The Dinner; Epilogue

We made it.  Sigh.  G'night Folks.

***************

They walked back to the guest house in silence.  Maggie had a great deal she’d like to say, but Grey’s expression was brooding and forbidding so she kept her mouth firmly shut.  It must have been a very difficult evening for him.  And it was her fault he was in this mess.

No.  It was his own damned fault he was in this mess.  She found herself having to remind herself of that more and more.  He was guilty too.  She’d only done what she’d had to do. 

They walked briskly in the biting cold and he stayed quite near to her, having muttered something about patches of black ice.  Clutching the incredible photo album to her chest she snuggled into the luxurious coat his little sister had lent her for the walk home, grateful to all the Delaneys for their easy generosity, but missing his sport coat just a little.

They turned out of the gate and the cottage came into view, making Maggie’s breath catch a little in her throat.  She wondered if she’d have that reaction everytime.  Surely one gets used to it, right?  It had been the same when her father had driven her up here that afternoon, explaining that all her belongings were now at the guest house, gently telling her she needed to live in her marital house now.

And she’d blushed at the sight of the cottage, feeling especially uncomfortable to be there with her father, as if he might somehow guess, as if he might read it in her guilty face.

This is where Grey’d taken her the night she’d lost her virginity.  The night she’d given him her virginity, if she were to be perfectly honest with herself.  As a gift.  A birthday gift to him.

She’d been a little tipsy—they’d been out to celebrate his birthday and he’d ordered a very nice bottle of wine to her taste.  He’d also picked up a nice bottle she’d had her eye on at the shop and they were to have a late-night desert style picnic in a little guest cottage on his parents’ estate.  It was late—she’d told her father she’d be staying at a friend’s; she’d planned on spending the night with Grey.  They’d been to dinner and a movie so it was very late when they’d slipped into the cottage.  Too late to meet his folks, he’d said.

She’d been very concerned about appearances, but he’d promised her he’d sneak her out before the household woke if that’s what she’d prefer.  She did.  She hadn’t wanted his family to think her a whore.

He’d laughed lightly, kissed the tip of her nose, and leaned his forehead onto hers, gazing deep into her with those incredible pale green eyes.  “No one will ever think that of you sweetheart.”  He’d told her, and then kissed her, and then closed the cottage door behind them.

Now they arrived at the door and she gulped, trying to push the vivid memories of that beautiful night out of her mind.  Because the man beside her wasn’t the same man she’d believed she was in love with, the man to whom she’d gifted herself.  She didn’t even really know the man beside her, the man she’d married, the man whose child she was carrying, the man she now had to live with.

He pushed open the country yellow door and stood aside to allow her entry before joining her and locking it behind them.  The shiver that stole over her had nothing at all to do with the cold.  She wondered if he even remembered that night.  She wondered if the night that had meant so much to her meant anything at all to him. 

“Take your coat?” 

She startled a bit at the sound of his voice.  She nodded and unbuttoned Viola’s winter coat with one hand, using her other to clutch the photo album to her chest.  He helped her slip it off one arm, then the other, and then carried it to a discreet coat closet not far from the front door.

She still had to explore this place better.  When she’d arrived she’d felt like she was trespassing, despite her mother-in-law’s warm welcome and assurance that she and Grey could re-arrange and do whatever they’d like to the place.  The tour of the cottage had been a bubbl-y, chatter-y whirl that had left Maggie feeling more dizzy than acclimated.

“Home sweet home.”  Grey commented wryly, using one foot to slip off his other shoe and then repeating the process.

Maggie felt inexplicably nervous and uptight.  And very much like she didn’t want to fight with him.  Not tonight.  Not just now.  She knew there’d be plenty of arguments, plenty of bickering and fighting and sour words between them, but she just wanted tonight to end without any of that.

She was exhausted.  Playing the part of loving wife seemed to have sapped her of what little strength she had.  She hadn’t slept much the night before, and this trimester was also wearing her thin.  She hoped the books were right about renewed energy in the next one.

“May I have a ride to campus in the morning?”  She asked, moving into the living room area and carefully setting the album down on the coffee table.  She wanted to look at it again, wanted to really take the time and look through it without everyone chattering at her and pointing out memories and regaling her with anecdotes.  She wanted time alone to absorb it without interference, but tonight she was too tired to do the task justice.

“You didn’t bring your car?”  He asked, slipping his socks off in the same way he’d done his shoes, and shrugging out of his sport coat.  He rolled his head around on his neck heavily until he produced several soft pops.  The last time he’d agreed to drive her somewhere it hadn’t happened.  She’d never made it to church this morning.  Their eyes locked for a moment and she thought he might be thinking about the same thing.

“I don’t have a car.”  She said with a sigh, and sank into the couch. 

He tossed his sportcoat over the back of an armchair and started unbuttoning his shirt cuffs.  “You don’t—“

“I mean, my father has a car, our family owns a car, but I don’t have one of my own, no.”  It was grating to have to constantly explain her comparative poverty to him.  “I never needed one.”  She continued in the face of his blank stare.  “We live right next to the center, most everything is within walking distance and I’d borrow Papa’s car for anything else.”

“How’d you get to campus everyday?”

“The Bus goes to campus.”

His eyebrows rose.  “I see.”  He said, heading into the kitchen.  She heard the sound of the automatic ice dispenser and the clinking of cubes in a glass.  “I’m afraid the bus route doesn’t come up to Cedar Crest.”  He commented dryly.

She didn’t turn to look at him.  She didn’t want to fight, and she had the feeling that if she saw his smug expression she might fly into a temper.  “I realize that.”  She said civilly.  “Will you drive me, or should I call a friend to pick me up?”

“Do you want something while I’m up?”  He asked, and she blinked.

“Water, thank you.”  She said.  The doctor had instructed her to drink as much water as she could before bed.  Though Maggie understood the wisdom of it as far as the morning sickness went, it seemed a particular inconvenience for the increased number of trips to the bathroom it inevitably produced.

She heard the ice dispenser again and then the soft whirr of the filtered water filling the glass.

“What time?”

“I have an eight a.m.” She answered.

“Fuck my asshole.”  He responded.

Maggie bit her lower lip.  “Sorry.”

“Fucking freshman schedules suck balls.” 

Maggie agreed, though she wouldn’t have phrased it quite like that.  She wondered if they’d have to have a discussion about language when the baby was born.

A glass of ice-water appeared before her face and she reached for it with a meek “Thanks”.

He moved around to the front of the couch and sank into the opposite end of it.  “Ohhh.  That was a mistake.”  He moaned.

“What?”

“Now I’m not gunna want to get back up.”  He said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. 

She studied his profile and his recumbent form while she could do so without his scrutiny.  He was so perfectly gorgeous.  Long and lean, a delicious amount of stubble, his hair slightly mussed, his collared shirt open to the chest, the arms now rolled up to the elbows, his long legs relaxed and draped in those divinely tailored pants… She clenched her jaw and shook her head.  What good would it do to let herself things like that?

“Yeah.”  He said after a moment had passed.  “We should leave by seven thirty-ish.”  A sour expression crossed his face. 

“Thank you.”  She said.

“And we’re getting you a fucking car.”

Her eyes widened.  “I don’t have money for a car—“

“Fuck that.”  Grey said.  “Mrs. Delaney, you have more money than you could spend.”  He opened one eye and peered at her.

“No.”  She said.

“Yup.”  He closed his eye again and nodded.  “Because I’m not getting up at seven every morning just because you’re too proud to use the money that’s there for you.”

“It’s not every morning.”  She grumbled, her face flushed.

“Yeah, but living way the fuck up here is going to be a real pain in the ass for you without your own transportation.”  He said irritably.  “Unless, of course, you want me to put you up in a little apartment downtown—“

She stood quickly, her chest heaving.  “I am not your whore.”  She spat venomously.

His eyes had snapped open at her abrupt rise.  “Then live here and let me get you a car.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

He rolled his eyes and sat up with effort.  “It isn’t a fucking luxury, Maggie, it’s a necessity.” He reasoned.  “Class, work, church, shopping, doctor’s appointments—“  He glanced at her stomach and then quickly looked away.  “And then you’re going to need one in a few months anyway, unless you’d planned on bundling the thing up in a sling and hitchhiking everywhere like a fucking migrant worker.”

Her lips parted.  What an ass he was.  But she couldn’t argue with the logic.

“Fine.”  She managed begrudgingly.

“Fine.”  He responded hotly.

“Thank you.”  She forced.

