7. Emzee

EMZEE

CHAPTER 7

O ne thing I’d been groomed for from a very young age was how to be a good dinner party guest. Which, it turned out, was really going to save my bacon—because as it happened, I’d need every ounce of poise and manners and all those lists of innocuous discussion topics at my disposal to get through my first Official Girlfriend Event: dinner with the Malones.

When I was younger, I had resented all the drills and etiquette lessons. I hadn’t wanted to learn poise and manners and how to make small talk with rich, snobby people. I’d wanted to take more photography lessons and study art history and go outside and take pictures.

But my father had insisted, and so I’d learned exactly which forks to use with which courses during a meal. I’d learned how to dress for certain events, how to style my hair to look respectable, how to do my makeup so I looked reasonably put together and not totally trampy. In essence, I’d learned how to be a lady.

Usually, I ignored all that shit. I had my black boots, my black eyeliner, and my attitude.

Tonight, though? I was glad to be able to fall back on my training.

When Ford had said he was taking me to dinner, I’d na?vely assumed that it would be a private dinner out, just the two of us. A chance to talk about this plan of his in more detail.

Instead, after we’d gone back to my apartment, after he’d fed and walked my dog while I put on a little black dress and actual heels, worked some product into my hair and put on a dash of makeup, he’d called a private car to drop us off at a very nice restaurant in a very nice hotel.

Where his entire family was waiting.

“You didn’t tell me we were having dinner with your family,” I hissed at him once I realized what was happening.

“Didn’t I?” he asked, looking completely nonplussed.

I glared at him in response, and he just grinned back.

“Relax. It’s just my family. And a few of their business associates,” he said.

A few? That was an understatement. Being Who They Were, the Malones had taken over the entirety of the Travelle Restaurant at the Langham Hotel to entertain in style, and the place was filled to the brim with people. Most of whom I’d never met before.

“You’ll be fine,” Ford said, taking my coat. “I’ll be right next to you all night.”

“Right. Just like you were ‘right next to me all night’ at your mom’s party?”

Eyes focusing on something over my shoulder, Ford murmured, “Speak of the devil…” and then louder, “Mother!”

Turning me around, he dragged me over to his mom. She was dressed head to toe in silver sequins, and as ridiculous as that might sound, she somehow looked very nice.

Her eyes lit up. “Ford, darling, you made it.” She glanced at me, and it was clear from her expression that she was just as displeased by my presence as I was to be there. “And Mara.”

“Mrs. Malone. You look well,” I forced myself to say, smiling politely. It was going to be a long night.

Thankfully, there was a room full of people between us.

I quickly ascertained that most of the guests were Malone Real Estate Holdings employees and business associates, and that’s when it really hit me: Ford hadn’t asked me out to dinner so we could sort out his half-baked fake girlfriend plan. This was the equivalent of tossing someone into the deep end of the pool and hoping they’d figure out how to swim.

This was our official coming out as a couple. Holy hell.

“Are you ready?” Ford asked me, putting his arm around my waist.

“I was born ready,” I answered, already turning on my bubbly party persona full force.

Ford grinned down at me. “You’re the best, Em,” he said. “I really owe you one.”

And there it was. That delicious, dimpled smile. The genuine gratitude. Drat.

We began making our way through the crowd. I knew we’d end up at his parents’ table eventually, but Ford seemed content to take his time, talking at length to everyone we passed.

Admittedly, I got a thrill every single time he introduced me as his girlfriend. It made it a lot easier to smile and shake hands and occasionally exchange those airy cheek-kisses with everyone I met. The funny part was, I didn’t actually know much about real estate—so all the shop talk Ford engaged in with people was interesting enough that I had no trouble paying attention and asking appropriate questions. It was night and day compared to the locker room talk I’d witnessed between Ford and his colleagues that day at the country club.

Finally, we made it to the head table, where Ford’s mother ignored me and his father gave me a neutral smile. Mr. Malone had always seemed like a textbook workaholic to me—Ford rarely talked about him now, and I knew he’d been largely absent during Ford’s youth.

