Breathe Page 7

  Can I do this? Can I go on a date with someone so soon after the break-up? And he’s a friend of Miles’. Is that weird? I take another gulp of wine, a bigger one than before. If I’m going to do this I need some courage.

  Just breathe, Grace.

  Breathe, damn it!

  “THERE SHE IS. I WAS hoping I'd get to hear your voice tonight.”

  “Hi.” I sound nervous. I’m such a dork.

  I really am back in the fifth grade.

  “How are you? I see you got my message.”

  “I did. I’m good, I guess. Sorry, I turned my phone off so I could have a quiet dinner with my little brother. My phone has been totally annoying tonight.”

  “Well, I feel honored you called me back. Have you thought about Monday night?”

  “I have. I’m at the office until six. Any time after would be fine.”

  “How about eight?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “I’ll will pick you up at eight then. The place I want to take you is Bella la Vita. It's just a few blocks down from you on the corner. Do you know it?”

  “I do. Why don’t I meet you there?”

  “Sure.” A few moments of awkward silence fall between us. His voice lowers a bit. “I look forward to seeing you, Grace.”

  I can’t think of a damn thing to say. Once again, I piss myself off.

  Say something Grace! Anything!

  Umm...I’ve got nothing. I rub the lily charm dangling from my bracelet in hopes of it giving me something to say.

  “I’ll see you in two days.” He pauses, assuming to hear me say something in response. “Good night, Grace.” He quickly speaks to cover the silence I’ve created.

  “Good night, Lincoln.” I don’t really want to embarrass myself any further so I hang up.

  I make a call.

  “Tell me everything.”

  “Damn it, Rafe.” It didn’t even ring on my end yet. “So, it’s a date for Monday night at Bella la Vita.”

  “Eeeeee!” Rafe squeals like a girl. He’s acting so gay right now. “How do you feel?”

  “I’m not really sure. Okay, I guess. I’m kind of excited and nauseous at the same time. A little overwhelmed, too.”

  “That’s to be expected, Gracie.”

  “I need some sleep. Night Rafe.”

  “Call me tomorrow. Kisses.”

  We hang up and I head out of the office to my room to get ready for bed. I’m mentally exhausted from everything.

  I check my phone one more time for any sign of Patrick.

  Nothing.

  I miss him.

  I’m stupid.

  As I’m in the shower it all hits me and I break down. I haven’t had any real alone time to stop and think about things: The break up, the club in Jersey City, meeting Lincoln, Asher and Daddy, the cameras, the pictures, Page Six, the upcoming date. This is all happening so fast. I sit down on the tile floor and cry, letting the water try and wash away the confusion, the hurt, the sadness and the upcoming excitement.

  What an emotional weekend.

  Are Patrick and I really not together anymore? Did I agree to go on a date? Am I ready for this? Can I do this? Do I want to do this? Is it too soon? Will Patrick be pissed? Will Miles be pissed?

  I can’t breathe.

  Chapter Seven

  Sunday started and ended with minimal interruptions. Miles took care of the pictures online. He assured me that the person who put them up would not be doing so in the future. This is just one of the things I love so much about my brother. He protects like no other and fixes everything. I don't really know how, and frankly, I could give two shits. As long as it gets done.

  By the time Monday rolled around I realized I’d made it through the weekend basically unscathed. Or I would have been had I not had that breakdown in the shower last night. The distractions were good for me. Anything to not think of Patrick and his skank. I stayed away from the internet, fearing I would see more than I wanted to. As much as I would love to stay in the cocoon of my apartment, it's time to enter reality once again.

  I freaking hate reality.

  Waiting for the elevator in the Stratton building, I hear whispers and see glances. I should have expected this. Pretending not to let it bother me, I go to the twenty-first floor and jet towards my office. The staffers on my floor are a bit less obvious with their stares then they were on Friday. I get to Ashlyn’s desk and, as always, she stands with a smile.

  “Good morning, Grace.”

  “Morning. Give me a couple of minutes to get situated then come in and we’ll talk about my schedule today.”