“Stop fucking thanking me all the time.”  He muttered, and with a groan pulled himself to standing.  He took his water glass and started down the hall, then he froze, and slowly, very slowly, turned to her.

“Your mother put all our things in the master, but I’m planning on sleeping in the one closest to the bathroom.”  She said quietly.

He nodded.  “See you bright and early.”  He said, in a peculiar tone of voice, and turned back down the hall.  Maggie watched him disappear into the master bedroom, saw a light flick on and heard bureau drawers sliding open and shut.  After about a minute and a half he re-emerged, carrying some clothes along with his water glass.  He stared at her as he flicked the light off and kept his eyes locked on hers while he walked past the bedroom she’d chosen and arrived at the final choice.  “Buenas Noches.”  He said with exaggerated politeness, and then, with a stiff nod, he waltzed into the last room and closed the door behind him.

Only when the door handle clicked shut did Maggie feel able to breathe.  She let her arms fall to her sides and she looked around.  Remembering.  It was all so surreal.

He’d spread the adorable picnic set out on the living room floor, moved the coffee table out of the way and even lit a fire, though it wasn’t all that chilly out so early in October.  It had been a romantic thing to do.  It had made her feel sexy and a little wild.

And there’d been berries and chocolate and wine and they’d kissed until she was lightheaded and trembling in his arms.

“I want to see you.”  He’d said then, when she was clinging to his shirt, trying to catch her breath and regulate her racing pulse.  She hadn’t understood.  She’d looked at him, searched for the meaning in that cryptic sentence.  “All of you.”  He’d answered her unasked question.

At that point they’d done nearly everything but vaginal intercourse.  He’d seen all of her already, but, she supposed, never quite all at once, never completely nude.  She’d nodded and he’d smiled.  She expected him to slowly undress her, as he always did.  To unbutton her top, unhook her bra, slide her panties down past her knees and over her ankles.  She waited, but he made her do it.  Made her stand up and undress for him.  While he watched.

It had been erotic and embarrassing and empowering and thrilling all at once.  Part of the time she looked deep into his eyes, and she felt like a seductress.  For some of it she wasn’t able to look him in the face so she turned around and squeezed her eyes shut, slipping her panties down to a soft ‘mmm’ from him where he watched.

When she’d screwed up the courage to turn, to reveal her bare front in the flickering, dancing light of the fire, the expression on his face had been one of awe and worship and hunger.  “You’re perfect.”  He’d breathed, and come up to his knees before her.  She was naked and he was still clothed.  He made her feel like a goddess, but somehow like she belonged only to him, even though he was the one on his knees worshipping, kissing, paying homage to her.

“Happy Birthday.”  She’d whispered, and he’d looked up at her, his gaze smoldering.  “I want to give you everything.”  She’d said, barely louder than a breath.

His face had softened, then, his eyes flashing in the firelight.  “Are you sure?”  He’d asked her, tracing his fingers along the outside curve of her breast and then over the swell of her hips. 

She was sure.  She wanted him more than she could bear.  She wanted to know what it felt like to have him within her.  She nodded.

His lips quirked.  “Tell me.”  He murmured, and kissed the soft ‘v’ where her thighs met.

She didn’t know how to say it without sounding ridiculous.  “Hazme el amor; Necesito sentirte.”

She’d thrilled at the sound of his low chuckle.  “You’re calling my bluff?”  He’d asked, rising to his feet, dragging his entire length against her as he did so.  He pulled her against him and kissed her deeply.

She’d suspected he spoke more Spanish then he let on.  When he’d gone down on her and she’d cried out things like ‘faster’ or ‘slower’, or ‘more of that’, he’d responded readily and without translation.  But he’d pretend ignorance most of the time, even asking her to translate different words and phrases for him; he played at letting her teach him Spanish.

“Quiero estar dentro de ti.” He told her in a low, dangerous voice.  His accent wasn’t half bad.

She gasped at what he’d said, that he wanted to be inside of her, and whimpered when he took one of her nipples into his mouth and sucked possessively.  “Yes.”  She said.  “Yes.”  She demanded.

“Let’s move our picnic blanket to the bedroom.”  He’d said, with a sly smile, releasing her from his embrace slowly and almost reluctantly.  “We’ll be more comfortable there.”

She’d helped him spread the picnic blanket over the large, luxurious bed in the cottage’s beautiful master bedroom.  And he’d dimmed the lights, but refused to turn them all the way off despite her blushing and pouting.  “You’re gorgeous.” He’d told her.  “I want to see everything.”

She’d helped him take his clothes off, slowly, kissing and fondling the entire time, and when the last item had been removed she’d boldly demanded that he stand there while she looked him over, the way he’d done to her.  He’d indulged her with a laugh and even spun in a slow circle on command.  “Like what you see?”  He’d teased her with a wicked grin.  He knew he was gorgeous.

“Mi Corazon.”  She told him.

His smile melted, but his eyes still twinkled with warmth.  He stalked slowly forward and then moved on his hands and knees toward her from the foot of the bed.  She felt his weight dip the mattress and she found it difficult to catch her breath.  “I’m going to kiss every inch of your body.”  He told her softly. 

And he’d stretched her form out on the bed and proceeded to do just that.  With careful, deliberate precision.  He was unhurried in his exploration, and his measured calm seemed to make her desperately impatient and needy.  He’d kiss softly in some places, so softly it felt like a tickling breeze.  Sometimes he’d lick, tasting her, or suck a little, like he might on a juicy piece of fruit.  Other times, always when she’d least expect it, he’d nip, causing her to startle and shiver and laugh a little at her surprise and excitement. 

And he had a way of downplaying and skirting around the most blatantly erogenous regions—her mouth, her nipples, between her legs—and instead heightening the eroticism of places she’d believed to be fairly innocuous.  Suddenly the arches of her feet were unrivaled pleasure zones.  The delicate skin in the crook of her elbow felt maddeningly sensitive when he lavished his attention there.  The hot kisses he trailed along her abdomen felt as graphic and possessive as his lips on her sex.  And when he kissed around her nipples, kissed and nuzzled everything  but her nipples, dancing close but never touching, teasing her, making them ache and stand on end, she finally wrapped her fingers into his hair and pressed his mouth onto one of them, ready to weep and scream if he refused to pay service there.

And when he obeyed her command, when he captured her nipple in his mouth and lapped and nibbled and suckled she felt insane with need.  She felt the tickling tug of something stretching taught inside her, from nipple to belly button, and lower still, and she needed him to complete her.

But still he made her wait.  When he’d finished greedily devouring her breasts and neck and lips he whispered in her ear a command to roll over.  She hadn’t obeyed right away.  She’d been frozen in a sort of panic.  She didn’t want her first time to be facing away from her lover.

“I told you; I’m going to kiss every inch of you.”  He smiled.  “Lay on your stomach.”

She’d taken a small breath, nibbled her lower lip and slowly rolled over for him.  For what felt like an eternity, though it was probably only a minute, he held back and simply looked at her.  As that minute stretched out her tension grew exponentially; she felt vulnerable and embarrassed and tears welled in her eyes.

Then he gently lifted her weighty curls from her shoulders, swept them up and to the side and placed a perfect kiss on the nape of her neck.  Feeling his warm breath there, his lips, sent a current of electricity sizzling down her spine and she moaned.  He was systematically unlocking the secrets of her body and she felt powerless.  With each kiss he traced down her vertebrae or across her shoulder blades or along the curve of her waist he was marking her as his and she was surrendering herself to him.

And when, sometimes, she’d feel the blazing hot hardness of him softly brush her thigh or ass or arm while he ministered to her with his mouth, she’d shiver with anticipation, tremble with the need to feel it in her hand or mouth or deep inside her. 

Then he’d massaged her back and she thought she’d gone to paradise.  How was he managing to hold off so damned long?  He rubbed and kneaded and pressed as if he’d be content to give her pleasure like this all night long.  And when he focused his attention on her lower back, his fingers long and graceful and masterful, she felt herself getting almost embarrassingly wet between her thighs.  And she couldn’t help moaning and pleading with him incoherently when he massaged the full softness of her ass.

And finally it was time for her to turn back over.  When she did he kissed her long and slow, trailing his fingers up and down her body, sometimes gently, sometimes possessively. 

And when his middle and forefinger slid upward from her thighs she held her breath.  There was just one last place he hadn’t kissed yet.  One place he’d teased and taunted by kissing oh so close, but never visiting with his lips yet that evening.

She whimpered against his mouth when his fingers slid over her slick sex, finding her throbbing pulse there and making her jerk and writhe and cling to him.

