Just a Taste (26 page)

“I can assure you,
mademoiselle
, I meant nothing untoward,” he declared. “I have no expectations of you beyond paying back the loan.”

Vivi regarded him fiercely. “I swear we will repay the loan, Bernard.”

“I know that.” Bernard looked contrite. “I’m very, very sorry if I offended you, Vivi. You have my solemn promise that I will never make a pass at you again, okay?” Vivi nodded in relief as Bernard extended a hand for her to shake. “Friends?”

“Friends,” Vivi agreed. She could not tell Natalie about this. Natalie would think she was insane. After all, Bernard was smart, rich, good-looking, powerful, and
French
—all the necessary ingredients for Natalie’s dream man. She wondered if Natalie had ever pursued him, or vice versa. It was not a question she could ever imagine asking either one of them.

Bernard returned to his seat across the table from her, his mouth tilted into a sentimental little grin.

“What?” Vivi asked suspiciously.

“Nothing. You just remind me of your father, that’s all.”

“How’s that?”

“Painfully blunt.”

Vivi lifted a brow. “Not rude?”

“Perhaps a little,” Bernard allowed with a small chuckle. “But we’re French, aren’t we supposed to be rude?”

Vivi laughed, slightly giddy over being compared to her father. Her mother always told her they shared many of the same traits, but she herself had a hard time seeing it when they were all together. Plus, she assumed
maman
was simply biased. To have the similarities confirmed by someone impartial was wonderful.

Vivi put her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her palm. “So, what else do my father and I have in common?” She had to keep an eye on herself; she could easily keep Bernard here for hours, asking him questions.

“I may not know you as well as I’d like, but I can already see that you share his drive and determination. That’s why I didn’t think twice about loaning you the money. I know your bistro is going to succeed.”

Vivi removed her chin from her palm and sat up a little straighter. “Thank you so much, Bernard. I promise, I won’t take your generosity for granted. I’ll give you an account of where every single penny is being spent.”

“There’s no need. We’ll set up a payment schedule, and that’s enough.” Vivi moved to pick up the bill, but he snatched it up before she got the chance. “
I
asked you to dinner,
I
pay. Agreed?”

Vivi sighed, seeing no alternative. “Agreed.”

“I hope I’ll see you and your sister again before the restaurant’s official opening.”

“You will.” She promised herself that no matter how busy things became, she would make time for the man who had come to the rescue—but only when she was with Natalie, never alone, like tonight. Life was complicated enough without having to worry about fending off an amorous, handsome, wealthy suitor. She felt flattered, but there was still a soft core within her that no man could touch—except one.

T
here were any
number of things he could be doing on his day off, Anthony thought. He could be jogging, trying to take off a few pasta-related pounds accruing around his midsection. He could be catching up on back issues of
Bon Appétit
. He could be checking out the new farmer’s market that had opened in Park Slope. Instead, he was sitting in the empty dining room at Dante’s, poring over menus and recipes, wondering whether it might be time to shake things up a bit. Pitiful.

The urge for change was driven by walking past Vivi’s yesterday and noticing an artist had started the preliminary stenciling of what would become the bistro’s logo on the front window. For the first time in months, it dawned on him that Vivi’s wasn’t just an abstract idea. An actual restaurant was going to be opening right across from his. Somehow, in the midst of falling in love with her, he’d forgotten that. Now that he remembered, a sense of unease rose up within him. He loved her, so of course he wanted her to succeed—but not too much. Certainly not at his expense.

There was a rap on the front door of Dante’s, and he sighed heavily. It felt impossible to catch a moment’s peace these days. There was a sign outside the restaurant clearly posting the hours—how hard was it for someone to realize they were closed? He decided to ignore the knock, returning instead to the debate he was having over whether it was time to drop the eggplant patties from the appetizer menu and reintroduce his mother’s Italian wedding soup. It had been a big favorite a couple of years back, though Michael thought it “boring.” Anthony frowned to himself. Why he took into account anything Mikey said relating to the restaurant was beyond him.

The knock sounded again, louder this time. Whoever was on the other side of the door knew he was in there. Seeing no other option, he reluctantly went to answer the door. He had a sick feeling it might be Insane Lorraine. If it was, no way was he going to let her inside. God only knows what might, or might not, be lurking beneath her coat.

He was surprised to find Vivi standing there, looking radiant, her nose and cheeks pink from the cold, her long blonde hair loose and topped with a bright ski cap. Her loveliness filled him with a hollow feeling. Seeing her was like seeing a ghost of happiness, something once solid but now spectral, here to haunt him. He ran through a catalog in his mind of all her contradictory behavior, her lame reasons for dumping him, and told himself that she was unstable. Not on the level of Insane Lorraine, but definitely a frontrunner in the category of “women who don’t know what the hell they want, and don’t care if they kill your spirit.” So how come he wanted to beg her to give him a second chance?