  “Sure.” She hands me a small stack of yellow messages, sits back down and continues her work.

  I enter my familiar, serene office and prepare for my day. Looking through the messages I notice one from Pete Maxwell. That asshole won’t quit. Anything even remotely scandalous that happens involving my family, especially me, he’s all over it; getting quotes from us, our friends or our coworkers, sometimes even “unnamed sources” to try and create some backwards story for his sleazy online gossip magazine. I should just give him his stupid quote so he’ll leave me the Hell alone. But I know if I do, Daddy and the boys will never let me live it down. I crumple the message and toss it in the small silver garbage can under the desk.

  Ashlyn enters and takes her usual place in one of the chairs in front of the desk. “You have a full day ahead of you today. Are you ready?” She asks with caution.

  I sigh. “Yep.”

  We go through my appointments, meetings and the usual sit down with Daddy. The day’s tasks have me here right up until six o’clock. Good. Distraction is the key to getting me through this day. I’m both anxious and nervous for the day ahead of me and my date with Lincoln tonight. Anything to keep my focus off of that is a welcome relief.

  The day goes on with minimal distractions. Ashlyn keeps me on track through the appointments and meetings and fields all annoying calls and emails from the nosy media. A few staffers stop by for work related questions or just to say hi. They all seem to be lightening up about the break-up. Thank God.

  Finally, six o’clock rolls around and I’m so ready to leave. As I gather my things and start loading my briefcase, my cell buzzes.

  “Yes,” I snap not checking the number calling me. I really want to go and this call is hindering that.

  “Grace. It’s Amy.” Her voice is hurried.

  “Oh my God. What’s wrong? Is it Asher?”

  “Yes, dear. He’s at the school. They won’t let me get him. They say you or William will need to go and meet with Miss Connors.”

  “What the hell did he do?”

  “They didn’t say.”

  “I’m leaving right now. I’ll call you later.” I throw the phone in my bag. My protective mother-like instincts turn into overdrive. I need to get to Asher. I run out the door with no word to Ashlyn or anyone else on the office floor. I think of calling Daddy on the elevator as it makes its decent down to the lobby but decide it’s for the best he doesn’t know what is happening right now. I don’t even know what is happening right now. The last thing I need is Daddy getting pissed at me for whatever Asher did. Or worse, hate on Asher for making him mad in the first place.

  As the elevator doors open, I hurl myself out almost knocking someone over. I run out the doors and straight into the car without stopping. Thank God Thomas is a prompt person or I could have ended up in someone else’s vehicle.

  Thomas quickly takes his seat. “Where are we rushing off too, Grace?”

  “Asher’s school, please.”

  “Right away.”

  The drive feels like it takes hours. We pull up to the school and Thomas jumps out to open the door for me. By the time he reaches it, I have already exited the car and have started making my way into the main entrance of the Washford Academy. It is a very prestigious private school that all three of my older brothers and I attended. Asher has gone here since elementary; however, he was expelled
in junior high and had attended a different school for the last two years. Daddy wants him to graduate from the same school Parker, Miles, Landon and I had and to have an Ivy League education like the rest of his children, so he used his connections and paid a lot of money to get Asher back into Washford.

  I run through the halls toward the office and spot Asher sitting in a small desk in front of a large glass window.

  “What the hell, Asher,” I whisper as I kiss his forehead.

  “I’m so sorry, Gracie. I wasn’t thinking. I’m so sorry. Please don’t tell Dad.” He looks so small and sullen. He barely even raises his head to look at me.

  I bend down and gently take his face in my hands. “What happened?”

  “I swear I didn’t mean to. I swear. You have to believe me.”

  “Just tell me what happened.” I take my hands from his face and kneel on the floor in front of him.

