Chapter 15

FIFTEEN

“ S o, who’s this Adam bloke?”

Four hours after I had been blindsided by my mother, I was blindsided again by the first question out of Xavier Parker’s mouth once we were seated at Doro, the restaurant Xavi had wanted to try the first night we ran into each other.

Honestly, I sort of felt blindsided every time I saw Xavier. He just seemed to have that effect on me.

Texts from Kate assured me that our mother left soon after I did, but I couldn’t shake the icky feeling in my stomach when I thought of her insistence on hugging Sofia. Everything about it felt wrong.

Maybe that was why I had spent close to three hours at home getting ready for this little dinner of ours after teaching a particularly vicious dance class. Whatever good that did me. A long soak in the bathtub didn’t do a whole lot for my anxiety either. Neither did taking the extra time to shave every inch of my body, giving myself a full manicure and pedicure, nor setting my wayward hair into hot curlers so they would tumble over my shoulders in silky spirals.

Still, I was determined to face Xavier with my best foot forward, and that meant not looking like a mop. And so, when I reached the restaurant in my favorite Ralph Lauren cigarette pants that I’d snagged at Century 21, a green blouse that made my eyes pop, and the black stilettos I saved for special occasions, I thought I looked pretty good. Not like a date, but something stronger. Something that would make me look and feel like I was supposed to be at a table with a restaurant tycoon bargaining for my child’s wellbeing.

It made me feel like I couldn’t fail. Or at least that I might have a chance.

That was before I saw him, dressed as impeccably as always in black pants and a burnt-orange V-neck sweater that, even under his wool coat, emphasized the flat muscles of his chest in ways that should have been illegal. He was pacing outside the restaurant like a tiger instead of sitting at a table like I had expected. He didn’t see me—probably because he was intently shouting into his phone.

“I told him to stop calling me, Jag,” he snapped. “Again and again. What in the bloody hell doesn’t he understand about ‘I don’t want anything the fuck to do with you,’ eh? Tell me that!”

Another pace or two led him away from the restaurant, where he stopped at the curb, looking like he wanted to throw his phone directly into oncoming traffic.

“No, I don’t. I said I don’t …well, tell Henry Parker again if he wanted that so badly, maybe he should have sniffed around more than my dad’s money during the past thirty-two fucking years. I’ve got my own life to worry about. And it doesn’t involve him!”

He appeared to end the call, then shoved his phone into his jacket pocket before staring up at the awning over the restaurant and yelling “FUCK!” loud enough to startle several passersby.

Nervously, I inched closer. “Xavier? Are—are you all right?”

He swung around as if startled and stared at me like I was a ghost. “How long have you been standing there?”

I looked around, as if the street corner might help answer that question. “I, um. A few moments. Not long.”

He frowned, then closed his eyes and expelled a long sigh through his nose. When he opened his eyes again, they managed to glimmer blue even through the night air.

“I’m all right,” he said, more to himself than to me, and then strode abruptly to the restaurant door and opened it without another word, waiting impatiently for me to walk through.

Was I supposed to be grateful he had even opened the door for me at all?

Honestly, I would have taken a basic “hello” instead.

We were escorted to a small table in the center of the bustling restaurant and handed two menus containing a short list of a la carte items and a few other things in Japanese I didn’t understand.

That was when Xavier asked the question.

I looked up from the menu. It didn’t matter. I didn’t know what to order anyway. “Adam—oh, you mean my coworker?”

“Humph,” he grunted.

“He’s just a friend. Actually, he thinks he knows you. You didn’t go to Eton, did you?”

Xavier frowned and stiffened. But before he could answer, a waiter appeared carrying a small clipboard. “Hi, all. Welcome to Doro. Have you been in before?”

“No, we haven’t,” I started with a kind smile. I tried to be nice to service workers.

Xavier clearly did not.

“We’ll start with the tofu foie gras,” he said without even looking at the server. “And then the kaiseki menu. For two.”

