I agree with her on that one.
Jane nods. “This would have been my last choice of venue, but I didn’t want to argue with Grandmother.”
Like she was summoned out of thin fucking air, her grandmother exits from two double doors that leads to a private dining area.
Gray hair spooled into a bun and pearls on her bony neck, she meanders over with a tight smile. Before anyone can say anything, she spots Sulli’s attire. Her collarbones jut out like she sucked on helium. “Oh Sullivan, dear, did you not get the email about the dress code?”
“Got it, but I asked my dad and he told me it was fucking optional.” Sulli smiles into her next bite of pastry. In reality, her dad told her to wear what she wanted and blame it on him.
Her grandmother sighs. “Of course he did.” She swings her head to me. Jane and I rise to our feet, and I hold out my hand for her grandmother to shake.
She does. “Thatcher, so lovely to finally meet my granddaughter’s boyfriend.” She appraises me in quick once-over. “It’s nice that you could follow the dress code…considering.”
She leaves that word considering hanging in the air like a dead note.
Jane’s eyes bug. “Considering what , Grandmother?”
I shake my head. I don’t want to cause friction right now. Jane’s here to grab an apology and a promise from her grandmother. That’s it. Anything else is extraneous.
We don’t need to be on good terms.
We don’t need to be on any terms.
Grandmother Calloway snatches a flute of champagne off a server’s tray. “Jane, dear, he’s not from here,” she says. “It’s naïve to think everyone is aware of the customs of high society. That’s all.” Her eyes ping to a server carrying our two beers. “Those aren’t for us.” She waves him off with a hand.
Jane lets out an annoyed breath.
“You invited us to tea, ma’am,” I remind her grandmother. No straying . We’re in and out.
She purses her lips. “It’s polite to chat first.”
“Respectfully, ma’am, it’s also polite not to be fifteen minutes late,” I refute.
Her shoulders lock.
Sulli mumbles an uh-oh under her breath and sinks down to the leather couch, leaving the rest of us standing.
“You were late,” Jane says like she’s gearing up for battle by my side. “And you haven’t apologized for that either.”
Her grandmother narrows her eyes at Jane. They suddenly seem to soften. “You are so much like your mother.”
“I’m not her,” Jane says with a shake of her head. “If I were, I wouldn’t be standing here. You would have received one scathing voicemail and then never hear from me for at least a year. And I’ve contemplated doing that, but instead, I’d truly love to sit down and speak with you.”
“Now,” I add. “She’s busy, ma’am.”
“Very busy.” Jane smiles. “I have many more places to be.” That aren’t in a parlor with men three times her age staring at her like she’s fucking meat. Preferably where I also have a taser.
And a gun.
And my comms.
Grandmother Calloway inhales sharply. “I only reserved a table for you and your new boyfriend and myself. I’d hoped we could get some private time to address our issues.”
“Oh, fuck, no problem,” Sulli says, dropping crumbs into her shirt. Jane and her share a smile. “I can just sit right here and eat some more of these non-cupcakes and non-donuts.” She looks to Akara like she might go hang with him and Banks.
Grandmother Calloway touches Sulli’s shoulder. “Another time, dear. Tell your mother to call. I haven’t spoken with her in a while.”
“I’ll pass it along,” Sulli says.
Grandmother Calloway looks from Jane to me. “Follow me.”
* * *
Ten minutes. I clocked it. From the minute we sat down at the private table to the minute we stood up to leave. And all ten minutes felt like a brutal underhanded rag on me.
“I’m so sorry,” Jane apologizes for the tenth time. She sits on the rung of a vintage wooden ladder. We’ve slipped into a small wine closet before we head back to the parlor. Shelves and racks of wine reaching at least ten feet high.
I cross my arms over my chest. My coat tight on my muscles. “Don’t be sorry, honey.”
She stares at me a second longer.
I continue, “It wasn’t that bad.”
Her eyes enlarge. “She brought out escargot just to see if you knew how to eat it. And don’t get me started on quizzing you about your education.”
