“Why don’t you live here all the time?” I say to Roscoe, and he grins. “I’ll bring you here during winter and then you can ask me that question again.”
George has departed already to fetch the Ishida Holdings team, but I see Roscoe frown when he looks at the deck. There are people already on board. As we get closer, I see that it’s not members of the crew; some of the younger people have flutes of champagne in their hands and when one sees us approaching, they wave.
“It’s my family,” Roscoe says, smiling and talking at the same time so the people on board won’t suspect we’re strategizing, “Don’t stress. We’ve got this.” Giving my hand a squeeze, he slows our pace and turns to smile at me. “We would never be doing this if I did not believe in you one hundred percent, Tess. They’re just your ordinary, everyday bunch of billionaires at the end of the day.”
That makes me laugh and he bends forward to kiss my cheek. “Roscoe, don’t feed me to the lions, okay?” He shakes his head ever so slightly, “Tess, my family is normal outside of the office; we only become lions when we’re doing business.”
We walk up the gangplank and I take a flute of orange juice from the tray one of the crew is holding out to me, then I follow Roscoe to the upper deck. Here we go.
“Mom, Dad, this is Tess Jolliffe. Tess, this is my mother, Rebecca, and my father, Bryson. Where’re Mitch and Harrison?”
I shake Mr. and Mrs. Bridges’ hands and smile. That’s all I can do. They are gracious and polite and ever so slightly curious, but I can see they are willing to see where this goes. So am I.
“Your brothers are on the lower deck with Franklin and Simon. They are working out where the best places will be to watch the fireworks.” Roscoe disappears down one of the stairs to go below deck. I’m left to sip my orange juice and smile at the Bridges. Rebecca breaks the ice. “Please call me Becky. I’m no Daphne du Maurier book!” We chat about the atmospheric Gothic novel for a few minutes before Bryson Bridges interrupts during a lull in the conversation. “What do you do, Tess?”
“I’ll keep it short and sweet, Mr. Br-”
“Please, call me Bryson.”
“Thank you, Bryson. I was working at twenty-seven…” I had learned from Roscoe that everyone in the family refers to their buildings by numbers according to the sequence they were built. RB1 is the first building Roscoe erected; Bridges Investments is the twenty-seventh structure Bryson Bridges built, “…and I met Roscoe during the new staff member interface. I took the opportunity to show him my design portfolio,” I gesture down at the dress I’m wearing, “and he liked it and asked if he could back me. Then we started dating.”
Roscoe is back by my side. “It was a whirlwind courtship, Mom and Dad, exactly like the one you guys had, and now we’re engaged. But keep that info close to your chests because we don’t want the news of our engagement tainting Tess’s collection launch.”
Bryson and Becky stand stupefied for a moment, then they raise their glasses and toast us in hushed voices. I can see Becky has tears of joy in her eyes and I feel bad for lying to such a sweet lady. Bryson hugs me and Becky holds my hand so tight, my fingertips go red. I show her the ring around my neck and she recognizes Justin’s workmanship immediately. She pulls me over to the loungers by the pool. “Let’s talk about venues and planners, Tess. You’ll create your own dress, of course? What type of publicity do you want once the date of the wedding goes public? When is this launch of yours? Why are you worried about your relationship going public? Look at how it benefited Georgina Chapman! We should, at least, get the engagement party out of the way first.”
Neither Roscoe nor I could have foreseen how thrilled a wedding would make his mother. Now I’m seriously regretting my duplicity. I should have been the one to recognize how happy Becky would be at this news. A woman with no daughters, of course she longs for the day when she can have a daughter-in-law to dress up and spoil. What a sweetheart.
Mitchell and Harrison come up to the top deck which puts an end to all the wedding talk. All Roscoe’s brothers know me as their eldest brother’s new date. They shake my hand with the laid-back attitude I’ve come to associate with the Bridges boys, and we chat about the Japanese delegation and golf.
“Do you mind me asking, Becky,” I say, “how did you and Bryson decide on names for your sons?”
Bryson allows his wife to answer my question and I am blown away by how in sync they are with one another, neither of them dominates the other, both seem to enjoy fielding the conversation back and forth like the perfect game of tennis. It’s heartwarming to see.