I glanced back at the menu and immediately balked. “Um, Xavi, the kaiseki menu is six courses.”

For that, I received a dark blue glare. “And?”

My gaze ping-ponged between him and the waiter, who was trying not to look curious.

“And…it’s a hundred and fifty a pop,” I whispered, though I couldn’t have said why. Our audience of one could hear me just fine.

“You also have the choice of an optional wine or sake pairing,” the waiter added most unhelpfully.

“One of each,” Xavier said as he handed his menu back to the waiter. “You don’t mind sharing, Ces.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Um, I do, actually,” I said. “Nothing for me, please. And I’ll just have, um, the agedashi tofu. It looks good.”

I didn’t actually have the slightest idea what agedashi meant, and the menu didn’t elaborate. I also didn’t particularly care for tofu, foie gras-style (whatever that meant) or otherwise.

“That’s an appetizer,” Xavier put in irritably.

“It’s also the only thing on the menu less than twenty dollars,” I replied. “Sounds good to me.”

The muscle at his neck began to twitch, and the tips of his ears pinked under the fringe of black.

“Well, actually, we can only do the tasting menu if the whole table orders it,” said the waiter, looking nervously between the two of us.

Both of their gazes turned to me. Xavier’s was basically an icicle, it was so cold.

I will not look away first. I will not look away first.

I looked away first.

Xavier took the opportunity to snatch away my menu and hand it back to the waiter. “We’ll have the foie gras, the kaiseki, and both of the drink pairings, like I said. That will be all.”

“Sir.”

The waiter left, leaving us each with the tiniest porcelain spoon of caviar balanced delicately on a saucer no bigger than my thumb.

“I actually prefer to order my own food,” I said. “And in case you forgot, I can read a menu as well. Xavier, I can’t afford a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar meal. I just can’t.”

“And I didn’t expect you could,” he said, almost impatiently. “After all that blather about your salary and whatnot…”

“Blather?” I repeated. “That’s my life I was talking about. How I take care of my—our—daughter. It’s not blather .”

Xavier opened his mouth like he wanted to argue back, but then our eyes met. Something in his gaze softened. Slightly.

“Of course it isn’t,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that. I apologize.”

His big shoulders relaxed. Mine mirrored the action.

“Thank you,” I said stiffly. “But, Xavier?—”

“Xavi.” He stopped me, his hand covering mine once more. “I—I like it when you call me that, Ces. It makes things easier, I think.”

I stared at his hand for a long time, trying not to notice its solid warmth and long-fingered grace. Trying not to remember what it felt like when those fingers played over my body like it was an instrument he invented. Or maybe some delicious dish.

Xavier cleared his throat, then took his hand back to his lap.

“Besides,” he said in a slightly strained voice, “I told you, it’s research. I intend to put this restaurant out of business by the end of next year. I can’t do that if I don’t know what I need to do better. Their kaiseki menu is what earned them a Michelin star. I need to know why.”

“So you can ruin them?”

He bared a set of bright white teeth. I wasn’t sure I liked it. “It’s what I do.”

“So you’re like Caesar or Alexander the Great. Just with food instead of war.”

“You’d be surprised how warlike the restaurant industry is. We do have very sharp knives.” He did another excellent imitation of a feline predator. A panther, maybe.

I laughed. He looked like he almost wanted to smile that time.

And with that, he picked up the tiny spoon of caviar and popped it into his mouth, taking his time to pull it back out. It was hard not to stare.

Slowly, I followed suit and had to fight not to spit it out. I had never been much for fish, and now that included their eggs.

“Like it?”

“It’s…salty,” I said.

“It’s a delicacy,” he corrected me. “But a bit boring, I think. Any twat can purchase a jar of beluga at Harrod’s, you know. They’ve got to do better.”

“Mmm.”

