Forget Me Not (Escape Contemporary Romance) (12 page)

‘Have I?’ Stefan said, surprised.

She nodded. ‘Most definitely. This happens every time I see you. I forget how Australian you sound.’

‘That’s funny. Everybody here else tells me how American I sound.’

His mother laughed, though he hadn’t intended it as a joke.

Their waiter came by and his parents ordered their desserts. They were served with elaborate garnishes, and looked more like sculptures than food. On Claire’s recommendation, he’d ordered the chocolate mousse.

After one spoonful, he looked across at Claire. ‘Excellent choice. This is too good for words.’ The rich bitterness of dark chocolate mixed with the mousse’s creaminess and melt-in-your-mouth texture and made for a simple, elegant dessert.

Claire smiled. ‘You’ve never had much of a sweet tooth, but this was always one of your favourites.’

‘I thought you would’ve gone for something a bit more daring,’ his mother said. ‘Isn’t chocolate mousse a bit boring?’

‘That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you,’ he replied. ‘All of these simple, everyday things that you’ve seen a hundred times are new to me. You might’ve had chocolate mousse before, but I haven’t. I’ve got a lot to learn and it hasn’t been easy.’

That was an understatement, but Stefan had the distinct feeling his parents didn’t want to hear about his troubles. Dinner conversation had been pleasant but they’d steered away from discussing anything too deep.

‘Actually, Stefan,’ his father said. ‘There’s something we wanted to talk to you about in private. When Claire has finished dessert, of course.’

‘What is there that we can’t talk about in front of Claire?’ Stefan asked, taking another spoonful of mousse.

‘Son, surely you know she’s not one of the family anymore. You two were well on your way to getting a divorce.’ James Porter shifted his gaze briefly to Claire. ‘No offence intended.’

Through the corner of his eye, Stefan saw Claire lower the spoon in her hand, her shoulders stiffening.

‘I’m aware Claire and I were separated,’ he said. ‘But she’s also been kind enough to take care of me for the past week.’

‘That’s what we wanted to talk to you about.’

Claire swept her napkin up from her lap, placing it on the table. ‘It’s okay. I’ll go.’

‘No, you’ll stay.’ Stefan slid his hand to her thigh and felt the softness of her flesh through the fine fabric of her dress. His touch was firm. He waited until she’d leaned back in her chair before pulling his hand away, and only then looked at his father. ‘Whatever you’ve got to say to me, you can say in front of Claire.’

The man didn’t seem fazed. ‘Okay, Stefan. Your mother and I have talked about it and we think the best thing all round would be for you to come and live with us in New York.’

Stefan raised his eyebrows. ‘Why would I want to do that?’

‘Because we love you and we can take care of you better than anyone else.’

‘Better than Claire? Is that what you mean?’

James nodded. ‘We’re your parents and we know what’s best for you. Your mother birthed you, we raised you, and helped you become the man that you are. That’s a bond that can’t be erased. Even if you’ve lost your memory, even if you don’t recognise us, there’s something still there. You can feel it. A bond like that can’t just disappear.’

Can’t it? He wasn’t sure what he felt for these people. There was a sense of duty, of not wishing to offend them, sympathy for their difficult position, but very little genuine feeling for them.

He only had to look to Claire and her family for real emotion. Claire had tried to keep her own mother away but June Simons hadn’t listened, and insisted on regularly dropping by. He’d seen her love for her daughter, heard the concern in June’s voice. There was no covering that up. The same went for Claire’s sister, Sophie, who couldn’t travel but had been phoning every day.

His family seemed so different from Claire’s.

‘Why New York?’

‘It’s where we live,’ his father replied, as though it was obvious.

‘It’s not where
I
live.’

‘You’re a grown man. We don’t expect you to move back into the family home and live like a teenager again. You can have the loft apartment above ours. Your sister has been using it on and off for a few years, and we’ve talked to her, told her it’s going to be yours. That way we can keep an eye on you but you’ll still have your independence.’

Stefan felt he was talking to a brick wall. ‘Don’t you think I should be closer to the places that are more familiar to me? Hasn’t it occurred to you that there are things in Sydney which might help trigger my memory?’