“This is Emzee, remember?” Ford reminded him, kissing the top of my head and sending warmth all the way down to my toes. “My brilliant photographer friend. We’re dating now.”

“Ah. Excellent,” Mr. Malone said. He was probably in his sixties, but he was devilishly handsome, with deep dimples and an air of easy charm—it was obvious where Ford got those things from. “Welcome to the fold, Emzee.”

I could feel myself blushing as I let him take my hand and give it a warm, gentlemanly shake. It almost made me sad to be lying to the man about my relationship with Ford.

Then we took our seats and dinner began. As expected, even the first course of amuse-bouche was a feast for the eyes and the mouth, an artistic arrangement of endives with triple-cream Brie and rhubarb compote. Then came the soup, a featherlight cream of asparagus topped with shaved chives and crème fra?che. I was shocked at how much I didn’t hate it.

“Got yourself a new girl, eh?” the older man across from us asked.

He was talking to Ford, but his eyes were focused on my cleavage.

“Yes, this is my girlfriend, Mara,” Ford said, not seeming to notice that I was getting ogled. Still, I appreciated him using my full name with this stranger. It made me feel seen, the way that Ford intuitively understood that my nickname wasn’t fair game for just anyone to know and use. “We’ve known each other since our days at the Academy.”

“Ah,” the older man said. “Young love.”

“Mara, this is Nathan Watson, a very accomplished and well-regarded developer,” Ford went on by way of introduction. “We share a box with his family at the Chicago Symphony.”

I had a hard time imagining any of Ford’s family members attending the symphony for the music. They probably just went to be seen. I wondered if Mr. Watson did the same.

“Do you like the symphony, my dear?” he asked, his gaze still fixed on my chest.

I shifted in my seat, politely ignoring his staring while subtly adjusting the strap of my dress in order to better cover myself. The dress wasn’t even that low-cut, honestly, but with boobs like mine, there was always the danger of spillage. Moments like these, I dreamed of having an A cup, or even a small B. A girl could dream.

“I do,” I said. “The new season looks wonderful. I actually can’t wait for the Beethoven festival. It’s his two-hundred-fiftieth birthday this year, you know.”

Mr. Watson nodded. “Did you catch the Sibelius and Nielsen last year? It was divine.”

By the time the salad arrived, he had moved on from our conversation and refocused his attention on the gentleman seated to his right, who wanted to discuss stock portfolios.

The man on his left, however, looked down into his fennel salad and inexplicably turned to his dining companion, a woman in a sharp, bespoke suit—likely one of the MREH investors.

“Remind me to offload some cash before the end of the fiscal quarter,” he said to her. “Taxes are such a killjoy when you can’t stop making money.”

They both laughed.

I cleared my throat, gently. Respectfully. Readjusted my dress again.

“Excuse me for interrupting, but if you’re in the process of researching tax deductible options,” I said, keeping my voice sweet, “I actually chair a wonderful charity that can always benefit from the support of generous individuals. We’re also happy to include your contact information on our website, which can help drive additional business interests your way. Not that you need it, from the sound of things.”

“I’m intrigued,” the woman said immediately, leaning in. “Can you tell me more?”

Soon enough, I’d secured their commitment to sponsoring two year-long classes for my charity. At the very least, I could leave this dinner feeling like I’d accomplished something beyond helping Ford distract his mother from his dating life.

Ford’s Aunt Miri—an older woman who I had noticed was wearing a wristful of studded bracelets with an edge to them—turned to me during the fish course to comment on my purse.

“It’s so chic,” she said. “I just adore Prada.”

“It’s from the new collection.” I passed it over so she could examine it. “I’m not one to buy a new bag every season, but this one’s a classic. It’s Saffiano leather.”

“It is exquisite,” she said, stroking the handstitched leather before handing it back. “I love a piece that transcends time. You’ll have this forever, dear.”

“I think so, too. This style won’t be out for a few more weeks, but I have a hookup through work,” I said. “If you’re interested, I’d be happy to pull those strings again.”