“Hello,” said Vivi. She pointed behind her at his SUV, the sole car in the parking lot. “Isn’t today your day off?”

“You know chefs never really have a day off.” He ushered her inside, watching as she stomped her snow-caked boots on the doormat, then peeled off her cap, shaking her hair free. The hollow feeling inside him took deeper root. To be this close to her and not be able to touch her was torment. Restless, he removed the pencil he’d stuck behind his ear when he went to open the door, tapping it against his open palm. “What’s up?”

Vivi smiled proudly, reached into the oversized leather bag on her shoulder she called a purse, and pulled out a check, handing it to him. “The money I owe you,” she said, as if it might need explaining. Her face was a mask of perfect humility. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Surprised, Anthony studied the check a moment before folding it into the back pocket of his jeans. “That was fast.”

It wasn’t the response Vivi expected. Looking momentarily flustered, she said, “I didn’t think it was right not to pay you back right away.”

“What happened? With Natalie and the DiDinatos, I mean?” He contemplated inviting her to sit down, but didn’t. He didn’t want her to see that he was reassessing the menu. Knowing Vivi, she’d guess that it might have to do with her bistro, and he was in no mood to deal with an episode of culinary gloating.

Vivi shrugged. “She forgot to pay them. That’s all.”

“That’s all?”

Vivi pressed her lips together. “Yes.”

“Gimme a break, Vivi,” said Anthony skeptically. “Only a idiot would forget to pay someone they contracted for major work, and Natalie is no idiot. What’s the deal?”

The cheerful light in Vivi’s eyes dimmed a little. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Natalie wasn’t managing our money very well.”

“And now?”

“Now it’s all fine.”

“Meaning…?”

“I don’t think you need to know the details,” Vivi huffed in exasperation.

“Really? Even after I saved your ass?”

Vivi’s mouth folded into a small frown. “If you must know, Natalie got us into a bit of debt. But it’s all solved now.”

“Solved how?” Anthony smirked. “Did she hock some jewels or something?”

Vivi shot him a look of warning. “That’s not nice.”

“Neither was not paying the DiDinatos. You’re lucky I was here to vouch for you.”

“I know,” she said humbly, her face softening. “The money problem is solved because a friend of our father’s was generous enough to give us a loan.”

“Who?” Anthony asked, even though he knew he sounded like an old biddy digging for gossip. But he couldn’t help his curiosity. Vivi had never mentioned anything about a friend of her father’s before.

“A lovely man named Bernard Rousseau. I don’t know what we would have done without him.”

Anthony felt a bite of jealousy. He didn’t like her use of the word “lovely,” or her seeming belief that if it weren’t for this guy, they would have been screwed.

“How come you never mentioned him before?”

Vivi shrugged. “There was never any need to.”

“Who is he, exactly?”

“He used to work with my father. They were old friends.”

“And you know him well?”

“Well enough,” Vivi said with a hint of defensiveness. “Natalie knows him better.”

“Huh,” Anthony grunted, wondering if she was telling the truth. He didn’t trust the way this guy had just appeared on the scene to rescue Vivi and her sister. He was obviously French. Probably loaded, too.

Anthony put the pencil back behind his ear. “What does he do now?”

“He’s a diplomat.”

Definitely rich, definitely French, thought Anthony.

The glow returned to Vivi’s face. “He was telling me the other night how much I remind him of my father. It was wonderful.”

“That’s nice,” Anthony forced himself to say, trying not to sound like a total curmudgeon.

Maybe something was up between Vivi and this guy. It would certainly explain her pulling a one eighty on him. Maybe she had to decide between the two of them, and Jacques Cousteau won.

“I gotta go,” Anthony said abruptly.

“Oh.” Vivi seemed taken aback. “All right, then.” She put her hat back on her head. “Did you see across the street?” she asked eagerly. “They’re going to be painting ‘Vivi’s’ on the window soon.”

“Yeah, I saw,” said Anthony with a yawn. “What color is it going to be?”

“White.”

“I hate to tell you, but that’s not going to pop.”

“Pop?”

“Stand out. Draw people’s eye. No offense, but white’s totally ho-hum.” Which was fine with him, not that he’d ever tell her so.

Vivi scowled. “What would you suggest?”

“Red.”

“Red?” she snorted. “It’s a bistro, not a bordello.”

“You know best,” Anthony murmured under his breath sarcastically. He put the pencil back behind his ear. Vivi was glaring at him.

“You’re just saying white is boring to upset me. Here we were, having a perfectly nice conversation, and you had to ruin it.”

“How? By telling the truth? You asked what I thought and I told you. End of story.”

Vivi’s movements were tense as she buttoned up her coat and swung her leather satchel back up onto her shoulder. “You think you know everything! But you don’t.”

“Neither do you,” Anthony said pointedly.

“I’m leaving now.”

“You want a medal?”

