Nights With Parker (17 page)

“I’ll grab some wine. You sit, Mom,” I hear Jacob say.
It’s good that she has sons who care about her
, I think to myself. I was glad I was able to be that for my mother when Dad died. I’d hate to think of her dealing with his death and everything that came afterward on her own.

Oliver comes up next to me, grabs some of the dishes, and carries them out to the dining room. I follow behind him with the chicken and place it in the center of the table with the rest of the food. We have an easy dynamic between us, almost natural, which is yet another thought I try to push out of my head. Oliver doesn’t strike me as the domestic type.

He pulls out the chair next to his, and I take a seat.

“Everything looks wonderful, Riley,” Carla says. I thank her, and Oliver gives my knee a squeeze after taking the seat next to mine. It’s his way of giving me praise, and I shouldn’t like it, but I do. The conversation is light as everyone fills their plates and begins to eat. They all compliment me on the meal I’ve prepared and ask me a little bit about myself. I tell them what I can, but there’s not really much to know. My life has been in a holding pattern since my father’s illness and death, and I’m nowhere close to where I thought I would be at this point in my life.

“I know why you boys insisted on bringing me here tonight,” Carla says with her eyes on Oliver. She gives him a tender smile then shifts her gaze to Jacob.

“I never wanted either of you to know, so if you’re blaming yourself, don’t,” she tells him, and I don’t know whether to feel discomfort for having to be here for such a private family moment or honored that she would share it in front of me.

Jacob grabs her hand and gives it a squeeze.

“I should have known. There’s no excuse for ignorance.”

“Jacob.”

“Don’t, Mom,” Oliver interrupts, and all eyes land on him. “Jacob needs to feel what he needs to feel, and that isn’t on you. What we need you to do is to focus on yourself and your safety.”

“I’m leaving in the morning for Florida,” she announces, before taking a sip of her wine.

“What?” Jacob asks, looking confused. I turn my head slightly to look at Oliver, but his eyes are locked on his mother, his expression serious.

“I’ve spoken to Caroline, and she’s agreed that I should come out and stay with her for some time.”

“The sister you haven’t seen in years?” Oliver pipes in. “Why would you do that when you have us? I told you, you could come back to Savannah with me for the time being.”

“Well, that’s a temporary fix, isn’t it, sweetheart? Eventually, you’ll come back to New York, and then what? I haven’t seen Caroline in ten years, but that’s only because she and your father never got along. I think it’s time for her and I to rebuild our relationship, and she agrees.”

“Mom,” Oliver says, with a sense of urgency in his voice and a hint of fear. “What if he comes after you?”

“You know him better than that. Anything that would make him look weak is unacceptable. Your father’s a man of appearances. He’ll put his own spin on my leaving, one that makes him look like a saint, and I don’t care.”

“What about money?” Jacob asks.

“She has us,” Oliver responds for her.

“You’re sweet, but I don’t need your money. You forget that I came from money. I have money in places he can never touch, and before I married him, my father made him sign an iron-clad prenup.”

Looking at them all, I see a mixture of relief and sadness and an unmistakable amount of love. As dinner progresses, I get to see more of Oliver’s relationship with his mother. How easy it is, how comfortable they are together. It’s more of a struggle for Jacob, but by the end of the night, even he’s made a considerable amount of progress in mending his relationship with his mother and brother. Oliver never leaves my side, sitting next to me or standing near me the entire evening.

By night’s end, I feel a strange sense of closeness to them all. The way they’ve treated me and included me in their personal conversations make me feel like I’m welcome, like I’m one of them. Neither of her sons wants Carla to go home before catching her morning flight to Florida, but after she helps me clear the table and take care of the dishes, Jacob insists she come spend the night at his house. I think it was his way of making sure that Oliver and I got some alone time, even though I think that’s the last thing we need. I’m coming to find that my desire for him overpowers my logical mind, and if he touches me, I know I’ll falter.

I’m giving myself a mental pep talk about being strong and not allowing Oliver to influence me when he walks out of the bathroom. Thankfully, he’s wearing pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. God only knows I can’t remain strong while he’s shirtless.

“You’ve managed to wrap my mother around your little finger,” he comments, walking farther into the room.

I smile. “She’s amazing.”

He nods and takes a seat at the foot of the bed. He studies me for a beat before opening his mouth to speak.

“Is there something on your mind, Riley?”

“Are you engaged?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. It’s like watching an accident about to happen and being powerless to prevent it. I know that I said that I wouldn’t let him see how bothered I was by what his father told me, but who was I kidding. I’m sleeping with the man, for God’s sake, even if it’s only because of the deal we made. But I never agreed to be the woman he cheats on another woman with.

“What? Why would you ask me that?”

“Who’s Stephanie?” I accuse. He takes a deep breath, looking up as if he were praying for patience and failing miserably.

“I see you’ve met my father,” he bites out, standing up to grab his phone. He begins to tap out a message.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure that my father knows you’re off-limits.” He tosses the phone on the bed and takes a few steps in my direction. “I don’t like that he was in your presence at all.”

I don’t know what to make of his reaction. I know what I want the truth to be, but I need to hear it from him.

“I know you probably think it’s none of my business, Oliver, but …”

“Why would you say that?”

“What?” I ask, and he takes a seat on the bed again, even closer to me this time. Our undeniable attraction is palpable, but I’m scared that it’s one-sided. I’m fearful that he’ll never feel for me the way I feel for him.

“Why would you say I’d think my being engaged is none of your business? We’re sleeping together, aren’t we?”

