking. Against his severity, the lighthearted banter around the table took on a perceptibly artificial quality.

A silence fell after Bennett’s remark. Mr. Somerset stared into the young red wine in his glass. To appear busy, I made myself cut and chew another piece of duck. Without any haste, Bennett worked on his pasta. This, actually, was the only sign of his nerves—usually he was a much faster eater and would have already finished the food on his plate.

Mrs. Somerset broke the silence. “Speaking of Cos Cob, your dad and I put in an offer for a house there about a year ago. But we were outbid. Your grandma Edith’s old house—don’t know if you still remember. She sold it when you were eight or nine.”

Bennett looked up. “Oh. Guess I was the high bidder then. Didn’t know you were also interested.”

Mrs. Somerset glanced toward her husband, whose expression became even more foreboding. And going by Bennett’s demeanor, I couldn’t tell whether he was speaking the truth with regard to his ignorance—or spouting further bullshit. Couldn’t tell
at all
.

I longed to drain my wineglass in a gesture of melodramatic frustration—but did nothing more than take a ladylike sip. “Aha, I did wonder why you had a house in Connecticut. Seemed a bit early, the town-and-country lifestyle, for someone who isn’t done with his fellowship yet.”

“Getting ready to become one of those golf-playing old doctors,” he said.