I didn’t have much to say to that. Honestly, I had a feeling that was how much of this dinner was going to go. We were supposed to be here to talk about Sofia and make plans for him to see her. But instead I was watching him lick caviar off a spoon like it was ice cream and wishing I were back home watching Sense and Sensibility for the thousandth time, imagining myself waiting for my own Edward Ferrars.

That feeling was back again. The one that told me I didn’t belong.

“Who is it now?”

I blinked, pulled out of my daydream. “What?”

Xavier smirked. “You have that look again. Lost in a character. Who was it this time?”

I shook my head, cheeks reddening. How did he know that?

“Come on, Ces. You might as well tell me.”

“Elinor Dashwood,” I muttered down at my plate.

“More Austen?”

Silently, I nodded. This was mortifying.

“Guess I’m going to have to get round to reading England’s national treasure,” he said. “Otherwise I’ll never understand you.”

I opened my mouth to argue but found I couldn’t. Honestly, there is no better way of knowing a woman than reading her favorite books. If that was what he really wanted.

“So, you were telling me about your man.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“The Where’s Wally -looking arsehole who wants to get in your pants.”

I snorted. “You mean Where’s Waldo ?”

“It’s Wally in the UK, babe. They just changed it for the Americans. Anyway, you know who I mean.”

I had to chuckle. With his glasses and the red and white shirt he’d been wearing on Friday, Adam did sort of resemble the cartoon character.

“Adam is just a friend.” I decided not to tell him about the many times Adam had tried to make it more. “Anyway, why do you even care? Are you jealous or something?”

That black scowl made another appearance. But this time, I really wanted to laugh.

“It’s not funny,” Xavier said.

“Oh, so you are jealous?”

“Not in the slightest.”

At that, I could only arch a brow. Maybe I didn’t have a lot of experience with men, but I did have an older brother.

Then Xavier’s big hand covered mine again, and every bit of my smug amusement died under its heavy weight.

“I’m not jealous,” he said again. “But even if I was, it wouldn’t matter.”

This time I was the one to frown. “What does that mean?”

“We have a child. Getting involved again wouldn’t be particularly smart, would it?”

“I…” For some reason, I couldn’t immediately agree.

We stared at each other for another few seconds. I swallowed. He swallowed.

Shit. What was happening?

“All right, I’ve got your tofu foie gras in a ginger-soy-mirin bath, topped with house-pickled ginger and shaved endive,” interrupted the waiter.

We both withdrew our hands so he could set a small bowl in front of us containing a gelatinous white cube sitting in a pool of thin brown liquid.

“Enjoy!” said the server, leaving us to stare at the appetizer.

“How can tofu be foie gras?” I asked, eyeing the white cube suspiciously. It looked more like Jell-O than something that could pass as meat. “I thought foie gras was made of duck or something.”

“It is,” Xavier said, picking up his spoon. “But Doro mimics it with tofu. It’s their other claim to fame, and I’m curious if they really pull it off.”

I watched pensively as Xavier spooned a bit of the tofu and broth. He took his time to enjoy the flavor, tongue slipping over the side of the white porcelain, lapping up the broth before tucking everything into his mouth and pulling the spoon back out, slowly, between his lips.

I was unabashedly transfixed.

He looked up to find me watching him. “Try some.”

I looked down. “Is it good?”

“You’ll have to try it to find out.”

I rolled my eyes. He wasn’t giving anything away.

Not to be outdone, though, I picked up my spoon and took a small bite of the gelatinous blob, which jiggled in its broth while I put it in my mouth.

My disgust was immediately quashed.

“Holy shit.” My eyes widened. “That is insanely good.”

Xavier’s blue eyes sparkled from across the table. “Like it, do you?”

“My God.” I took another bite, closing my eyes in bliss. “I could eat that every day for the rest of my life. How do they do that to the most tasteless food in the world?”

“My guess—a fuckton of cream and really good salt.” He smiled. “It makes all the difference. In Japan, there are places you go where they put salt on ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” I grimaced. “That sounds horrible.”