He chuckled very softly and she bit her lip as he moved down her body.  She caught herself praying ardently that he’d go down on her until she came, and chastised herself for asking the saints for such a selfish, unholy thing.  But it didn’t stop her wanting it.  He was so gifted with his tongue, even from the very first night he’d serviced her it was as if he knew exactly how to please her.

And after that, after the first time he made her climax, she found herself craving that release again, daydreaming about it at the worst times, in the most inappropriate places.  She needed it, needed him to give it to her.  She wondered if he felt the same way about her mouth on him, drinking him, swallowing him.

She’d shuddered violently when his tongue found her clit.  “Yes. Please?  Yes.”

And after he’d brought her tantalizingly close to the edge, his tongue slipped down to her opening and she became very still.  He was gentle and careful and she held her breath in wonder.  He spread her legs wide and pulled back to admire her.  She watched his hooded eyes running over her hungrily and then felt a finger flirting with the entrance to her body.  Instinctively she tensed and he shook his head once.

He didn’t speak but his eyes told her to trust him.  With a shaky breath she relaxed against the pillows and allowed him access to do as he saw fit.  She let him examine her, more thoroughly by far than he had that first night he’d gone down on her—and she’d believed that exploration to be embarrassingly meticulous.  She wondered, as she had that first night, what exactly he was studying.

Just when she was becoming almost unbearably self conscious he lowered his mouth to her again and she sighed with relief.  With his fingers and tongue down there, working in tandem to bring her pleasure, she felt thoroughly owned and objectified, yet somehow worshipped as well. 

She sat bolt upright when, in the middle of her mounting ecstasy, she felt a finger or a tongue lap lower than was allowed.

Her heart pounded in her chest and she flushed all over. 

But he looked up at her with a smile.  “Every inch of you.”  He told her, and gently but firmly applied pressure to her shoulder until she’d lain back down obediently.

“But?”  She whined.

“You’re beautiful.”  He dismissed.  “And I want to kiss you everywhere.”

She whimpered but allowed him to part her legs wide and permitted his scandalous exploration.  She bit so hard on her own lower lip that she tasted a hint of rust.  It felt good, what he was doing, and though her mind told her it was forbidden, her body responded as if it were yet another erogenous zone, this one more electric and deeply arousing than she could have dreamed possible.

He was careful not to push her too far, careful to tantalize and not overwhelm.  This night wasn’t about that particular avenue.  Using his fingers in conjunction with his tongue he brought her as close to climax as she could get without actual release, wound her up tight, and then pulled his mouth from her and moved over her body, pulling a nipple into his mouth as he positioned himself between her legs.

“Wa-wait!”  She breathed and he froze.

She was panting and sweating and her heart was racing so fast she thought she might just die before he ever entered her.

His breathing was ragged too, he wanted her, desperately, and the effort to halt at her command showed as strain on his face.  “What is it?”  He asked in a broken whisper.  The desire in his eyes rocked her to her core.

“P-p-protection?”  She could feel the head of him against her sex and it took everything she had not to thrust her hips up and swallow the length of him.

Something she didn’t recognize flashed over his features and he gathered her face up for a deep, mind-fogging kiss.  She tasted herself on his lips and it made her feel wild and naughty.  When he pulled back from the kiss his expression was deep and almost pained.

“I don’t want anything between us.”  He told her, her skull cradled in his wide strong hands, his fingers buried in her curls and curving around her nape in such a way that she knew she belonged only to him.  “I want to feel us, together.  My love.”  He finished, searching her eyes with those pale-green heartbreakers of his.

And his cock brushed her clit and she thought about feeling him within her with no barriers, nothing between them, just flesh on flesh and she nodded.  “Yes.”  She begged him, and pulled his face to hers for another passionate kiss.  “Yes.”  She affirmed again.

She felt him shiver under her fingers and heard his enormous sigh of relief.  “Are you ready?”  He asked softly, and she nodded. 

“I am.”  She whispered, and he closed his eyes for a moment before adjusting his body and repositioning himself at her entrance.

“Maggie?”

Presently Maggie startled violently and gasped.  She’d been so lost in her memory that she hadn’t heard him emerge from his bedroom and approach.

“Is everything ok?”  He asked, looking her up and down skeptically and sparing a cursory glance around the livingroom.

She realized she was breathing unevenly, that her nipples were hard and that she was wet.  “What?”

Grey frowned.  “Are you feeling alright?”

Her fingers found her necklace and twisted frantically.  “Mmhmm.”  She answered with a nod, not trusting her tongue.

“Why are you still standing out here?”  He asked dubiously.  “Do you need something?”

She cast a quick glance around.  “I, just, I, it’s a strange place and, I, water?”

He raised his eyebrows and then looked pointedly at her untouched water glass from before. 

“What are you doing up?”  She accused him, deciding it was better to be on the offensive than the defensive.

“I forgot to brush my teeth.”  He answered readily.  “I don’t even know if my toothbrush is here…”  He trailed off as he studied her.  “You look flush, are you sure you’re feeling ok?”

A hand flew to her face and she felt the heat there, on her cheeks.  “I’m fine.”  She insisted with more force than was necessary. 

They stared at eachother in silence for a moment.  She wished he were drunk.  She wished he were free of inhibitions and would take her again as he’d done the night before.  He’d been rough and demanding and possessive and greedy and she’d gloried in every minute of it.  She’d taken him deep inside her and met him thrust for thrust, urging them both toward release.  It had been so long since she’d felt it, she’d needed it, perhaps worse than he had.  And she wanted it again tonight, right now.

But the Grey Delaney standing in front of her now was restrained and taut and controlled.  And he wouldn’t touch her.  Even though she knew he was attracted to her.  He wouldn’t make a move because he resented her, resented the marriage and the baby and the prison she’d put him in. 

“I think there are toothbrushes.”  She said, wishing with every fibre of her being that she’d said: ‘I need you to hold me down and make me yours’.  “New ones.”

“Oh.”  He said. And another minute ticked by with them staring at one another.  “Are you frightened?”  He finally asked, very quietly.  It was delicate and fragile and she knew instinctively that he wasn’t referring to sleeping in a new place.

“Of course not.”  She said gently, looking deeply into his eyes and trying to communicate an absolution for what guilt he still felt.  He believed he’d raped her.  He’d been carried away and he was ashamed.  He’d lost control and it was something he didn’t do. 

“Because—“

“Grey.”  She cut him off.  “You’ve done nothing to make me afraid of you.”  She insisted.

He winced and ran both hands through his hair.  He shook his head, disbelieving. 

Before she realized quite what she was doing her feet were moving toward him.  He stayed very still as she approached, his wary eyes following her every movement.   When she was standing toe to toe with him, gazing up at him, she felt the strongest urge to kiss him.  But what if he didn’t return it?  What if he stood there politely and took it but never moved his lips in response.  What if he turned his head and her unwanted kiss landed on his cheek? 

He’d kissed her at dinner, in front of everyone, and it had felt so right; it had held a promise and a tenderness and a quiet need.  Or maybe she was projecting and it hadn’t been anything more than a stage kiss, a safe counterfeit of a kiss, and she’d read way too much into it.  But she thought she’d seen a flash of something in his eyes, something raw and real before he’d plastered that charming smile on and looked away from her.

She sighed.  “Grey?”

His tongue darted over his lips and he blinked.  “Mm?”

She didn’t know what to say.  She didn’t know what she wanted.  And she certainly didn’t have a clue as to what he was thinking.

She remembered the sharp, hot pain of him entering her for the first time, remembered him cradling her against the lean, muscled expanse of his chest until the initial shock subsided, Remembered him kissing the salty moisture from her cheeks, and remembered him stroking deep into her, filling her, completing her and bringing her to an earth shattering climax before shuddering with his own warm release inside of her.

This cottage had too many memories.  “Goodnight.”  She said softly, and, with great effort she made herself step away from him, past him, and down the hall to her bedroom.  She purposefully kept her eyes away from the master bedroom at the end of the hall.

“Night.”  He responded vaguely, sounding perplexed and tired.

She had to pee.  And brush her teeth.  But she decided she would wait until he’d finished and gone back to his room.  She was exhausted, but she was wired now, and didn’t expect she’d be getting much sleep for the second night in a row.

The Dinner; Part 10

Sheesh. Ten Parts?  Holy Mackerel.  Well we're almost there kiddies.  This is another Grey vignette (I haz made my text Gray in honor of Grey.  Yup.  I iz bored), then tomorrow ye shall receive the final installment of The Dinner and we'll be on to something else!

(Please peep the re-posted #9 if you missed it.)

