Chapter 35: Missing Wedding

Dorian looked at her. Something in her voice had changed again. "How about you?" he asked. "You close with your mum?"

"Uh..." Naomi cleared her throat. "She’s dead."

His hand stopped.

"I was quite young when she died."

Silence stretched between them. He did not move for a bit. Then he continued serving the food. He placed her plate in front of her.

Naomi smiled faintly. "Thanks."

Dorian barely heard her.

She’s dead.

No.

She wasn’t.

Her mother was alive. Convicted of killing Naomi’s father and serving a life sentence. Dorian had read the court summary himself.

He even knew enough about the old case to believe he could probably tear parts of it apart if someone put the file in front of him.

So why was Naomi telling him her mother was dead? Why did she keep lying to him? Was she ashamed?

Did she think he would judge her because her mother was in prison? That would have been almost funny if it weren’t irritating him so much.

A woman having a convicted murderer for a mother was hardly going to send him running for holy water.

He placed his own plate down. The air had gotten heavier. She felt it too. She reached for her fork.

"Thank you for the car... Dorian. It really did make my life easier."

"You’re welcome."

"Everything alright?"

Dorian met her eyes. "Yes... of course."

It wasn’t.

He didn’t like liars. He dealt with enough of them at work. He didn’t want to come home and play another episode of Have Some More.

Every time he thought he had learned something about Naomi, he discovered the answer came with an asterisk.

Naomi swallowed a bite and suddenly brightened. "So, the funniest thing happened at work today..."

Dorian closed his eyes for one brief second. And here we go again....

*****

Dorian and Naomi somehow made it to Sunday without killing each other. By the time Dorian pulled up outside his parents’ home, Naomi’s nerves had already begun misbehaving.

She smoothed one hand over her white trousers. Then adjusted her black strapless top. Then checked her handbag.

She had expected polite tolerance. She was wife number four. Surely these people were tired by now.

Apparently not.

The welcome Naomi received surprised her completely. Everyone asked questions. Everyone behaved as though Dorian bringing home another wife was not something that should have prompted a collective family sigh.

Well, almost everyone. Maurice Heathcliffe was much more reserved. Naomi understood within minutes exactly where Dorian had inherited that expression from.

Same habit of watching everything without appearing particularly interested. Maurice was perfectly polite to her, though.

Warm, even, in his own restrained way. He shook her hand, welcomed her to the house and asked whether the drive had been comfortable.

What interested her more was the way everyone treated him. The family respected Maurice. Whenever Maurice spoke seriously, everyone listened.

Everyone seemed loved. Even Daniel, Alexandra’s husband. Daniel was more French than English in practically everything.

He apologized for Alexandra’s absence almost immediately. "She wanted to come," Daniel explained, "but she’s a pediatrician. The hours are terrible, and Sundays are usually the only proper time she gets with the children."

Naomi nodded. "Of course. I understand."

"You’ll meet her eventually." Daniel had been fully absorbed into the Heathcliffe madness. He wasn’t treated like an in-law. He was one of them.

Why were they treating her this way? She was nowhere near their social circle. She hadn’t come from some powerful Manhattan family everyone recognized.

They knew almost nothing about her. Nobody had once looked at her as though she did not belong there.

The room quickly became loud. Through all of it, Dorian and Maurice remained the quietest people in the room.

Occasionally one of them nodded. Sometimes Dorian contributed a dry sentence that made everyone groan.

Maurice mostly observed. Before long, even she loosened up. She found herself laughing. And, naturally, talking.

Then she discovered Ginny was getting married in a month. That somehow turned into a discussion about food.

Which became a discussion about the wedding menu. Which became Naomi asking far too many chef questions because once food entered a conversation, all reasonable restraint abandoned her.

Then Eleanor said, very casually, "You could cater it."

Naomi stared. "What?"

"You’re a chef."

"Yes, but—"

"And now you’re family."

Naomi blinked. Eleanor continued as though this were perfectly logical.

"I have a strict keep-the-business-in-the-family rule."

Naomi laughed nervously. "I mean... I could."

Eleanor smiled. "Excellent."

Had she just gotten a wedding catering contract? His mother’s philosophy seemed to be painfully simple.

There was now a chef in the family. If not, why not? By the time dinner was served, Naomi had somehow acquired a client.

The food distracted her immediately. Duck breast and dirty rice. Eleanor served a Gevrey-Chambertin Pinot Noir, explaining that Maurice preferred Burgundy with duck.

She forgot she was the outsider. She simply sat there laughing with people who, for reasons she still didn’t completely understand, had decided to welcome her.

Then somewhere between another round of wine, the conversation somehow drifted to their marriage.

"So who proposed?" Ginny asked.

Naomi nearly choked on her wine. She glanced at Dorian across the table, hoping he might rescue her. "Uhm..." Naomi cleared her throat. "We don’t remember much about that night, but I believe I came up with the idea."

Ginny’s eyes widened. "You proposed?"

Daniel leaned forward, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "What do either of you remember?"

Dorian reached for his wine. Naomi looked around the table. Everyone was waiting. Even Maurice had stopped eating.

"Well... I..." Her mind slipped backward.

*****

THREE MONTHS AGO

Naomi woke up and immediately knew something was wrong. She didn’t know what yet. Her brain had not fully arrived. Her mouth tasted terrible, her head felt too heavy for her neck, and there was a dull pounding somewhere behind her eyes. She groaned then opened her eyes.

Naomi frowned. Her hotel room did not have that ceiling. That was the first problem. The second problem was the bed.

Also far too nice.

The third problem arrived when she turned her head. There was a man beside her. A very attractive man.

Her eyes traveled over his sleeping face. She noted the tiny mole near his eyebrow she vaguely remembered staring at far too closely.

"Oh my God..." she whispered.