She seemed delighted and I smiled. It was the first fun conversation I’d had all evening, and we chatted about the punk aesthetic of Alexander McQueen and Vivienne Westwood through the rest of the meal. So far, she was the nicest member of Ford’s family I’d met that evening. And I appreciated the fact that she wasn’t staring at me like I was toilet paper on the bottom of someone’s shoe, the way Ford’s mother was whenever I caught her looking my way.

I knew it was only a matter of time before she said something.

She waited until dessert was served.

It was a perfect, golden, featherlight lemon soufflé that had me practically moaning at the first bite. My pleasure must have been evident, because Ford’s dad commented from his seat at the end of the table that it looked like I was enjoying myself.

Blushing, I admitted that it was the best soufflé I’d ever had, which was saying something since I was a bit of a connoisseur. Before he could respond, Mrs. Malone chimed in with, “You know I must admit, Emzee, I was so very surprised to see that you, of all people, had caught my son’s eye.”

“Really,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “I guess it goes to show, you never know.”

“In my experience, it’s not always about falling in love at first sight,” Mr. Malone said with a warm smile. “Sometimes you have to look again.”

Despite Mr. Malone’s kinder words, Ford must have sensed me tensing up beside him. A thrill went up my spine as he linked our fingers together. Even though I knew he was probably just doing it for the benefit of all the eyes on us, I still relished the contact.

His mother, however, couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

“After all these years,” she went on grandly, “we really just thought of you as a piece of the furniture.”

Her words felt like a slap across the face. I wasn’t sure what to do or say, frozen in my seat with that stupid fake smile on, my cheeks burning with humiliation, squeezing Ford’s hand.

And on she went, “I can’t imagine what suddenly changed my son’s mind out of the blue, especially when he and?—”

“Mother,” Ford cut her off, a warning edge to his voice. Her voice was loud enough that several heads were turning in our direction now.

“Oh Ford, dear, do calm down,” she said, pausing only long enough to sip her wine. “I’m simply saying we were so used to seeing her in the background all the time…following you around like a little shadow…”

She was making it seem like I was some pathetic little thing that had shown up in their lives one day and then refused to leave. My face had grown even hotter—everyone was staring at us now—and I wanted to sink under the table and crawl away.

As if he could sense my desire to run, Ford’s hand tightened around mine.

“Mother, stop,” he said, his voice quiet.

But she didn’t.

“She’s just so quiet and unassuming, not your usual type at all,” she said, taking another drink of wine. She was obviously tipsy. “More like a mouse, really.”

She laughed at that, and the friends sitting around her laughed as well.

Okay. Enough. Time to go.

I started to push my chair back, but clearly Ford had other ideas.

He let go of my hand and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late, until his other hand was warm and gentle on my chin, tilting my face toward his. I didn’t have time to prepare. I didn’t have time to do anything, really. My body knew what was coming, though, and my eyes closed instinctively as his mouth pressed against mine. Hot, firm, and just a little bit wet.

Sweet Jesus.

I’d dreamed about kissing Ford ever since I was sixteen. I’d fantasized about it happening a million times, in a million different ways. But I’d never imagined it would happen in public, in a crowded restaurant, surrounded by his family and business associates.

This was our first kiss. In front of unfriendly eyes, yes, but so soft and sweet and reassuring that for a second it made everything else melt away. For a moment, I completely lost myself in the feel of Ford’s arms around me, his lips on mine.

For a moment, it was perfect.

My entire body buzzed with the pleasure of his touch. The kiss was chaste, as far as kisses went, but I felt it everywhere. Especially between my legs.

And then I heard his mother’s gasp, snapping me back to reality.

“Come now, Ford,” she scolded as we pulled apart. “No need to be vulgar.”

“There’s nothing vulgar about kissing my girl,” he said, cupping my cheek. My heart was still pounding in my chest. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his.

The kiss was everything I’d ever dreamed of.

And that was exactly why I had to break this off.