I have great plans for us!  So many things on various back burners!  My writing kitchen is smelling spicy and tantalizing!  Savory and Sweet and loaded with sexy secrets!

So, Enjoy your dessert here with one of the final installments of The Dinner!

This one has sort of two halves, and I love both of them for different reasons.  Lemme know what you think?

*************

His mother drew him aside while the rest of the family gathered in the living room and den.  Following into Jonah’s study after her, he moved to close the door part of the way.  Before he did, he watched Maggie for a moment, seated in the center of the couch, flanked by the twins as they laughed and pointed at baby pictures of Grey in the photo album Velvet had just gifted her with.

She still looked somewhat overwhelmed by the whole situation, and what was that other emotion?  Guilt, probably.  He recognized it because he felt it too.  Pulling the wool over everybody’s eyes like this.  Making believe they were a loving husband and wife and allowing everyone to act like fools about it.

Jonah crossed Grey’s vision, coming from the sideboard with a gingerale in hand.  They locked eyes.  Besides Maggie and himself, Jonah was the only other member of the family who knew why Grey’d married her.  And Jonah had been a fucking sweetheart all night, deftly helping Grey and Maggie dodge and skirt the seemingly ceaseless barrage of awkward questions peppered at them from all angles.  Grey was still furious with him over the money, but since Maggie turned out to be the kind of woman who couldn’t be bought-off, rationally he supposed it didn’t matter much afterall.  He nodded just slightly at his Dad and Jonah responded in kind.

“Honey?”  His mother half-whispered. He took a breath and turned.  She had that look.  That very ‘Velvet Delaney’ look about her.  That glowing, emotional, idealistic sort of hopeful radiance that made people love her.  Despite himself he smiled at it.  Though he knew it was likely something he’d have to grin and bear, something he’d have to pretend to be enthusiastic about to appease her.

“Thanks again for dinner.” he said, crossing to her and bending to give her a kiss on the cheek.  She was such an angel. And good Christ, did she ever seem to adore Maggie.  He rolled his eyes just thinking about the way she’d fawned all over the girl for the entire evening.  By the time he straightened up, though, his face was composed again and he was smiling pleasantly.

“I have something for you.  Well.  And for Maggie, really, I suppose.”  She giggled.

“No, Mum, you and Dad have done so much already, really, no more.”  He was sick of pretending gratitude for things he could give two shits about.  That fucking honeymoon?  The Cottage? Now the money for a house?  Plus his dad had mentioned something about freeing up the trust fund early, or at least making sure Grey was covered until graduation came around and his money was at last his money.  Fuck.  They were entirely too generous.

“Well, yes, no, but, oh—“  She grinned and slipped something small from Jonah’s top desk drawer.  Good God, she’d planned this out, given it a lot of fucking thought.  She held out a breathtaking princess cut diamond, Grey guessed 2 ½ to 3 karats, set in platinum.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Grey.”  His mother tittered, lifting his hand and pressing it into his palm. 

He didn’t say anything more, because all he could think to say involved harder expletives than ‘jesus’ or ‘christ’. 

After a moment, Velvet, never comfortable with quiet, rushed to fill the silence.  “I noticed Maggie didn’t have an engagement ring, and well, that’s probably because it was all so spur-of-the-moment and in-the-heat-of-passion that you two eloped!”  His eyes were glued to the flawless diamond.  It must be worth a fortune.   “And had I known you were even thinking about settling down, well, I would have given this to you before the marriage! I realize this is a little backwards--”

“Mum, I don’t want my mother picking out my bride’s engagement ring.”  He said as kindly as he possibly could.  It wasn’t that she didn’t have impeccable taste, it’s that it was fairly emasculating.  He huffed and held the ring back out to her.  Besides, he didn’t want to get his ‘wife’ any ring of any kind.  She had the gold fucking band and that would be the end of it.  He wasn’t going to play these games.

“Oh, no, no, of course—“ she said, her voice changing.  “But this belongs to you.”  She held her hands up and refused to take the ring back from Grey.

He scrunched his eyebrows and looked at her.  “Pardon?”

A melancholy smile flashed over her face and her pale green eyes welled with emotion.  “That was my engagement ring.”  She stated, her voice a little wistful.

Grey’s eyes went automatically to her left ring finger where the more modest tear-drop diamond he’d always known her to wear sat alongside her white-gold band.  And then he understood.  He stared at the princess cut monster again and felt every urge to drop it.

“I don’t want anything from that man.”  He said, trying to keep the ferocity from his voice; he didn’t want to frighten his mother.

“But—“  Velvet looked crestfallen.  “It isn’t about him.”  She explained.  “This ring, in my mind, is about you.”  She searched his eyes but he was stony.  “I’ve saved it for you, for when you finally found the one.”  She whispered, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

Grey pressed his lips together and wanted to curse.  He couldn’t stand it when his mother was upset.  “I’m sorry Mum, and thank you, the sentiment is beautiful, but—“  He took a breath.  There was no way he was going to put this ring on Maggie’s finger.  Even if the marriage was every bit the sham his mother’s had been.  “Everytime I’d look at it all I’d be able to think about was what that man did to you.”  He finished passionately and fixed his eyes on the floor.  He didn’t want to watch more tears.  He pushed the ring further toward her and at last she took it from him with trembling fingers.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for her to speak.  Waited for the signal that it was safe to look up once again.

“Your father thought you might feel like that.”  Velvet said in a tremulous voice.

Grey sighed and shrugged.  Fucking Jonah—poor fucking sap.  He wondered how much it had cost him to allow his wife this little fantasy, how much it had hurt him to have her keep this remnant of her first marriage and save it up as some symbol of Grey’s birthright.  “I am sorry, that you’ve been saving it all this time.”  He told her, a finality edging the words.

Before he could remove his hands from his pockets she’d wrapped him in a fierce hug.  “Don’t you apologize Grey Delaney.”  She said, her voice strong despite the sob he could hear welling up underneath it.  “That was probably the sweetest this you’ve ever said to me.”

He struggled to pull his hands free of his pockets to return the hug, feeling awkward and shackled by her slim but surprisingly vise-like arms.  He rolled his eyes and furrowed his brow.  He believed he could think of a lot sweeter things he’d said to her over the years, but he guessed he understood.

“I want you to know that I don’t regret any of it, with him, with Vaughan, because you are the best thing that ever happened to me.”  She whispered against his chest.  His heart lurched and he had to swallow hard and blink rapidly.   He knew he was her favorite, people say mothers favor sons and he was the only boy, but the best thing that ever happened to her?  He almost felt guilty about that.

“Mum—“

She let him go and quickly wiped the wetness from her cheeks.  “Shh.”  She said and giggled shortly.  “Don’t tell anyone else I said that.”  She joked shakily, and he laughed once in response.  He screwed up enough courage to meet her eyes, now that she was teasing and laughing at herself.  But he found she wasn’t looking at him. 

She was looking at her left ring finger.  He heard her suck in a deep breath and watched as she slowly slipped the teardrop shaped diamond from her finger, very carefully, very lovingly, and she lifted it to her lips, then held it out to him.

He took a step back.  “No.”  He said, hardly more than a whisper.  That ring meant too much.  “That makes even less sense.”  He told her with a little laugh.  “Give that to one of the girls.”  He said, glancing from where she held it out to him to her face and back.

She smiled, though a frown pulled the corners down.  “Don’t be silly.”  She said, but her voice hitched.  “We only have one son.”  She said heavily.

He ran a hand through his hair and blew an exhale through his lips.  He shook his head.  “It doesn’t feel right.”  He said, cursing his legs for shaking.  His Mom and Dad’s marriage was beautiful.  It was as close to perfect as Grey believed any real-life marriage could get.   Even with the screwing around his mom still did with her ex, and even with whatever the fuck his dad had been doing a couple weekends back when he’d had the house to himself, even despite all that—because sex was sex and nobody understood that better than Grey—so even despite that business, their marriage was loving and solid and committed, and good and true.  He would feel like a fucking asshole if he gave that ring to the woman he’d been blackmailed into marrying.

“Why not?”  She asked earnestly.  “Your Dad gave this to me on the day you were born.”  She told him, a sweet smile curving her lips and a far-away look pulling her eyes to some distant memory over his shoulder.

He hadn’t known that.  The impact of it hit him like a freight train.  He felt it almost like getting the wind knocked out of him.  His eyes welled unexpectedly, and his knees went weak, and for some reason he couldn’t really draw a proper breath.  He moved to the desk and sat on the edge of it, one leg hooked over the corner, the other extended straight, anchoring him to the ground.  He watched his mother for a long moment.  “Why?”  He asked.  Though he thought he knew his Dad well enough to guess.