“Nah, it’s fantastic. Really makes the sweetness stand out.”

I considered. “That makes sense, I guess. Like how Italians like to eat their prosciutto with melon.”

Xavier nodded, pleased. “Exactly.”

I took another bite of the tofu, then looked up to find him watching me intently, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth like he was trying to hide a smile. Oh, Xavi, just let it out , I wanted to tell him. Suddenly, I wanted to see that smile more than anything else in the world.

“Well, whatever they do, it’s amazing,” I said. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

He leaned across the table, conspiracy and mischief blazing merrily across his honed features. “I could do better.”

I swallowed, frozen in his intensity, my next bite poised, but unmoving.

Then he winked. Xavier Parker actually winked.

Joy—and maybe a little hope—sprang in my belly along with the delicious tastes on my tongue.

And then we both settled down to enjoy the rest of the dish.

We talked our way through four more courses, and several glasses of wine and sake, while Xavier listened to stories about Sofia growing up. It was strange being with someone who actually wanted to know everything about the little creature who was the center of my life. I spent so much of my time trying not to be that parent who couldn’t stop talking about their kid, but also envious of the people who had a partner to share the interest. My sisters and brother dealt with it, but they were her aunts and uncle, not her parents. They cared, but not enough to want the lowdown on her last playdate or to reminisce about playground politics.

Xavier, on the other hand, was absolutely rapt.

“That Melinda sounds like a piece of work,” he said after I’d described an instance the week before where Sofia had come home angry at one of her classmates for taking her grapes at lunch.

“Well, to be fair, she told Melinda her fruit was poisonous,” I said. “And I can’t really blame the other kid for taking some of hers. They are only four.”

“It’s just bad manners,” Xavier said, already on his daughter’s side. “I don’t care how old you are. You don’t touch someone else’s food.”

I laughed. “You would say that.”

“I certainly fucking would,” he agreed before finishing his glass of wine.

The server appeared with another, as well as a tray bearing our final course.

“Dessert,” he said. “Tempura-fried taro mochi with a green tea gelato. Enjoy.”

Xavier and I both leaned eagerly over our dishes. I was stuffed to the gills, despite already having had a few to-go boxes set aside. But I had to admit it—this had probably been one of the best meals of my life. The idea that Xavier could somehow top this was unbelievable. And yet, he remained confident that he could.

“What about when she was born?” he asked after a few bites of the chewy cake. “You said it was hard, the actual birth. Why was she so early?”

I sighed and pushed my dessert away. It was delicious, but this story always made me feel a bit queasy with anxiety. Besides, I’d already eaten too much. “Well, there was a placenta rupture—do you really want to hear about this? It’s kind of graphic.”

Again, it was one of those stories I could only share with a very select few. Lea and I sometimes swapped war stories about the birthing room the way former soldiers talked about war. But even she wasn’t as invested in the gory details as I was. After all, I had been the only one there.

Xavier just nodded, unperturbed. “Tell me.”

I sighed. “Well, I woke up in the middle of the night with this horrible pain in my belly, and my sheets were soaked with blood. Like a lot of it.” I covered my mouth, wincing with the memory. “Honestly, I thought I’d lost her. Seven months in, after everything I’d already been through, and I was losing her.”

I exhaled slowly. It was still a fear that returned, often in the middle of the night, just like when I’d been woken. Sometimes I had to get up and check on her, just to make sure she was still alive.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever get over it.

“Anyway, I went to the hospital, and they had to induce labor. That means they give you this drug, and it gets things going. I was—it was a lot of pain. But it worked, thank God. My body knew she needed to come out.”

Xavier didn’t say anything, just took a sip of his wine and then started running his finger around the rim of the glass while he listened as intently as ever.

