21. Twenty-One

Twenty-One

M y nerves are already frayed as Art parks up over the road from Carluccio's and I'm beginning to think inviting him wasn't one of my best ideas. Mum could barely contain her excitement when I'd called her earlier to tell her I'd be bringing him along. He's the first guy I've introduced to them since Theo, and I'm really not sure how tonight's going to go.

I glance anxiously through the passenger window at the restaurant with its green and white striped canopies hanging over each window. Whenever there's a celebration or special birthday, Mum and Martin always come here and it's now a tradition.

"It's not going to be like Le Gavroche, you know."

He frowns at me and looks mildly offended. "I'm not a snob."

"I know, I know," I say, fiddling with the hem of my green dress. "I'm just a bit nervous, that's all. "

He rests his hand on top of mine in my lap. "Stop worrying. Relax. Everything will be fine. If anything, I should be the nervous one because this is the first time I've met The Parents."

My eyes slide to him. "And are you?"

"Not at all."

I wished I possessed half of his confidence.

His hand closes round mine. "Now, come on, otherwise we'll be late, and they'll be wondering where we are."

As soon as we walk through the green front door, I see my Mum's hand shoot up and wave over on a table to the right.

"They're over there." I tug his hand as I lead him through the circular tables.

The clatter of cutlery against plates and the sound of soft Italian music pouring through the speakers fills the restaurant as we walk over to their table. I glance around. The place looks pretty much the same as it did the first time we came here ten years ago. The same green and white décor, green tablecloths and empty Chianti bottles as centre pieces in the middle of each table, acting as candle holders with a red or white candle sticking out the neck. There's something familiar and comforting about its unchanged state, much like my parents.

Mum's hazel eyes light up as we reach the table and both she and Martin get to their feet.

Martin sticks out his hand for Art to shake, which he takes and flashes my parents a perfect smile. "It's lovely to meet you Mr and Mrs?"

"Taylor." My stepdad finishes, pumping his hand up and down. "Martin and Susan Taylor."

Art manoeuvres round him and pecks Mum on the cheek. "It's wonderful to meet you, Susan."

"Oh, please. Call me Sue." Mum's cheeks flush pink, and she pats the back of her deep brown, shoulder-length bob and gives a high-pitched laugh, which I've never heard before.

"Shall we?" Martin gestures for us to sit, and we all take to our seats .

"It's great to meet you, Art! I would say Sophie's told us all about you," Mum laughs, "but I've hardly spoken to her for the last couple of weeks. So, you work together?"

"That's right, I've taken over the management of the hotel. It's a family business, used to belong to my late uncle. Sophie's one of my best employees." He glances intensely at me. I feel myself blushing.

"Oh, yes, of course. Such a lovely place, we went for tea there once, didn't we, Martin?"

"That's right." Martin nods towards the window. "Is that your car, then? The Aston Martin?"

Art grins. "It is—a Vanquish."

"I bet it's a bit nippy?"

"It's got a nought to sixty of just under four seconds."

Martin gives a low whistle, clearly impressed.

"Very nice. I've never been in a sports car," Mum says, sounding rather wistful.

Art laughs. "I'll have to take you out for a ride, Sue."

"Ooh!" Mum giggles. "I'd like that."

I clear my throat and pick up my menu. "Happy Birthday, Martin. Did you get your card?"

"Yes. Thanks, dear. And thank you for the present." Martin grins. "How are you?"

I realise it's the first time I've been asked about me since we arrived. They're both too preoccupied with the guy sitting to my left.

"Yes, great thanks," I enthuse.

"That new train will keep him occupied for a good few hours up in the spare bedroom. Give me some peace and quiet," Mum laughs, studying Art over the top of her menu.

"I've ordered a bottle of wine for the table," Martin chimes.

"I'll just have water, thanks," Art smiles politely.

Martin chuckles. "We've booked a taxi, haven't we, love? "

My heart sinks to my black wedges as my eyes slide to the already half-drunk glass of red wine in front of Mum. I just know she's going to be firing questions Art's way once she's had a few more.

"Yes, thought it was best. I want to enjoy myself," Mum laughs. "We haven't seen our Sophie for ages and it's so lovely to meet her new boyfriend."

I keep my eyes on my menu, inwardly cringing at the word "boyfriend." Why the hell didn't it occur to me that she'd say something like this? Art and I haven't even broached that discussion yet. God knows what he must be thinking. I can't look at him. This definitely isn't one of my better ideas.

By the time the main course arrives, the first bottle of wine has been obliterated mainly by Martin and Mum, and the second has been ordered and uncorked. Art has been his most polite and courteous self, charming the pants off them both and I've managed to steer the conversation onto the neutral territories of sport, news, and the weather, but I know the inevitable interrogation is looming closer with every sip of wine my mum drinks.

"If you don't mind me saying, you've got a touch of the Italian about your looks, Art," Mum enquires, between sips of wine.

He places his fork down and dabs the corners of his mouth with a napkin. "I've some Italian in my bloodline."

I stab a forkful of pasta as he provides the same answer he provided me and it hits me that I'm still none the wiser about where his Italian heritage is actually from.

"I was going to say you must have, with your dark, good looks."

I cringe and concentrate on shoving a forkful of pasta into my mouth.

Please don't tell me mum's got the hots for my boyfriend. Shit... even I'm at it now.

"So, Sophie says you own some gyms," Martin pipes up.

"I own a chain of gyms, Go Fitness."