“God, you’re maddening!” Vivi spat. “Here I’ve been feeling badly about hurting you, and all along I’d forgotten what an arrogant jackass you are! I’m very grateful to you for helping to save my ham—”

“Bacon—”

“—but perhaps we should try to steer clear of each other as much as possible from now on.”

“Whatever you want,” Anthony said, affecting a bored voice. “You know your way out. See you around.”

He walked away and heard the door slam behind him. For a moment, he actually felt a twinge of regret at being so sarcastic. He also felt mildly provoked by the casual yet oh-so-timely appearance of Bernard Rousseau. He didn’t like the reverence in her voice when she talked about this guy, whoever he was. He intended to find out.

A
nthony had never
before set foot in the office of FM PR. He was impressed at how big and spare the space was, with three walls so white they blinded him. Entering the suite, he immediately felt himself being sized up by the small, prim man behind the reception desk, peering at him over the top of his frameless spectacles.

“Good morning,” the man said, looking annoyed at having to close the issue of
GQ
in front of him. “I’m Terrence. May I help you?”

“I’m Theresa’s brother-in-law, Anthony.”

“Michael’s brother.” The man’s mood seemed to lighten, though his stare was as coolly appraising as ever. “I can see the resemblance—though it looks to me like you should have been the hockey player, you’re so…big.” The man smiled coyly, and Anthony frowned. He’d never had a man flirt with him, and it disturbed him.

“Is Lady Dante expecting you?”

“No.”

“An early morning surprise, then. That’s nice. Let me buzz her.”

While Terrence buzzed Theresa, Anthony studied one whole wall lined with photographs of some of Theresa and Janna’s more famous clients: actors, athletes, businessmen, musicians, even a few politicians. Mikey was damn proud of the work Theresa did, and Anthony could see why. She and Janna had quite a client base, all of it hard earned.

Terrence hung up the phone with a sigh. “Her highness says to come on back to her office. It’s the first door on the left. Be forewarned: they were out of cinnamon bagels at the deli this morning, so she’s a bit cranky.”

“I think I can handle it. Thanks.”

Theresa was waiting for him behind her cluttered desk. He was surprised to see she hadn’t put on any makeup yet. Her expression wasn’t cranky; it was worried.

“Is something wrong?” she asked as Anthony closed the door behind him. “With Michael? With the kids?”

Anthony blinked. “No.”

“Oh, thank God.” Theresa heaved a sigh of relief as she pulled her long, curling hair behind her into a ponytail. “What brings you into the wilds of Manhattan, then?”

“I need your help with something.”

“That works out well,” said Theresa, “because I need your help with something, too.”

She reached into the briefcase sitting on her desk and pulled out an elementary school worksheet, which she handed to him. “Write about your hero,” the worksheet instructed across the top. Then, below it, in childish scrawl:

“Shit,” Anthony murmured, even though he was immensely moved.

“I found it when I was tidying up his room. He didn’t show it to me or Michael.”

Anthony unzipped his jacket. It was hotter than a sauna in there.

“I need you to talk to Michael,” Theresa implored.

Anthony opened his mouth to protest but Theresa silenced him with pleading eyes. “He won’t listen to me. It’s ‘a guy thing,’ he says, this insane need of his to make Little Ant continue to play hockey. Last night he was talking about sending him to hockey camp over Easter break. Little Ant looked like he was going to burst into tears.”

“Theresa, I’ve tried talking to him—”

“Try again,” Theresa begged, looking like she was going to burst into tears herself. “He respects you, Anthony. You’re his big brother. You can make him see reason. Pound it into him if you have to. Whatever it takes.”

“Did you ever think of showing him the worksheet?”

“I think it might be more effective coming from you.” There was a hiccup of emotion in her voice as she said, “I’m worried it would really hurt him. I’m really concerned about him. He’s been hanging out at Met Gar.”

“I know,” said Anthony quietly.

She looked anguished. “Do you think he’s having a nervous breakdown?”

“Nah, he was always nuts.”

Theresa ignored the joke. “He won’t talk to me about it.” She began to weep. “Do you think he’s having an affair?”

“With who? The girl who drives the Zamboni? Are you
insane
? He worships you, Theresa. He would never do that.”

“Then why is he acting so furtive?” she lamented, reaching for a tissue with which to blow her nose.

“I don’t know. I mean, I know some of the time at Met Gar was spent securing a job for that hostess we had working at the restaurant for a while.”

“Thank God. What the hell were you thinking when you hired her, Anthony? I mean, honestly.”

“What the hell was
I
thinking?” Anthony retorted. “Mikey’s the one responsible for that brilliant idea! That’s why I made him find her another job.”

Theresa blew her nose again. “Wasn’t she your high school girlfriend or something?” she asked vaguely.

Anthony drew himself up to his full height, insulted. “Excuse me? You think that’s the best I could do in high school? You’ve got your facts mixed up, lady; she
wanted
to be my girlfriend.”

“Speaking of which,” Theresa ventured with a small, sympathetic wince, “I was really sorry to hear about you and Vivi.”