  He takes a deep breath to ready himself. “I was in the quad, sitting with the usual gang after practice when this dickhead came up to my friend Molly and started hitting on her. She told him to leave her alone but he wouldn’t. He kept touching her hair and her arm. She started getting really uncomfortable. Without thinking I jumped up and put myself between them. He apparently didn’t like that so he took a swing at me. I tried not to fight him, Gracie. But he kept pushing and swinging and I just had to protect her.” A small snicker and a half smile starts to form on his face. “He never saw the hits coming. He thought he had me. But I have twenty pounds and two inches on him. I had just gotten out of the gym too.” His half smile dissipates. “What a dick.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “I didn’t mess him up too bad. Only a few scrapes and bruises. And I made his nose bleed.”

  “Oh Asher.” I pull him up to stand with me and hug him tightly. He’s taller than my five-foot-five frame, so his cheek rests on the top of my head. I have mom's height, he has daddy's.

  How could I be angry with him? I probably should, but, how could I? He was only trying to protect his friend. He’s so much like his father and his brothers. Any one of them would have done the same thing.

  They have done the same thing.

  “Does Miss Connors need to speak with me before I take you home?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay then. You stay put and I’ll go find her.”

  After about thirty minutes I meet Asher in the same place I’d left him.

  “Well,” I sigh. “She's not going to expel you. You’ll have detention after school for the rest of the week though. That means you won’t be able to go to the gym with the rest of team. You’ll only be able to go to the morning practice.”

  “As long as I’m not expelled and I can still play hockey.” He sighed with relief and took my hand. “Thanks, Gracie.”

  “I’ll do anything for you Asher. Remember that.” I pushed to my tiptoes, pulled his head down and kissed his forehead again.

  We stride out of the school hand in hand toward Thomas, who’s by the back-passenger door. He opens it and I get in, then Asher. We ride in silence to the apartment, both drained from the day.

  “It’s already seven-forty-five.” I didn’t realize that time had gone by so quickly as we pulled up to the front of the building. “I’m meeting someone for dinner at eight.”

  We entered the apartment. I drop my things on the large white chair and franticly dig through my bag in search of my phone. I need to let Lincoln know I’ll be late. I don’t want him to think I flaked out. A text will be quicker than a call.

  Me: Sorry. Running late. Will text when near.

  Almost immediately a text came in.

  Lincoln: No prob. Get here safe.

  And immediately after, another.

  Lincoln: Let me pick you up.

  Me: No, it's ok. Be there shortly.

  Lincoln: I’ll be waiting!

  I throw my phone on the end table, run through the bedroom and into the closet. What do I wear for a date? I’ve never dated before. I’d been with Patrick for the last seven years. Our dates, when we went on them, consisted of me wearing what I wore to work that day.

  I throw my nerves out the window and chose a black, lace, short sleeved A-line dress. The V shaped neckline was showy but not enough to look smutty. Red and black platform pumps complete the ensemble. After a quick trip to the bathroom to freshen up my hair and makeup and throw a pair of silver dangly earrings in my lobes, I turn to the full-length mirror. “Well,” I say quietly to myself, “this will have to do.”

  I grab a small red handbag and go in search of the bags I brought home from the office. I dig through them and load my ID, Amex card, and mints into the bag and grab a mid-length lightweight peacoat out of the front closet. I check my phone one last time to see if Patrick sent anything.

  Nothing.

  I miss him.

  I’m stupid.

  I throw the phone in my handbag.

  “I’m off. Not sure what time I’ll be home. Do your homework and don’t leave the apartment,” I say walking quickly up to Asher.

  “Yeah, yeah. I won’t. Have a good time, Sis.” Asher kisses me on the cheek and I rush out the door.

  WHEN I GET TO BELLA la Vita I stand stock still staring at the door. “Can I really do this?” I whisper to myself. I’m not sure I know the answer to that question. I look down and stare at my phone in my shaky hand readying myself to text Lincoln.

  I take a deep breath.

  Okay...here it goes.

  Me: I’m here.

  I walk through the door and there he is, looking tall, dark and hot as hell in jeans and a dark gray cable knit sweater. He fills the narrow hallway with sexiness. There is just no escaping it.

  I'm doomed.

  “Wow,” he says as he reaches me. His voice is smooth as silk and makes me tingle with just that one word. If he says too many words, I may have to change my panties.

  I should have brought a spare pair.