Martin's brow wrinkles and I can almost hear the cogs turning in his head. "Go Fitness," he says to himself, then his eyes light up as he remembers something. "Ahh, yes, I know. There's one on the high street. I went a few years back. They're very popular." He pats his belly. "As you can see, I don't go very much." He then frowns as if he's puzzled by something. "But you say you own them?"

Art sips his water. "Yes, they're an international chain now."

A stunned silence descends on the table as Martin and Mum exchange looks of disbelief and stare at him.

"Well, I never," Martin chortles after a while. "Sounds like you're a bit of an entrepreneur."

"You could say that."

Martin finishes his lasagne and gives me a look. "Sophie's very precious to us. I hope you're looking after her."

Art places his hand over mine and gives it a squeeze. His lips curl into a smile as he looks at me. "She's very precious to me, too."

I melt and as the waiters arrive to collect our plates, he doesn't break eye contact with me.

"Whereabouts do you live?" Mum asks, picking up her glass of wine.

Her cheeks have taken on a permanent rosy glow and there's a glassy look in her eyes that tells me she's tipsy. Anything could come spewing out of her mouth now.

"I've an apartment in Mayfair."

Mum nearly chokes on her wine. "Oh, I bet that's lovely."

Martin's bushy brown eyebrows arch. "Mayfair."

I stare down at the glass of wine I've nursed all night and pray for them to stop. They couldn't make it any obvious that they're impressed with his wealth, if they tried.

Mum's glassy eyes sweep over him as she sips her wine. "How's Magda, Sophie, love?"

I feel Art's eyes on me, and I know I need to tell her that I've moved.

I tuck my hair behind my ears and shift uncomfortably in my chair. "I don't know, I haven't seen her for a while. You see, I don't live in the flat anymore."

Mum's eyes widen in surprise, and she looks from me to Art. "What? You two live together? "

"No, no," I reply hastily, aware this couldn't be any more awkward. "I had to leave the flat. A builder found asbestos in the shop, and they said it could potentially be in the flat too."

"Asbestos," Martin says worriedly. "That stuff's bloody toxic."

Mum places her glass of wine down. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't want you to worry," I shoot back.

"It's all sorted," Art interjects calmly. "A friend of mine had an apartment to let in Pimlico, so Sophie moved in."

"Pimlico?" Mum gasps as if she can't quite believe it.

Martin nods approvingly. "Very nice, love."

"The apartment's lovely. Art helped me move in."

"It's extremely secure. Undercover parking, a security system, and 24/7 concierge-manned reception," Art adds.

It's like he knows exactly what to say to calm Mum down.

She beams. "That's wonderful."

"Yes, it's nice to see that there are still some gentlemen out there," Martin enthuses. "We do worry about Sophie living in the city."

Art drapes an arm across the back of my chair and rests a hand on my shoulder. "There's no need. No one will hurt her now she's with me."

Mum's bottom lip begins to tremble and I'm sure she's going to cry. I give silent thanks when she sniffs and appears to regain some composure. "It's such a relief for us that Sophie's found herself such a lovely boyfriend." I cringe, there's that word again. "Not like the last one." Mum's smiles fades.

Oh God. I neck my wine. This could go either way.

"He was bad lot," Martin says darkly.

"Humph. That's an understatement." Mum's lips purse in disapproval. "Do you know the things—"

"Mum," I cut her off before she can do any more damage. "Martin. Sorry, but we should really go. I've got a wedding tomorrow."

Martin nods. "Oh, okay, love. We'll let you get back. "

"Yes, it's been lovely meeting you, Art," Mum beams.

"And you both." Art smiles and beckons the waiter over and murmurs something to him, which I can't catch.

I'm already on my feet, raring to go before Mum can spill any of my secrets. I glance across the table to find her flashing her eyes at me and mouthing, "He's a keeper."

I already know that.

Art climbs to his feet and juts out a hand for Martin to shake. "It's been lovely to meet you and Happy Birthday."

He weaves round to Mum, who is already offering her pink cheek for him to kiss.

"It's been wonderful to meet you too. I do hope we see you again soon," she gushes.

Art kisses her on the cheek and flashes a perfect smile. "I'm sure, and as a birthday gift from me to you, this meal is paid for."

Martin and Mum look at one another, flabbergasted.

"Oh no, son, you don't need to do that," Martin says snapping out of it.

"I insist."

"No, how can we possibly repay you?" asks Mum, horrified.

He takes my hand in his. "There's no need. It was lovely to meet you."

"Art—" I begin.

"It's done." He squeezes my hand. "I've already agreed to settle the bill with the waiter."

We pay the bill, say our goodbyes, and leave my parents beaming like fools as we head outside into the night. He slides his hand around my waist as we walk across the road to the car.

I climb in and rest my head against the head rest. My muscles relax for the first time in three hours now the interrogation is over, and it didn't all go completely wrong.

"You didn't have to pay for the meal."

He shrugs. "It's fine. It wasn't expensive and I didn't contribute to the present, did I?"

I close my eyes and sigh. "I'm sorry." "About what? "

"The interrogation you've just been subjected to."

He laughs softly. "They're your parents. They're bound to worry about you."

"Not anymore. You've managed to charm the pants off them both, I think." I cast him a sideways look.

"Charm is my forte." He smirks and pushes a few buttons on the centre console of the car. The deep, intense, bass beats of the opening lines of Vera Blue's "Hold" fill the car.

"I've always loved this song," I sigh, briefly closing my eyes.

"Good, because we're going to make love to it when I get you home."

He's going to make love to me.

My eyes snap open and I feel a twinge between my thighs as my heart flips. He flicks me a scorching look, then pulls away with a squeal of tyres.