She sighed and walked toward one of the windows and looked out in the direction of the cottage, though it wasn’t quite visible from the study.  “He really should have waited—I was still married to your, to your, Vaughan.”  She said.  “But he did it anyway.”  He heard her sigh as if it were the most romantic thing in the world to poach another guy’s wife.  “He said we were a family and he wanted to spend the rest of his life making us happy.”

Grey’s Adam’s apple bobbed and his nose twitched.  He’d never heard this.  They hadn’t married for another three years after his birth.  “Why the long engagement?”  He asked.  He’d wondered it before.

“I was afraid.”  She said simply, turning from the window and facing him.

They locked eyes and he gave her a soft smile.  “Of Dad?”  He was the opposite of Vaughan in every way he could think of, what was there to be afraid of?

“Of making a mistake.”  She confessed.  “I loved your Dad from the minute I laid eyes on him but Vaughan—“

Grey held up a hand and she stopped.  He didn’t want to discuss anything more of Vaughan Grey and she understood.  They fell into a silence and Grey heard the bubbling, overlapping conversations from the den.  The sounds of a happy family.  He wondered how Maggie was faring.  Not that he should care.  But he knew he wouldn’t be thrilled to be abandoned in the thick of her relatives all-by-his-lonesome for this long.

“He asked you for permission.”  His mother said in a fond voice.

Grey cocked an eyebrow.  “I’m sorry?”

She sighed warmly.  “He held you; you were so small!  And he told me ‘this is between us men’,” She giggled at the memory.  “And he asked you if you would consent to him marrying your mother.”  She sighed again, twisting the ring in her fingers adoringly.  “You made a little sound and we were both so surprised—“ She laughed, “And then he pulled the ring from his pocket.”  She lifted it to her lips again.

Grey was quiet.  His eyes had welled up again and he felt like a fucking pussy.  What the fuck was wrong with him all of a sudden?

“And he told me, ‘Velvet I know you aren’t ready to marry me yet, and I understand, but I want you to know there’s nothing more I want to do with my life than stay by your side and be a family and make you happy, and I’ll wait forever for you’…”  She trailed off and Grey looked at her expectantly, blinking the moisture from his eyes.  What a fucking sap his dad was. 

Velvet was looking past Grey again, but this time her eyes were here in the present.  Grey turned over his shoulder to see Jonah, who’d slipped in quietly and was standing with his arms crossed, leaning up against the wall of the study looking sadder than Grey had ever seen him.

“You made me a dad and a husband, son.”  He said quietly.  “The rest is semantics.”

Grey sniffed and ran both hands through his hair before rising from his seat on the desk.  “Thank you both, but I’d rather not take that ring.”  He looked at Jonah.  He heard his mother’s little inhalation behind him and silently he begged his Dad to help him, communicated his desperation with his eyes.

Behind the glasses Jonah blinked once and then turned to his wife.  “Choosing that ring was very important to me, dearest, and I think Grey wants to take his time and find the perfect one for his wife.”  Grey closed his eyes and thanked his Dad wordlessly before turning to smile charmingly at his mother. 

“Your advice and expertise will be most welcome.”  He assured her smoothly.

Velvet tilted her head to the side.  “You’re sure?”

“Thank you—Both—Yes, I’m sure.”  He crossed the short distance to where his mother stood, somewhat disappointed and adrift.  “That belongs on your finger.”  He said and kissed her cheek softly.

He strode toward the study door and paused for just a moment when he reached Jonah.  He wanted to thank him but found himself unwilling to do it.  Instead quirked his lips in a small, arrogant smile and departed the study. 

As he strode into the den he heard the door click softly behind him and wondered just what Jonah would say to his mother.  Then Maggie looked up from the photo album on her lap and her relief at seeing him manifested in a tentative smile.

Before he could control himself he smiled back in answer.  Son of a bitch.  He wished the woman weren’t so fucking likeable.  He forced the smile into a scowl and crossed to the sideboard. 

“What are Mum and Dad doing in there?”  Viola asked him in a whisper, meeting him at the sideboard and looking at the door to Jonah’s study suspiciously.

Grey got himself a tumbler and reached for Jonah’s best scotch.  “Fucking, probably.”  He answered in a bored sort of deadpan.

Viola’s scowl was more fearsome than his own.  “No.”  She said adamantly.

Grey studied his little sister for a moment.  On most days such a supposition would have elicited a laugh from her and encouraged her to one-up his outrageous claim with something more revolting like: ‘yeah, she’s probably making him lick her asshole while she takes his cock down her throat.’

It was something they did.  Sort of a gross-out game of chicken, and they’d play until one of them couldn’t take it anymore.  Grey usually won, by virtue of having more world experience and having a wider vocabulary of filth to draw upon, but Viola could hold her own.  The trick was to distance yourself from the fact that they were your parents, or real people at all, and just try not to visualize it too clearly.  As soon as you thought of the actual people involved it was all over.  They did it with all sorts of people, not just their parents.  The best was perverted imaginings about Granny Calder and her Bull Mastiff, Rufus.

“Why not?” He challenged, carefully pouring about two fingers into his tumbler.  “They fuck like horny teenagers all the time.”  He reasoned.  “No offense.”  He added with a smirk.

Viola opened her mouth for what Grey expected was a biting retort but then she seemed to swallow it whole.  “What did she want with you?”  She asked, veering away from the game completely.

He replaced the stopper on the decanter and shrugged, a little disappointed that his baby sister wasn’t in the mood to be a good sport.  He was feeling the need to be particularly outrageous after that awkwardly emotional tete-a-tete in the study.  “She wanted to give me an engagement ring for Maggie.”  He answered honestly.  He didn’t trust any of his other sisters farther than he could shove them, but he’d always liked Viola, and she’d always proven to be a true blue confidant.

“No shit.”

“Yup.”  He said and breathed in the smoky, stinging scent of the scotch.

“Where’d she get it?”

He sipped.  “Fucking Vaughan Grey.”  He answered with all the loathing he felt.  He turned toward the room at large and sat on the sideboard, crossing his long legs out in front of him.

Viola’s face changed and she looked again at the door. “Poor Dad.”  She said heavily.

Grey nodded absently and ran his tongue over his teeth and gums, savoring the feeling of the scotch on the inside of his mouth.  “She’s kept it for me all these years.”  He said with a mirthless laugh.  “She can’t even hide a fucking Christmas present.”

“You didn’t take it right?” Viola kept her eyes on the door.

“Nah.”  He answered.  “Fucking thing was grotesque anyway.  Liz Taylor huge.”

Viola glanced at him, trying to decide if he was joking.  When she read that he was not, her eyebrows rose quite high.  “I’m surprised she doesn’t wear it, then.”

Grey bristled.  He liked Viola.  Alot.  But in the last couple years they seemed to clash often over their differing opinions regarding their mother.  He tried not to get too prickly about it.  He knew he was more protective than other sons were where their mothers are concerned, and he knew Viola was a teenage girl and thus biologically designed to hate her mother.  So, as often as possible he tried to avoid an out-and-out conflict.  She was the only sister he liked enough to bother having conversations with and he’d rather not jeopardize the only thing that made attending family functions partway bearable.

“I bet she wears it when she jerks him off—he seems like a masochist doesn’t he?”

Viola again ignored the bait.  “Can I have some?”  She asked, eying his scotch.

Grey glanced at the still-closed study door, and then to the next most likely to disapprove, but Avalon was busy searching through Jonah’s old record collection, with the attentive aid of her goody-two-shoes fiancée.  Maggie was engrossed in some story the twins were regaling her with, so Grey quirked his lips in a mischievous smile and handed the drink to his little sister.

“Be careful.”  He cautioned as she lifted it to her lips.

Her violet eyes widened and her eyebrow crinkled in a question.

“Drinking scotch always makes a person want to eat pussy.”

The light in her eyes danced with amusement and she took a sip despite her wide smile.

He watched her eyes water as she swallowed and her face scrunch up and twist in her uncontrollable reaction to the stuff.  He couldn’t help chuckling as he prized the tumbler from her fingers.

“Holy fucking shit.”  She gasped, smacking her lips and blinking rapidly.

“Yeah.” Grey responded, taking a sip and savoring the tingle and the smoke of it.

“How the fuck does anyone drink that?!”  She marveled, opening her mouth as if she expected to breathe fire like some storybook dragon.  “I can’t believe Dad drinks that.”  She said, clearly in awe.

