At the restaurant, they waited in a discreet corner as the maître d’ readied their table, both of them ignoring the pointed attention from the other guests. At least Roz hadn’t stiffened up like she had at the florist. He’d consider that a win.
Wedding plans. That was a good subject. Surely they could talk about that. He waited until they’d both taken their seats and he’d given the waiter their wine preference.
“So. You’re going to hang out with my mom once a week now?”
She lifted a brow. “That’s really bothering you, isn’t it?”
Apparently. And now it was evident to them both. He bit back a curse.
When was the last time his mom had asked him to lunch? Ages ago. Not since the photograph had hit the news. She’d been really upset. But it had all blown over after he’d agreed to marry Roz—he’d thought.
And look, here he was in a restaurant with Roz. Engaged. That had been a major feat to pull off. People were noticing them together and a waiter had even taken a discreet picture with his phone that would likely make the rounds with some positive press attached. Surely Helene could appreciate all of the steps Hendrix had taken toward legitimizing his relationship with Roz so that his mom’s political opponents wouldn’t have any fodder to lob at her via the press.
Now would be a great time to stop sulking and get back to the reason he was torturing himself with a stunning companion whom he would not be taking to bed later. They hadn’t even scored a dimly lit booth, which was good. And bad.
“This is the part where you’re supposed to back me into the kitchen and stick your hands all over my body so I can have something else to focus on besides the stuff in my head,” he informed her.
“I would if that would help.” She eyed him nonchalantly. “But I’m pretty sure that only works on me. Instead, why don’t you tell me why you’re so threatened by the idea of me having lunch with your mom?”
Lazily, he sipped his wine to cover the panic that had uncurled in his stomach. The alcohol didn’t help. “Threatened is a strong word.”
And so correct. How dare she be the one to figure that out when he hadn’t? The back of his neck flashed hot. That was a big wake-up call.
He’d never in a million years expected that getting married would mean he’d have to share his mother with someone. It had been the two of them for so long, and they?
??d become even more of a unit as he’d grown into adulthood, made even stronger after Uncle Peter had died. His reaction was pure selfishness and he didn’t feel like apologizing for it all at once.
“Then you tell me what would be a better word,” she said.
No quarter. If he wasn’t already feeling pushed against a wall, her cool insistence would have put him there. “Curious.”
Her small smile said she had his number and she’d be perfectly within her rights to call him on his complete lie. Pissed off and tense would be more applicable. Which was dumb. What, was he actually worried that Roz was going to steal his mother from him?
“Curious about why on earth two women who don’t know each other and will soon share the same last name could possibly want to have lunch?” She watched him over the rim of her glass as she sipped her own wine.
“You’re changing your name?” This evening was full of revelations.
“Yeah. Why not? That’s part of the deal here, right? Marrying you is my get-out-of-jail-free card. Might as well go full throttle. Make sure everyone is clear that I’m tied to the governor’s office.”
“But you’re already a Carpenter—” All at once, the conversation with her father slammed through his consciousness. Was he really that dense? Maybe being a Carpenter wasn’t all that great for her. After being treated to a glimpse of the judgment levied in her direction, it wasn’t so hard to guess why, if so. Maybe she deserved a name change.
Wow. When had he turned into such an ass?
He picked up her hand to hold it in his. Her touch bled through him, convicting him even further since she didn’t pull away. “I shouldn’t be jumping down your throat about having lunch with my mom. It’s fine. I’m glad you’re getting along.”
She nodded and the mood lightened. The restaurant he’d selected featured a highly rated chef and the meal reflected that. They ate and conversed about innocuous subjects and he relaxed about halfway through dinner.
It wasn’t until he escorted Roz to the valet stand that he realized the tension hadn’t completely fled on her side. Her back felt stiff under his fingers. Okay, he’d royally screwed up earlier if she was still uptight over the third degree he’d given her. But why had she dropped it like everything was fine? Just like a woman to nurse a grudge and not bother to say anything about it. That wasn’t going to fly.
As he pointed the car in the direction of her loft, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Silent treatment for my crimes?”
She stared out the window. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t play little-girl games with men.”
He let that simmer for a few minutes as he put a tight rein on his temper before he did something like comment on big-girl games. Nothing in his experience had prepared him to do this kind of long-term thing with a woman. And they were getting married. For the first time, it occurred to him that maybe he wasn’t marriage material, that the reason he’d shied away from relationships wasn’t solely because of the pact he’d made with Warren and Jonas, but also because he sucked at navigating emotional land mines.
But like the promise he’d made to keep his hands off her, this conversation was just as much a measure of his character. It was worth it to him to figure this out, if for no other reason than to prove he could.
He pulled over into a shadowy parking lot and killed the engine, then turned to face her. “Talk to me, Roz. You’re obviously still upset.”