“Each boy got a family surname as a name, because it’s a family tradition that Bryson’s mother, Mary Bryson-Bridges, started. My maiden name was Rebecca Ross and my father’s construction company was called Ross Co. So, that explains Roscoe. Bryson’s grandmother was Geraldine Harrison, and my mother was Deidre Mitchell, hence Mitch and Harry’s names. What will you call your children? You must have a few names in mind?”
I’m reeling. Every single surname belongs to a famous heiress and high society dame. Frankly, I’m astonished why no one in the Bridges family has managed to snag a Kennedy or a Rothschild before. Fortunately for me, the Japanese visitors arrive before I have to pull some baby names off the top of my head. This is harder than I imagined. The Bridges keep such tight control over their public profiles that their names don’t appear on rich list bios or wealth publications. They operate strictly under company names and leave their egos out of it. No Most Eligible Bachelor Lists for the Bridges sons either. I can see why Roscoe needed to make an adjustment in his secret billionaire playboy lifestyle when Mr. Ishida found out about it. Becky leads me over to our guests and I can see that Ishida-san is sold when he clocks the Bridges’ approval of me.
Becky won’t let me leave her side. I get the feeling that she’s loving having some female companionship. I refuse all the drinks and stick to my orange juice. I see that Roscoe has ordered the wait crew to tip a tiny teaspoon of sake into his cup whenever he has to toast, so I guess he’s feeling the pressure to keep a straight head too. Bryson is on pain meds and leaves the toasting to his sons and guests. He comes to lie down on the sun lounger next to us, but when Becky asks him to renew his sunscreen application, he heaves a sigh and says he’ll be more comfortable in the cabin, and that we mustn’t worry about him. Becky smiles as she watches him go. “The back surgery really took it out of him. Those damn meds are so strong! We have a specialist on call to make sure he doesn’t get hooked on the wretched stuff.” Then she turns back to look at me. “It’s funny how fate works isn’t it, Tess? If it wasn’t for Bryson’s back surgery, you would have never met Roscoe. It would have been Bryson at the meet and greet interface. But I can tell that Bryson would have loved your designs and offered to back you too. Now, when can I come and tour your father’s warehouses? I’ve always wanted to see fabrics at the source.”
The captain announces fifteen minutes to lunch and I leave to go visit the restroom. I always carry a tube of BB cream around with me in my bag and smear some on my face, but it’s already too late. My cheekbones and nose are tinted pink from the sun. It takes a few minutes to tie up my hair, some strands are damp with perspiration and cling to my neck and shoulders like flattened gold coils. I turn my head from side to side: I look acceptable; just the right amount of casual elegance. Then I untie the swirly floor length wrap skirt and reveal the pretty little summer frock underneath. It’s so hot outside, and I want to get a bit of sun on my legs to match my face.
I get lost on my way back to the deck and get even more lost when I think I should go directly to the dining section. One of the windows overlooking the portside of the yacht is open. I hear Mitch, Harrison, and Roscoe discussing the terms of the Japanese deal inside, but I freeze when I hear my name.
“Did you debrief Tess about Japanese business etiquette beforehand, Roscoe? She seems to know her way around Eastern-Western culture and customs very well.”
“No, Harry, she just knows. Her father gets some of his silk imports from there.”
A short laugh, then Mitch’s voice. “Screw debriefing her etiquette, bro. Have you debriefed her in the bedroom yet? She’s not your normal type, is she? You go for a revolving door policy with the tall, lanky models, don’t you?”
Harry butts in, “No, you’re forgetting he also goes for film stars with big fake boobies, and remember those two lingerie models from South America? It’s usually a strict one-night only with you, Roscoe, just like those off-Broadway productions! How did you find a female to last long enough for you to introduce her as a proper girlfriend?”
Mitch again. “Oh yeah, I want to know how she’s outlasted your three-strikes rule. Did she drop from heaven into your bed as the answer to your prayers or something?”
CHAPTER13
ROSCOE
I am shocked at how accurate my brothers’ guesses are. If I don’t act casual, they might get suspicious and start to dig a little deeper into my arrangement. I decide to act cool and try for non-chalance, so I shrug and say, “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that I have scored big time here and leave it at that. It’s not often a man meets someone who looks like Tess and who isn’t trying to make it as a model slash actress whatever on the west coast.”