Grey shrugged.  “Maybe he enjoys feeling like eating pussy.”

Viola blushed and Grey raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise.  Heaven knew he’d said a lot worse of their father when playing gross-out chicken, (one of his favorites involved a rusty trombone, a banana and a Cincinnati Bowtie) and Viola rarely batted an eyelash, giving almost as good as she got.  Why the girlish blush now, about something so mundane as oral?

“Can you sneak me a rum drink?”  She rushed, and he entertained the idea but the study door opened and their parents returned to the little party, ruining Viola’s chance at spicing up her evening. 

“Sorry kid.”  He said with an easy shrug.  “Next time.”  Grey took a long swallow of Scotch, felt his nose and lips twitch in response, and then commanded his legs to go join the rest of the family.  He stood and stretched. Jesus fucking Christ, how the fuck had this all happened?

“Hey Grey.”  Viola whispered, and he turned.  “This mean you’re going to bring your wife back to the cottage and eat her out?”

It was Grey’s turn to blush.  About something so mundane as oral.

“Touché.”  He responded, pushing his shoulders back and quickly looking away.  She’d got him. 

Well-fucking-played.

The Dinner; Part 9 (redux)

Welp. Because I already spilled the beans with this one I'm just going to throw it up there again. You might already have it in your e-mail, if you get these e-mailed to you. It will be the same thing, so disregard if you have already read it already.

But if not, then ENJOY! Crazy ass Velvet Delaney! Awwwwww!

***************

“I have some gifts for the newlyweds.”  Velvet breathed, giddy and tremulous.  Around her in the living room her family seemed to be enjoying the out-of-season strawberry shortcake and desert wine.  It had been a lovely evening. 

She’d thought her heart would positively melt when Grey’d kissed his bride for them all.  She hadn’t seen the couple behave very demonstratively, Velvet thought maybe Catholics forbade public displays of affection, and to see the tenderness and warmth he’d put into the kiss, and to see the clear adoration in Maggie’s face when she’d gazed up at him, oh, Velvet just couldn’t take how happy she was feeling tonight!

“Gifts?”  Grey asked around a mouthful of strawberries.

“This evening has been gift enough—“  Maggie hurried.  “Really, you’ve been so generous already—“

Velvet tittered and waved a hand dismissively.  “We love you both so much!”

Maggie and Grey met eyes and seemed to be communicating silently.  Velvet took the time to seek out her own husband’s eyes.  He was frowning across the room at Viola, at something the girl had done or said.

“Jonah?”  Velvet called lightly.

He looked over sharply.  “Yes Dear?”

Velvet smiled.  “The gifts.”

He took a second or two before understanding dawned.  “Ah, yes.”  He said, placing his bowl of shortcake on a side table and standing to join her by the hearth.

“Mum, Dad, really—“ Grey began, but Velvet cut him off.

“The first one is for Maggie.”  She said warmly, lifting a carefully wrapped rectangular box from the wide surface of the mantle and crossing to where Grey and Maggie were seated on the loveseat. 

She wanted to give the girl space to open the gift but didn’t want to take her eyes off her for a second, so she walked backwards all the way back to Jonah.

With the gift in her lap Maggie handed her bowl to Grey, who took it dutifully and deposited both their desserts onto the coffee table. 

Velvet watched Maggie carefully peel the tape from the wrapping paper and ease the parcel open to reveal the handsomely bound photo album.  The girl’s face was serious and maybe faintly puzzled.

“Open it up.”  Encouraged Velvet excitedly.  “I put it together for you while you two were upstate.”

Maggie’s eyes lifted to Velvet’s and she gave a shy smile before returning her gaze to the non-descript leather volume in her lap.  Gently, carefully, as if it were made of gossamer, the girl lifted the front cover open and became very still.

“There’s an inscription—“  Velvet pressed, her enthusiasm making her bounce on the balls of her feet just a little.  She felt a hand on her waist and turned to see Jonah’s kind smile.  With an answering smile she allowed him to pull her close. 

The room was quiet as Maggie read the inscription silently, and Grey craned his neck to read over her shoulder.  “Mum.”  He said softly.

“Mrs. Delaney—“ Maggie added, finishing just after Grey.  Maggie looked up and Velvet was sure the girl’s eyes were filling with tears, which in turn caused her own eyes to well.

“What is it?”  Viola demanded, a little flippant.

“A photo album.”  Jonah responded, when Velvet wasn’t able to.

“Of what?”  Genny asked, trying to peer over the coffee table.

“Me.”  Said Grey in a peculiar voice.  Then he laughed.  “Best present anyone could ask for.” He joked.

Even Velvet laughed.  Maggie was the only one who hadn’t so much as cracked a smile.  The girl was engrossed, turning pages slowly, reverently, devouring each picture with her eyes, her expression shuttered and somber.

“Do you think she likes it?”  Velvet whispered to Jonah.  Her husband’s eyes softened as he watched Maggie and Grey on the loveseat for a moment.  Grey was quietly adding narrative to some of the pictures, explaining  ‘That’s my first day of kindergarten’ or ‘That’s when I got my first bike—“  and “That’s Granny Calder—you’ll meet her soon enough.”

“I think that album means more to her than you know sweetheart.”  He said cryptically and then kissed her forehead with a tiny sigh.

“Oh there’s one in here of you and me Ben.”  Grey said with a laugh.  “On that goddamn boyscout camping trip where you fell into the river.”

“I believe I was pushed, if I recall correctly.”  Ben said with a short laugh.

Avalon got up from where she’d been perched on the arm of Ben’s seat and crossed around behind the loveseat to see the picture.  “I hope Grace does one of these for me.”  She said wistfully.

“Maybe you could drop a hint, Mrs. Delaney?” Ben smiled at her.

Velvet grinned back.  “Velvet.”  She gently reminded the boy.  “I’ll tell her all about it at lunch on Saturday.” She promised.  “And maybe I can persuade Hector to find some of your childhood photos too Maggie.”

Maggie dragged her eyes off the album and smiled wistfully.  “This is beautiful, and so very thoughtful.  Thank you.”

“And there’s something else.”  Jonah said, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing an envelope.  “When you were all young, your mother and I set aside money for you, for the occasion of your wedding or your college graduations.”  He cleared his throat.  “And, well, here we are.”  He smiled.

“It’s for a house.”  Velvet announced, unable to keep her tongue in check.

Maggie’s eyes were so wide it looked as if she’d seen a cartoon ghost.  Grey’s eyes, however, were narrowed and sharp.  Velvet watched her son rise from the loveseat, careful not to disturb the photo album on Maggie’s lap, and cross wordlessly to Jonah. 

When Jonah had handed the envelope to Grey and Grey’d opened it to read the amount on the check, Velvet witnessed a puzzling exchange of glances between the two men. 

“This is a large sum of money, Dad.”  Grey said in a tight voice.

“I suppose it is.” Jonah responded casually.

“And this has been there the whole time?  Just sitting somewhere?  With my name on it?”

Velvet blinked.  What was going on?

“Your mother and I wanted to set something aside for all of you, to help you start your adult lives when the time came.”  Jonah explained slowly, and Velvet got the sense that something was going on beneath the surface.

“Sorry to ruin the surprise Ava and Ben!”  Velvet laughed sweetly, glancing briefly at her daughter and her fiancé before letting her eyes go to where they felt drawn as if by magnets: to the strangely tense exchange between her husband and son.

“Well this is fantastic.”  Grey said in an expressionless tone.

“We hope it helps.”  Jonah said softly.

Velvet thought Grey’s face twisted into something angry and spiteful, and she shivered a little at how much he looked like Vaughan.  But then he was smiling pleasantly, and Velvet was able to push the image of the boy’s father from her mind.  “You’re far too generous.”

“We hope you’ll buy or build around here!”  She told him, wrapping him in a hug.  “I need to see you privately.”  She whispered in his ear as he returned the hug.

He nodded as he pulled out of the hug and then shook Jonah’s hand firmly.  “I really wasn’t expecting anything like this.”  He told his father, a hard edge to his otherwise charming cadence.

“And this week we’ll see about freeing up your trust, if possible.  Now you’re a family man.”  He smiled across the room at Maggie, who wore an almost pained expression.

“Maggie, I’m sure everyone will want to peek at that photo album with you-  they’re all in it too!”  Velvet said brightly.

The room buzzed with conversation and stories and Velvet pulled Jonah aside.  “What was that all about?”

Jonah blinked.  “You know Grey—“  He pressed his lips into a line.  “He’s always on me about freeing up more money from his trust.”