Her grandmother asked if I went to Wharton.
When I said no she started listing a bunch of Ivy Leagues and asking about those.
It took a while before Jane could cut in and tell her what needed to be said. That she shouldn’t have done something that involved Jane’s personal life without Jane’s permission. That if anything like this happens to her siblings or cousins, there will be hell to pay.
Jane was firm.
Resolute.
And she even got a half-hearted I’m sorry from her grandmother. I’d take all the fucking underhanded comments about where I’m from and how I don’t fit into high society just to see and hear all of that over again.
But I also understand Jane feels like she didn’t protect me in the process. I’m really the last person that needs shields or handrails. Grandmother Calloway can throw underhanded comments my way, all day long. As long as she’s not pulling shit on Jane, I’m fine.
That’s all there is to it.
My eyes sink into Jane’s. “I can handle your grandmother.” I was polite. I didn’t raise my voice. Didn’t wish for my taser but only once . And that was in my head, so no fault there. “And,” I continue. “I’m glad you did this. She needed to hear all of that shit as much as I think you needed to say it to her.”
She nods. “I think so, too.”
I hold out a hand. She stares at my opened palm and her lips upturn. “Merci.” She takes my hand and rises off the ladder to her feet.
“So we’re in agreement,” she says into a stronger breath. “No regrets.”
“None here.”
She smiles brighter and adjusts her purse on her hip. “The best part is that she’s already disinvited to Christmas, so I won’t have to see her for a good while.”
“Whose call was that?”
“My mom’s,” she says into a wider grin. “But that decision was actually made back during Greece. For what she said to Maximoff and Farrow.”
Good. I think most of the family will be happier with a Grandmother Calloway free zone for the foreseeable future. It won’t change anything with security. We’ll still keep tabs on her in case she decides to go rogue again.
Jane and I shift nearer. I slide my hand along the small of her back, and her breath shallows as she tucks hers into my back pocket. We thread together.
This close in the small closet, I can smell her shampoo. Spring. Flowers.
It’s intoxicating.
“We are just two people in a wine closet with zero regrets,” Jane whispers. We stare at one another for a
silent moment. Fuck it. I lean down and kiss her. Lips swelling beneath mine. She stands on her tiptoes, and then I pick her up to lessen the strain on both of us. More eyelevel. Lips lined up.
I suck on the bottom of hers.
Her breath catches in her throat, and her fingers tighten in my hair. But it’s her thighs that squeeze around me that causes my cock to beg for her.
“Thatcher,” she breathes my name in my ear like honey dripping down flesh.
I press my mouth to her neck. She moans a little.
Christ.
I pull back just to meet her eyes. I have to be direct. “I’m going to set you down,” I tell her. “Because if we keep kissing, I’m going to put my cock in you.”
Flush dots her cheeks. “That sounds pleasant…”
“Jane.”
“I meant to say, pleasant and something we can do later at our scheduled hour.” She smiles and pats my chest. “You may set me down.” Our scheduled hour: tonight . Couldn’t come fast enough.
It takes all my energy to drop her to her feet. But I’m aware that we tend to go overboard when we start making out like this. Too insatiable. Too hungry for each other’s bodies.
Her ballet flats hit the floor and she lets out a deeper breath. I wait for her to adjust her clothes. She pulls up her pants that slipped below her love handles.
When she meets my eyes, I ask, “Good to go?”
“Oui.”
I’m still careful when I open the door. I crack it first, just out of precaution.
Two voices filter in. Clear like they’re standing right outside. It doesn’t much matter if they see us. The public thinks we’re dating. I’m about to open it wider, but I stop when I hear her name.
“Jane Cobalt is here,” the woman says. Her voice is gravel like she’s been smoking too many cigars.
“I saw,” another woman says. “Can’t believe she’s narrating romance books when she went to Princeton for math. Girl is wasting her degree.”
“Seriously, why did she even go to school?” The voices drift off until they’re no longer audible.
I turn around to see Jane rolling her eyes.
“You okay?” I ask.