  “Hi. Sorry I’m late,” I say. He leans down and gives me a quick peck on my cheek.

  “No problem. Life happens, right?” He’s so easy going and relaxed that my nerves immediately start to steady. Reaching for one of my hands, he takes it firmly in his. And... the tingles are back. How can he make me feel like this with just one touch? I never had tingles with Patrick.

  I miss him.

  Wait, do I really?

  Maybe.

  Crap.

  No thoughts of Patrick tonight. This night is about Lincoln.

  He lifts my right hand to his lips and plants a light kiss on the knuckles. “Si sono bellissime.” (You look beautiful.) He smiles down at me and shakes his head slightly. “Oh. Sorry. You look beautiful tonight.”

  Holy shit.

  What love language is this?

  Apparently, my lower half speaks the language because she’s doing some kind of sexy dance down there. I might actually pee myself. I smile up at him as I feel my cheeks flush.

  Just breathe.

  And for Christ's sake calm down!

  “Our table is ready when you are. Would you like to go in?”

  “Yes,” is all I can say.

  What is this man doing to me?

  I just got here and all I can think about is jumping on him.

  Stopping at the coat check, I slide mine off with Lincoln’s help. He checks it, grabs my hand and follows the hostess to our table. I’ve been here many times, but never really noticed how romantic this place is. The tables are covered in red linen cloths with only a candle placed in the neck of an old Chianti bottle to create light. The atmosphere is quiet and relaxed. I love that he chose this place for our date but it’s nerve racking how romantic it is.

  “Here we are,” the raven-haired hostess dressed in a black skirt and white-collar shirt says. Lincoln releases my hand and pulls the chair out for me to sit. Ever the gentleman, he gently pushes the chair back in once I’m sitting. He strides to the chair across from me and takes his seat. The hostess hands me a m
enu and gives me a glance that says ‘I know who you are and I don’t like you’. As she hands Lincoln his she pauses, not letting go and stares at him for seconds longer than I’d like her to.

  “Thank you,” Lincoln says politely to her not taking his eyes off of me. He’s either oblivious to her staring or he just doesn’t care. Either way I like it. She frowns a bit and walks off. “So, what are you in the mood for tonight?”

  Is this a question about food or him? Again, either way, I like it.

  “Well...the Ravioli con Mela is to die for. I've had it almost every time I’ve been here,” I say looking down at the menu.

  “How about we have some wine first?” He raises his hand and a waiter appears.

  Our waiter approaches with crystal glasses filled with ice water. When he has them firmly set on the table in front of us, he turns to Lincoln to get our order. “My name is Albert and I will be taking care of you this evening. What may I get for you to start?”

  “Iniziamo con una bottiglia di Rosso di Montalcino e il prosciutto e esparagi al aceto balsamio.” (We’ll start with a bottle of the Rosso di Montalcio and the prosciutto with asparagus and balsamic vinegar.)

  “Si. Molto buona (Yes. Very good.),” Albert says with a slight accent and scampers off.

  “You speak Italian?” Lincoln speaks the language so perfectly and it makes me flush and want to rip his clothes off of him.

  “Yes. I have family in the Tuscany region. We used to visit them every summer when I was a kid.”

  “Color me impressed.”

  “Good.” He smirks. “That’s why I brought you here; to impress you with my foreign language skills.” His eyes are the softest shade of gray-blue in the dim light. I can’t help but stare. We gaze at each other, not saying a word. We don't need words. Our eyes are saying enough. The silence isn’t awkward, it’s comfortable. I only see him and I'm hoping he only sees me.

  This is the moment.

  This is the moment that I realize I can fall for him.

  Ah crap.

  Slow this train down, Grace.

  “Your wine, sir.”

  Oh good. Saved by Albert.

  Albert shows off the bottle, holding it with his right hand and laying it on his left arm. Our gaze is broken as Lincoln looks at its label. Albert drips a bit of wine into a glass for Lincoln to taste while another waiter brings out our antipasti. After sloshing the red liquid in the goblet and taking a sip, he accepts the wine and our glasses are filled half way.