He wasn’t telling her the truth.  Not all of it, or not exactly.  Velvet quite literally didn’t know how to respond.  She’d never known Jonah to be evasive like this.   Should she confront him?  Because it was very clear to her that he was dodging.  “Jonah?”

He swallowed and forced a smile.  “Let’s just celebrate this perfect evening you’ve put together for us all.”

Velvet studied him for a long moment before deciding to drop it.  She’d think about it later.  Right now she had something very important to do. “I’m going to do it now.”  She told him and he took both her hands in his and squeezed gently.

“Want me to come?”  He asked softly, lifting her left hand to his lips and placing a soft kiss on the delicate skin there.

“Maybe come rescue us if we’re gone too long?”  She giggled half-heartedly.

He kissed her ring finger where her wedding band rested against her knuckle.  “Good luck, then.”  He said heavily, and let her go.

She made a little hand motion to Grey, who’d seemed to be waiting for her, and headed toward Jonah’s study, feeling tense and excited, and nervous and bittersweet.  She couldn’t believe this day had finally come.

The Dinner; Part 8.5?

Yeah. Whoops. I fucked up. 

I'm not actually sure if any of you even saw it, but I mis-posted late last night. I accidentally skipped one of the dinner scenes. So I've deleted the one I posted (the horror!), and am posting the correct one now. But I'mma call it 8.5 just in case any of you read 9 before I deleted it. I will re-post 9 tomorrow.

Sheesh. No one cares, right?

Anyway. Here's the REAL next vignette for The Dinner!

Enjoy!

*****************

Jonah felt tired and tense and distinctly like a court jester treading a fine, fickle line between pleasing the tyrant king and stepping a toe into the murky area that could lose him his head.

Throughout dinner he was constantly blunting Velvet’s more innocently pointed questions to the couple about living arrangements, honeymoon escapades, how Grey’d proposed, why they’d decided on elopement, and their plans for a family; good God, it might have been comical if he’d been watching from the outside.  It was as if she were blithely and blindly probing directly into the couple’s secret, into the truth behind their sudden nuptials.

And when it wasn’t Velvet’s innocent but accurate probing it was Avalon’s barbed comments and deliberate baiting of her brother that Jonah had to contend with.  His sweet, even-keeled daughter had entered his home this evening on the war-path and he had to admit he felt ill-equipped to handle her at present.  She was behaving like a jealous harpy, and no matter how often he’d diffuse one of her loaded little passive-aggressive comments, she’d charge again with another uncharitable, unfriendly gem.  He was embarrassed that Miss Ramirez was meeting his family like this.

And of course there was Grey’s barely concealed animosity toward him, his resentment at being shackled into this loveless marriage and the fact that he placed the blame squarely on Jonah’s shoulders.  There wasn’t much remedy for that but patience, he supposed, patience and a commitment to helping the boy out any and every other way he could.  He still wasn’t confident that Grey wouldn’t go to Velvet with what he suspected about that awful weekend two weeks prior.  So he’d dedicated himself to playing the part of referee this evening, doing his part to steer conversation toward calmer waters when threatened by the gorgon to his right or by the unwitting siren song of his doe-eyed wife at the opposite end of the table. 

He’d ask about Maggie’s plans for school, Grey’s opinion on the new appliance line; he’d asked about Mr. Ramirez and the restaurant and about Maggie’s younger sister—a topic which proved to be a good detour, one that allowed Velvet to spring off into multiple innocuous tangents, such as: had Maggie had a quinceanos party? And maybe both families could get together for one huge wedding celebration in honor of Grey and Maggie and in order to get acquainted! Of course the last comment had prompted Avalon to suddenly need something from the kitchen and she hadn’t come back for quite some time.

Through it all the twins remained unflaggingly positive and buoyant, and Ben Sinclair proved to be upbeat and kind as well, and Jonah gave silent thanks for having them all at the table.

And then there was Viola.  Who’d seated herself next to him.  Who insisted on moving her knee against his and searching for his foot with her own under the table.  Who pulled her top lower and lower over the course of the meal and who insisted on trying to use her sister’s fiancé as a prop in her little burlesque designed to make him insane with jealousy.  The result was surprisingly effective and he chided himself for it.  Especially because he took one look at poor Ben Sinclair and could really only pity him, so uncomfortable and trapped did he look by the fifteen-year-old’s maneuvering and manhandling.

At one point Jonah pretended to drop his napkin so that he could get close enough to his daughter to send her a discreet but definite warning.  “I want you to stop what you’re doing to your sister’s fiancé, young lady, I want you to stop it and begin to behave yourself like you should.”

It had worked.  In part.  She layed off Ben, which was nice because it freed the boy up to chat with Maggie, and Jonah believed Maggie appreciated the perspective of the only other ‘new addition’ to the Delaney clan.  However, for whatever reason, Viola had interpreted Jonah’s words as a command to pay all due attention on him.  She lavished him with her interest.  She behaved in the cloying, suffocating manner of a teacher’s pet, or worse, like she believed herself to be a geisha or a harem girl. 

Jonah was very glad there was so much going on at the table, so many conversations serving as distraction, that hardly anyone spared Viola a glance all night.

Her foot games became more ardent, and more than once he’d felt a hand below the table, groping around for him.  He’d spent most of dinner twisted awkwardly in his seat to avoid physical contact with her, accidental and otherwise, and by desert he had a pinching ache in his back from the unnatural contortion.

And her eyes rarely left his face.  She laughed heartily at all his jokes, nodded sycophantically while he told anecdotes about Grey’s childhood, her fingers moved suggestively on her utensils, she called attention to her lips and mouth while she ate and the result had Jonah’s stomach churning with nausea and his plate remained largely untouched.

And when dinner was done and Velvet suggested they take desert in the living room while Jonah tended to the clean-up, Viola jumped to volunteer herself as his helper. 

Just as he was ready to fall to his knees and accept whatever punishment the gods had to dole out, rather than put himself in temptation again, rather than allow himself to be alone in the kitchen with her again, to his enormous surprise Avalon ousted her little sister from the job, insisting that she help their father instead.

“Go help Mum with the shortcake.”  She commanded bossily while doggedly gathering up half-empty serving dishes from the diningroom table.  “I need to talk to Dad.”  He heard her hiss when her younger sister whined and needled.

“Fine.” Huffed his youngest before turning on her heel and stomping toward the living room in a temper.

When she was out of sight Jonah felt himself breathe deeply for the first time in hours and the sudden expanding of his lungs caused him to feel dizzy.  He leaned heavily over the table and closed his eyes.

“Dad?”

“I’m fine.”  He said, his lips slack, his voice ragged.

“No you’re not—“  She crossed to him and he felt her small hand on his back. 

He smiled.  And wanted to cry with relief.  It felt like a hand.  Just a hand. It felt familial and harmless and completely unremarkable in any way.  Thank heaven.  He’d begun to fear… had been careful to avoid most physical contact with not just Viola but all of them, just in case.  A peck on the cheek here and there, and otherwise he’d been completely reserved in his normal comfortable expression of affection.

“I am, I’m fine, I just, I think I’m coming down with a cold or something.”  He assured her, gesturing to his barely eaten dinner.

She kept her hand there, on his back, until he pulled himself to standing and met her eyes with a reassuring smile.

“You sure you’re ok?”  She asked, unable to conceal the deep concern in her eyes, despite her admirably controlled expression. 

“Thank you Honey, yes.”  He answered and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.  He could have crowed with relief at how natural it felt.  How paternal. 

Why in God’s name, or whosever name, couldn’t he manage this with Vi?  He felt another wave of nausea threaten to spill up and out and he swallowed hard against it. 

They moved around the table in opposite directions, she gathering up stemware, and he piling plates.  Avalon couldn’t stand touching people’s used plates, she never had been able to manage the chore without gagging.  They made their first trip into the kitchen in silence, deposited their first load of dinner cargo without a word, and didn’t break the quiet until their second trip in, arms laden with more detritus from their excessively elaborate dinner party.

“She made enough to feed three times the guests here tonight.” Jonah commented with a fond smile.  He loved his wife.  He loved her idiosyncrasies and her adorable excesses and her unswerving commitment to splendid hostess-ing.

“Dad, I’m really sorry about before.”  Avalon said in a less-than-steady voice.

He looked up from his task of scraping leftover morsels into the compost bin and stared at his eldest daughter for a long moment.

“I am too.”  He admitted.

She took a breath and hesitated.

“What’s really bothering you honey?”  He asked gently, resuming his task to take the pressure off her, allowing her time to find her breath and choose her words.