‘You always loved New York.’

‘I don’t love it now. I don’t even
know
New York.’

His father looked him in the eye. ‘Will you at least consider it?’

‘I’m certain, that for the sake of my health and of getting my memory back, it’s best for me to stay in Sydney.’

Stefan had no doubts on that account. How could his parents suggest he move to an unfamiliar city, in another country? How could they possibly think that was the best thing for him?

His father looked down his nose. ‘She’s done it to you again.’

Stefan’s brow furrowed. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You only moved here because of her. It didn’t matter how hard it was for you or that you were thousands of miles from home.’

‘She has a name, you know.’.

Claire, who had been sitting quietly, spoke up. ‘It’s okay, Stefan. Staying in Sydney was hard for you. You had to do further study to practise Australian law; I
was
the main reason you moved here but I didn’t force you.’

‘Darling, you don’t understand,’ his mother said to him. ‘If you two loved each other you’d still be together, but you broke up for a reason, because you weren’t getting along. You were arguing all the time and couldn’t live together. You didn’t love each other anymore. But we’ll always love you. Nothing can change the love of a mother for her child.’

They probably did love him, but it was a selfish love, one all on their terms. He wondered about the effusive hugs his parents had given him, wondered if they were from the heart or simply for show, because that was what parents were supposed to do.

Looking up, Stefan said, ‘That may be the case, but Claire is taking care of me now.’

‘She’s not good enough for you,’ his mother snapped. ‘She never was.’

James glared at his wife. ‘We said we weren’t going to go into that.’

‘Into what?’ Stefan enquired.

‘Please excuse me.’ Claire swivelled her legs over, preparing to stand.

Without turning his head, Stefan placed one hand firmly on her shoulder. ‘No one’s going anywhere.’ More than anything, Stefan didn’t want to be left alone with these people. ‘Claire, would you please tell me what’s going on?’

’This one’s going to do the same thing she’s always done,’ his mother said. ‘Twist our words so you believe her over us.’

‘Excuse me,’ Stefan said, with as much politeness as he could muster. ‘I’m asking Claire.’ He turned to face her.

‘Your parents have never been fond of me,’ she said. ‘While we were together they tolerated me, but after you moved out, your mother phoned me to tell me exactly what she thought of me. She made it clear they’d only been nice to me because of you, and that those days had ended.’

Barbara was indignant. ‘Of course, our first priority was always our son. Claire was only interested in you because of the money. That’s the only reason she married you and that’s why she’s here now. She blew it before, but this is her big chance to make it up to you again.’

‘That’s not true,’ Claire said, the hurt in her voice clear.

Stefan had seen their wedding photos—they had been a young couple in love. He’d seen no sign whatsoever that Claire was interested in his wealth or his future earning potential, only in his wellbeing. If she was trying to get his money, she was going about it in a very roundabout way.

He looked his mother in the eye. ‘Why don’t you like her?’

‘She’s never been good enough for you.’

‘Barbara,’ his father snapped, but she continued regardless.

‘You were always far ahead of her in so many ways: academically, socially, in every way. She’d be nothing without you. One step up from trailer trash, that’s what she is. She wasn’t brought up right, and nothing you do can change that.’

‘What’s wrong with the way she was brought up?’ Stefan asked.

Lips pursed, Barbara shifted her gaze to Claire.

‘I grew up poor,’ Claire said. ‘We lived in a little two bedroom house. I shared a room with my sister. We didn’t even have a phone until I was thirteen because we couldn’t afford it. I wouldn’t have gone to university without a scholarship. The same goes for Sophie.’

‘Being poor isn’t a crime,’ he said.

‘Tell him the rest,’ his mother insisted.

Claire sighed. ‘I told you my father passed away when I was twelve. Well, he died of liver failure. He was an alcoholic. That was why we didn’t have any money. Because he drank it all away.’

‘She came from a broken home,’ his mother added, as though he hadn’t understood it the first time. ‘With an alcoholic father. She might have a college degree but she’ll always be working class.’

Claire looked at him, her expression blank. ‘Your parents thought I was below you and always would be, but you loved me despite my background, despite where I’d come from.’