“Yes, of course,” I unnecessarily confirm as my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “But only because of the deal we made.”

“Seems that I’m surrounded by oblivious people,” he mutters just under his breath.

“What?”

He shakes his head and releases another frustrated sigh.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Your daddy came by here.” I shrug my shoulders, signaling not much more to the story. I don’t need to tell him that his daddy is a condescending asshole because I’m fairly certain he already knows. “He wanted to see you.”

“Did you tell him where I was?”

“No. I told him that you were checking in on your office.”

“Smart girl.” He praises me with an amused grin. This only serves to piss me the fuck off; I’m not sure what could be so amusing about this conversation. “What else happened?”

“Nothing,” I seethe because I don’t give a fuck about his daddy and don’t care what he said or did. There’s only one topic of discussion I want to engage in, and I’m not going to be happy until I have my answer. “He told me you were engaged to Stephanie.”

“Riley,” he calls, but I don’t respond. Instead, I fidget with the hem of my tank top and avoid making eye contact. I don’t need him to see just how upset I am, angry by his nonchalance, and hurt by the possibility that there’s any truth to his daddy’s claim. “Riley, look at me.”

It’s a command. I know he means business, and rather than make this situation any worse, I do as he asks.

“I’m not engaged to Stephanie,” he says, and I believe him. I don’t know if it’s the way he’s looking at me, or the tone of his voice, but it’s like he needs me to believe in him, pleading with me to believe in him.

“So you’re not engaged, but are you seeing her?”

He chuckles at my question, but it’s not that he’s laughing at me. It’s more of him finding some sense of irony in the situation.

“No. I’m not seeing Stephanie, though my father and her parents would love her to be my choice.”

“You’re not attracted to her?” I probe, trying to get as much information as I can.

“She’s a childhood friend. Our families are close, and we grew up together. She comes from money, I come from money ... it’s a match made in heaven for everyone except for us.”

“Why?”

“Because I think of her as a sister, and I have no desire to be intimate with someone who I consider family. Besides, she’s in love with someone else.”

“But she lets her family think there’s hope for you and her?”

“Yes. Because it’s easier than telling them she’s in love with a man who they would never approve of.”

“Why wouldn’t they approve?”

“Because he’s not rich, Riley. It’s as simple as that. Her family is so completely caught up in their obnoxious social circles that they don’t care about what Stephanie actually wants. Appearances are everything to them, and the man she’s in love with doesn’t measure up.”

“That’s awful,” I say, feeling sad for her and for myself too. Sad because I would never measure up, either. I’d never be a suitable match for someone like Oliver, and he wouldn’t want me anyway.

“Have I satisfied your curiosity?”

“Yes, but I was only curious because I am not okay with sleeping with a man who’s attached to someone else.”

“So noted.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Riley.” Just hearing the effortless way my name falls from his lips causes a pang in my chest. A sense of sorrow overcomes me because I’d want to hear it every day for the rest of my life. Hear him call my name so effortlessly, as if it were second nature for him to do it. But that’s not mine to have. Eventually, he’ll find someone suitable, someone who lives within the lifestyle that he’s accustomed to, and he’ll give that to her, and it will be permanent. Not like this extended version of temporary we’re caught up in.

“Whatever my father said to you, whatever nonsense he spewed to you, please don’t take it to heart. Nothing he says matters.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t matter because he was under the impression that we’re more than what we are.”

“Maybe we are more.”

“What?”

“I said maybe we are more. This feels like more.”

“But we have an arrangement.”

“Yes, we do, but it’s one that’s easily amendable, don’t you think?”

“Amendable?”

“Or I can just absolve you from our deal,” he says with a smirk. His arm snakes around my waist, and before I can protest, I find myself in his lap.

“What are you saying?” I whisper, half confused, half hopeful.

“What if we just forget about our arrangement and spend time together because we want to,” he suggests, and I can’t believe he’s actually suggested it. I can’t understand what he could possibly gain from changing the terms now. It doesn’t make any sense, and I do not attempt to hide my confusion.

“Like … date?”

“Sure,” he answers hesitantly, making it sound more like a question than an answer.

“What are you even saying?” I ask again, this time raising my voice. I’m frustrated and tired, and I don’t like feeling like a pawn in some game he’s playing. “You just wanted to have sex with me. That’s all this ever was. This was never about feelings for you,” I counter, full of skepticism, because things like this don’t just happen. Men don’t just decide with the snap of a finger to go from thinking of a girl as a glorified booty call to a potential girlfriend. He glares at me, as if I’m wrong for saying what I did.

“Why is it so easy for you to think that I’m a cold, unfeeling person?”

“Because you are!” I half yell, irrationally, even if I know better, even if I’ve seen the caring side of him, at times with me, and tonight, with his mother. He loses the glower, and instead, he chuckles, giving a strand of my hair a gentle tug.

“I’m not. I just don’t have a ton of patience, I can admit that.”

I let out an exhausted sigh. I want to believe. Again, I want to believe in him so badly, want to believe that he wants to put an end to our arrangement and try for something real. But is it really possible to change the dynamic of a relationship so easily? In just the course of a single night, could we go from being nothing to something? I want to have confidence in that, but the pragmatist in me, the side of me that knows pain and disappointment intimately, won’t let me.

“What’s the point in us dating, Oliver?” I ask with a shake of my head. “You don’t want a relationship.”

His arms give me a squeeze and a surge of warmth radiates through me. My body reacts to him. Every. Single. Time. It never seems to fail.

“How do you know what I want?”