“Grey, I guess.”  She answered.

Jonah pursed his lips thoughtfully and reached for another plate to scrape.  “No, I don’t think that’s it, not entirely.”  He responded, sounding like a scientist pondering a riddle.

“He’s always pulling stunts like this—“  She qualified and he nodded in agreement.

“He does tend toward dramatic gestures.”  He allowed with a weak smile.

“And right before Ben and I are getting married?!”  She began loading the stemware into the dishwasher, needing, like Jonah did, to keep her hands busy with a task.

“Hmmm.”  Commented Jonah pensively.  “I think we’re getting warmer.”  He told her, pulling another plate toward the compost bin.  “What does Grey’s elopement have to do at all with your wedding to Ben?”  He asked gently.

“Errrrr!”  She responded exasperatedly.

Jonah chuckled softly.  “Ava-Bird, you can’t let other people’s actions determine the worth and measure of your own, you know this.”

Having finished the stemware she moved to the pantry to retrieve storage containers for the leftovers.  Jonah always marveled at how Avalon could manage to handle leftovers from serving dishes but couldn’t be persuaded to even so much as look overlong at leftovers on a person’s plate. 

“But now that’s all people will be thinking about at my wedding, about Grey, and his pretty new bride, and how shocking it all was and blah blah blah.” 

Jonah stacked the cleared plates neatly and closed the lid of the bin.  “You have no control over other people.”  He told her as he’d told her a thousand times over the course of her young life.  “All you can control is yourself, and how you respond.”

She lidded the carrots and sighed.  “I don’t feel very in-control over anything anymore.”  She confessed, her lower lip trembling just barely.

He knew how she felt more than he was at liberty to reveal.  “Well, know this: Nobody will be thinking much about Grey and Maggie at your wedding, or about anything else for that matter, because even if this wedding weren’t going to be the biggest event in ten years—“  She rolled her eyes and laughed a little, “Even if you were just getting married in a field somewhere, with no fancy dress and without the flowers and harp music and the five course meal, Avalon—“  He waited until she met his eyes, “Honey, everyone will be captivated by the beauty and love that will be shining from you and the man you love.”  Her face crumbled a bit.  “You understand me?”  He pressed.  “As long as you two are happy and committed and willing to share your love with all your guests, then it wouldn’t matter if a supernova exploded over our heads, all eyes will be on you, all hearts will be with you.  Get it?”

“You’re a romantic.”  She said quellingly.  “You might be sappier than Mum.”

He chuckled.  “I’m a million times worse than your mother.”  He said with a wink, moving to load the plates into the dishwasher when a very peculiar thing occurred.

Avalon began to cry.

Jonah froze.  He was temporarily at a loss.  He hadn’t seen Avalon cry since she’d fallen off the balance beam in high school and broken her ankle.  But there she was, standing in his kitchen, weakly spooning potatoes into a plastic container, and sobbing quietly.

He’d be hard pressed to say who looked more shocked, his daughter or himself.  He shook himself and deposited the plates on the counter as quickly and safely as he could and he went to her.

“I’m sorry!”  She said, obviously mortified at her unexpected condition.

“No, no, no, don’t apologize.”  He laughed, pulling her close.  It was actually something of a relief to see her cry.  Sort of like witnessing a freak occurrence of nature, like comet or a flash flood.  It was humanizing.  Startling, sure, but deeply revealing.  “Shhhhh, shhhh.”  He said, unable to stop chuckling.

“Why are you laughing?!?!”  She choked-out, finally abandoning her half-hearted attempt at storing potatoes and collapsing into his chest, racked with sobs.

“I’m sorry,”  He laughed as he rocked her, “Where’s this coming from?”  He asked her lightly, but she only sobbed harder.  “Shhhh, Oh God, shhh, people are going to think I hit you or something.”  He was laughing deeply now, unable to contain his misplaced merriment.

“Da-ad!”  She wailed, and choked a laugh into his chest.

“Well?”  He demanded, patting her back soothingly and trying valiantly to control his inanity.  “What do you expect?  Someone’s going to walk in here and think I broke your other ankle or something.”

She snorted and then sobbed again weakly.  His shirt was nearly damp through already.  “Shut-up!”  She moaned miserably, but he could hear the smile pulling at her mouth.

“Seriously, what do you think Ben will do to me if he walks in and finds you like this? Hm?”  He put her at arm’s length and shook her a little, playfully.  “He’d take me outside and demand satisfaction!”

Avalon blubbered into a fit of giggles that made Jonah grin from ear to ear.  He gathered her back up against his chest and held her till her giggles and tears subsided.  When once again she was breathing almost normally and he too had calmed down from his bizarre reaction to her outburst, he decided to try again.

“So where’d all that come from?”  He murmured over the top of her head.

He felt her shake her head weakly against his chest.  “I have no clue.”  She said, sounding as if that were pretty nearly true.

Jonah was quiet for a moment, enjoying the comfort of the non-threatening, non-taboo, guiltless human contact.  Enjoying being a dad again. 

“Do you have some concerns about getting married?”  He asked as softly as he could manage and still be heard.

“No.”  She answered forcefully, and pushed against him.

He held her tighter.  “Birdie?”

“No.”  She insisted, but ceased her attempt at escaping his embrace.

“Avalon, there’s no shame at all in feeling confused—“

“Ben is perfect.”  Avalon said in response.  “I’d have to be crazy to have any doubts.”

Safely above her head he smiled sadly.  He remembered this song and dance very well.  He’d been engaged to Velvet for three years before his love had finally felt ready to marry him.  And she’d expressed similar feelings: ‘I must be crazy—you’re perfect, you and Grey are the best things in my life, I love you, I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me!’  And he’d been patient.  He’d told her there was absolutely no rush.  That he’d be ready when she was.  And it had taken getting pregnant with Avalon to make her feel ready enough to take the vows.

He didn’t doubt for a second that Ben Sinclair would display the same steadfastness and patience for Avalon.  But Avalon had walked herself right into a hugely public corner.  They were planning the damned wedding of the century, and he supposed that pressure, in addition to all the normal doubts and second-guessing, was causing his girl undue stress.

“You’re perfectly human to have doubts, Honey.”

“I bet he doesn’t.”  She said in a pouty voice.

Jonah wasn’t about to touch that one.  “Do you love him?”  He asked instead, no judgments, no recriminations, just a simple question.

“Yes.”  She answered and it rang true in his ears.

“Does he love you?”

She nodded and he heard a weak “So much.”  Against his shirt.

“If there were a JP here now would you think twice about marrying him?”

“Without a wedding?”  The pitch of her voice shot-up precariously.

“Pretend there’s no such thing as weddings.”  He stipulated.

She was quiet for a long moment.  Then she sniffed.  “I’d do it in a heartbeat.”  She answered at last.

Jonah breathed in deep and then exhaled with a smile.  He kissed the crown of her head and unwrapped his arms from around her.  “If that feels true everyday, honey bunch, then you and Ben will have a long, loving, blessed life together.”

She smiled meekly and he chucked her under the chin.  “Now I am pleased to throw you the wedding of your dreams, but don’t you think for one minute, that if it all becomes too much, that I would even bat an eye if you two ran off to Vegas and forgot about the whole shebang.”

Her expression became one of dire warning mixed with amusement.  “Don’t even put those thoughts anywhere near Ben’s head.”  She leveled.  “He already wants to fast-forward right to the honeymoon.”

Jonah felt his face flush but he didn’t comment, and even managed a mild smile.  “I am sorry about the cottage.”  He said.

She shrugged.  “I’m over it.”

He made a skeptical face and a giggle escaped her.  She never giggled like this, hadn’t since she was in maybe middle school.  It was as if she’d made a conscious effort to become a composed and dignified lady, and she’d decided giggling to be beneath her.  And crying.  And very usually profanity.

It was strangely nice to have all three displays of human foible in one evening.

“Ok.”  She admitted, rolling her eyes and wiping the wetness from under her eyes and across her cheeks.  “But I will be over it soon enough.”

He pinched her cheek lightly.  “That’s my girl.” 

With a heavy sigh he surveyed their lack of progress with the clean-up, and made a mental note of all the items that were still languishing out in the dining room.  “Tell you what.  Finish helping get the leftovers in the fridge and I’ll take care of the rest while you freshen up.”

She swiped again under her eyes and groaned.  “I don’t even wanna know.”  She said gloomily.

“You’re lovely.”  He said, his voice heartfelt.  “People always look more beautiful after they’ve had a good cleansing cry.”

She fixed him with a very condescending look.  “My God, you are worse than Mum.”