Despite her background? That didn’t sound right. Surely he’d have loved her because she’d managed to overcome such adversity.

Yet somehow he wasn’t surprised by any of this—Stefan could see where her strength had come from, her determination to do whatever needed to be done. She’d had to work hard for the achievements in her life. Wealth and privilege had not been served up to her on a platter.

‘She might have moved to a harbour-side suburb,’ Barbara said, ‘but she was always going to be the low class daughter of an alcoholic. Even after she got a law degree, she didn’t know how to make a good job out of it. She was earning a pittance and living off you.’

Stefan raised his eyebrows, his eyes glued to his mother’s. ‘And what kind of well-paying career have you had over the years?’

‘I was a full-time mother. I had my priorities straight.’ Barbara shifted her gaze to Claire and shrugged, adding, ‘It’s not personal. These are just the facts.’

Claire stood. ‘Well, it’s pretty damn personal for me.’

Stefan took to his feet, put his arm around Claire and pulled her close. He looked first at his father, then his mother. ‘Why are you doing this?’

‘I apologise for your mother’s outburst, Son,’ James said. ‘We want what’s best for you. We came back to help you.’

Yes, they came back after a week, when it suited them, and wanted him to uproot whatever life he had left. What kind of parents were they? His, unfortunately.

‘Do you have any idea what I’m going through, what this is like for me?’ Stefan felt his upper lip pull back in disgust. ‘Do you have any idea what it must feel like for Claire, to sit here and be insulted by the both of you? She doesn’t have to put up with this and neither do I. Next time, don’t bother coming if you can’t be civil. Goodnight.’

He left them, open-mouthed, at the table as he put his arm around Claire and they walked out.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Stefan said, as they walked out the door into the night air.

Seeing goosebumps on her arms, he took his jacket off and draped it across her shoulders.

She shook her head. ‘I should never have come.’ Claire kept her composure in the restaurant, but now he could hear the tremor in her voice.

‘I had no idea that would happen,’ he said.

‘
I
should have known, though. After we separated, they were very blunt with me, but I thought they’d got it out of their systems.’

Listening to the rhythmic click of Claire’s high heels on the pavement as they walked in silence, his mind quickly ticked over.

His parents had wanted to push him away from Claire—they’d made no bones about that—and they’d failed.

He’d spent a week with her already, and there was only more week until he was supposed to move back to his old apartment. A week wasn’t a long time. He only hoped it’d be enough time.

No more Mr Nice Guy. No more taking it slowly. With the exception of that one evening, he hadn’t kissed her passionately the way he wanted to.

Those nights were over.

Chapter Twelve

Claire pushed open the door to her apartment and switched on the light, heaving a sigh of relief. She was home.

She slid Stefan’s jacket from her shoulders, tossed it onto a chair, and then slumped down on the sofa, head in her hands.

God, she was glad they were out of that restaurant. Claire didn’t want to go through that again. Ever. The most Stefan’s parents had ever done was tolerate her and now they couldn’t even manage that much.

Anyway, there was no reason for her to see them again. She and Stefan were separated and, as her ex-father-in-law had so kindly reminded her, she wasn’t family any more. Not that she ever had been.

From here on in, if Stefan wanted to see his parents he’d have to do it on his own. They
were
still his parents, and he should probably make another effort after he’d cooled down.

‘Here,’ Stefan said. Claire looked up to see him offering her a tumbler of whisky. ‘You look like you need this.’

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had hard liquor but the soft amber tones of the rich liquid were welcoming and looked too good to resist. ‘You read my mind.’ She leaned back into the sofa and smiled. ‘Except I hadn’t even thought of having a drink yet. You got there before my mind did.’

The first sip burnt the back of her throat, the second slid down much more easily. That hit the spot.

Sitting beside her, Stefan found himself returning her smile. ‘I’ve picked up a lot over the last week.’ He sipped his whisky, cradling the tumbler in his hands. ‘I don’t understand what happened back there with my parents. What were they thinking saying those things?’

His was a reasonable question under the circumstances, but she couldn’t explain what was going through their minds. She’d never understood them. They loved their son in their own way, and they certainly thought the world of him, but at the same time they could barely be bothered.