“When she arrived, she was blue,” I continued quietly, fingering the edge of my sake cup in an action that mirrored his. The ceramic cup was patterned with white and blue flowers. The exact shade of Sofia’s eyelids when they had placed her in the oxygen chamber. “She couldn’t breathe on her own, and she’d been at critically low oxygen levels for a while because of the rupture. She was so helpless. She couldn’t do anything. She had to stay at the NICU while they helped her breathe and fed her through a tube. She couldn’t even breastfeed until she was almost two months old.”

I swallowed hard at the memories. How terrified I’d been every time I’d left my newborn baby in a plastic box. How I’d barely slept for fear they would call to let me know she hadn’t survived the night.

She had been so fragile. So unbelievably precious.

“I wish I’d have been there,” Xavier said in a low voice that shook slightly. “I wish I could have seen her.”

“Well, you can,” I said. “I just mean…I do have pictures.”

He looked up sharply. “Show me.”

“Do you really want to?” I asked, already pulling out my phone. “It’s not—I mean, I always thought she was beautiful. But it’s not really what people expect a newborn to look like. Sometimes it freaks them out.”

Xavier held out his hand wordlessly, brooking no argument.

I pulled up the series of pictures I looked at sometimes late at night, when I wanted to remind myself of how far my girl and I had really come. Sofia on the day she was born, hardly bigger than a hand’s width, tinged with blue, skin so delicate you could almost see it. Sofia wrapped in a gauzy cloth, but still on the ventilator, a bit pinker but with a thick tube spilling out of her mouth, helping her breathe the air she couldn’t quite take in by herself. And finally, Sofia on my chest, still with the tube, but skin to skin at last while my dark hair tumbled around us in a messy halo of new motherhood.

Xavier gazed at the last one the longest. “She’s so small. She looks like she could just be snuffed out. Like a candle.”

“She almost was.”

He glanced between the picture and me. “And you had to go through that alone.”

I shrugged and focused on reorganizing my chopsticks again and again. “I wasn’t really alone. I was still living at my grandmother’s house. Two other sisters with me, and my older ones just a few blocks away. When I was finally able to bring her home, it could have been worse.”

“Ces.”

I looked up. His eyes were large and full of some unnamable emotion.

“All right,” I admitted, trying not to cry and failing, as I did any time I remembered that horrible period. I swiped at a few tears as they emerged, determined not to have a complete scene in the middle of the restaurant. “I was alone. My family was around, and yes, they helped, and I’ll be forever grateful for it. But honestly, it’s just not the same when the baby isn’t?—”

“Your own?” Xavier finished for me.

Our eyes met, and I couldn’t look away.

“Yes,” I whispered.

They loved her. Nonna, Mattie, my sisters. They all loved Sofia deeply in their own ways. But those days in the hospital and afterward, when I brought her home, they were more worried for me than for her. But I didn’t care at all what was happening to me. Right from the beginning, something inside me knew Sofia was mine . That my entire mission on this earth was to keep her safe. And from the beginning, I was so afraid I couldn’t.

Xavier looked back at the photos, scrolling through them a few more times.

“And now?” he asked. “Is she safe now?”

“Well, she’s with my grandmother and her aunts, so she’s pretty damn happy at the moment, yeah.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He pushed the phone back across the table and held my eyes. “I meant her home. With you.”

I didn’t like what he was insinuating. I straightened up in my chair so I could look at him eye to eye without blinking. Without cowering under that ice-blue gaze.

“For the last four years, I have done nothing but keep that girl safe and healthy,” I informed him. “I have given everything I could to provide her with the best life I can. She is safe in her home, Xavi. I can promise you that.”

I waited for him to break away first, but he didn’t. That penetrating blue gaze, so unearthly, seemed like it was trying to tease something else out of me.

Finally, he pulled out his wallet and set several hundred-dollar bills on the table. I didn’t have time to gape before he had pushed back in his chair and stood, then offered his hand to mine.

“Then show me that too,” he said. “Please.”