Single dad on top comple.., p.35
Single Dad on Top (Complete Series Boxed Set), page 35
I jump in to save her. “This was your first weekend too,” I say. “We’re a busy couple with rather difficult jobs.”
“But that’s your mama,” Mom says, waving the knife between Bridget and Arianna. She’s adding butter to the bread. “She should have been up there when you were in labor. Helped out in those hard first weeks.” She sets the knife down. “Were you even there when she was born?”
Now Bridget is angry. “That child isn’t even hers.”
Arianna gasps. “Mom!”
Damn it all. This will take some cleaning up.
But my mom is chill. She takes a bite of bread. “Now that’s where you’re wrong. I never saw a mother more devoted to her child.” She chews, almost daring anyone to question her manners. “Though I’m wondering where she got it from.”
Bridget sucks in a breath. She turns to Arianna. “I think I’ve had quite enough.”
She tries to stand, but Arianna’s hand shoots out. “Sit, Mother. We don’t even know where Dad is.”
Bridget lowers herself slowly back into the chair. “I didn’t come here to be insulted.”
“Seems like someone is just speaking truth around here,” Mom says.
She is on a roll. I’m not sure whether to stop her or let it play out. I know how Arianna feels about her mother. Arianna loves her, but all the choices she’s made for her entire life stem from this one betrayal. Her mother leaving her to be raised by nannies.
Bridget turns to her daughter. “Have you told this woman things?” she asks. “About how we traveled? You know I only did it for all those wonderful charities that needed leading.”
Mom reaches for another piece of bread and carefully opens another foil butter. She no longer seems to care about missing her shift.
Donovan’s eyebrows are permanently glued in the lifted position. He catches my gaze, and his eyes widen.
“I did not say a word,” Arianna says. “Maybe it’s just plain that you were never around.”
Bridget brings her hand to her throat.
“I thought so,” Mom says. “Arianna, just let it out. Tell your mother how you feel.”
“You did leave me,” Arianna says, her voice breaking.
I wish her mother wasn’t between us. I can’t reach her hand to hold it.
Bridget draws in a breath. “But Arianna, that baby isn’t yours. You would have told me if you were pregnant. You said you’re adopting it.”
Mom shrugs at this comment, as if it is immaterial that the baby wasn’t born to Arianna now that we’ve gotten to the good stuff.
“I am,” Arianna says, realizing the lie is no longer necessary. “And I’m there for her. I’m not putting other things first. Dell and I have both gone part-time.”
Mom does cut in at this. “Who is Dell?”
Donovan stills her hands, buttering the bread so heavily that it appears frosted. “Hasmund goes professionally by another name,” he says.
Mom drops the bread entirely. “Is the name I chose for you not good enough? Are the McDonalds not good enough for you?”
Now Bridget seems pleased. “He goes by Dell Brant,” she says. “No one even knows the other name. He’s quite well off, you know.” Her face seems smug. “Funny that he has left you and your husband to toil at such low-level jobs while he has a plane and a penthouse.”
She’s gone too far. Mom switches from being upset at me to severely pissed off at her. “Byron and I don’t need any handouts, not from family or nobody. We live perfectly fine.” She stands up, tightening her apron. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do.”
Donovan and I stand too.
“Mom,” Donovan says, “Arianna and Hasmund are getting married. You need to find common ground with her family.”
“Ah, baloney,” she says. “They’ll go off and do their jet-setting life, and leave the hard work to the kids to raise the babies. It’s obvious they don’t get their hands dirty.”
She stalks off for the elevator. Donovan follows her, but I’m not sure what to do. Arianna is still sitting, her head in her hands. Bridget waits stiffly beside her.
“I’d like it very much if someone would fetch my husband,” Bridget says. “I’m quite through with Birmingham, Alabama.” She picks up her drink. “And this cocktail is atrocious.”
Arianna texts her father as I look around the restaurant. I’m not sure this could have gone any worse.
Chapter 24
Arianna
That definitely could not have gone any worse.
When Dad and Byron return, they seem to have hit it off. After Byron leaves for his duties, Dad says Byron is “a little rough around the edges” but seems like a good hardworking man who is very proud of his sons.
Dell doesn’t respond to that. I know he feels differently.
When the taxi with my parents pulls away, Dell and I stand there, a little shell-shocked.
“Should we find your mother before we go?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “We’ll call them in the morning. We should go fetch Grace from Aunt Marge.”
“You think your mom called her and told her what happened?” I ask. I picture Marge taking some terrible vengeance out on Grace.
“No. She doesn’t have a phone and probably had to catch up on her work. It’ll be okay. Besides, Marge is a sweet lady. And practical when it comes to Mom.”
We walk to the rented white SUV. Bits of gravel crunch beneath my feet. I’m still not sure how to process the evening. So many things were said.
When Dell starts the car, I say, “We don’t even know who knows what. Your mom didn’t seem to really understand that Grace isn’t mine. Neither of our dads heard the conversation. Mom is, God, I don’t even know what Mom is thinking!”
He heads to the highway.
“I guess I knew this day was coming,” he says.
“When everyone finds out about Grace?” I ask. My voice has a high, hysterical quality I don’t like.
“I really think Grace is safe enough,” he says. “Both our sets of parents realize they should leave her out of this.”
“What about your name? Your past?” I stare out the side window. “Are you okay with everyone knowing who you are now? Blue collar and all?”
He doesn’t answer. The lights blur past our window.
“Our parents knowing doesn’t mean the world knows.”
“If they can be discreet.” None of them were being particularly calm. Mom has an Instagram following approaching half a million. One post and the world knows about Dell.
And whoa. I told my mother she ditched me. That she hadn’t been there. I confronted her.
I feel lost. Confused. When do we bury our feelings and when do we let them out?
Dell reaches for my hand. “Let me take you somewhere before we pick up the baby,” he says.
That’s probably a good idea. We weren’t even gone two hours. It’s fine to slow down. Maybe I can compose myself before I face Marge. Hopefully Daniel Dean won’t be around. I have a hard time staying straight-faced around him.
They’re all so hard. All of Dell’s family. What is it? Being southern? Poor?
We’ve driven several minutes before I figure it out. They say the truth. They don’t hide it behind politeness or sugarcoat it. They don’t therapy it out or pretend it doesn’t exist.
They live out in the open. Say what they think. If people get mad, let ’em get mad.
And they seem happy. As happy as any of us ever get.
I think of the party, the dancing, the pride they took in everything from their VA Hall to their roasted pig. It didn’t take catered food or party planners or extravagance to be a good memory.
I could have done without the ball-and-chain shirt, though.
A smile flirts with my lips. I’m feeling better.
“Working it through?” Dell asks, his fingers clasped around mine.
“Maybe,” I say. I kick off my shoes. I’m tired of this dress, tired of being looked at, examined, questioned. I just want to “be.”
We pull up in a small parking lot nestled in trees.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Vulcan Trail,” he says. “Up there is one of the oldest parks in Birmingham, including the Vulcan, an iron statue.”
We get out of the car. The statue is lit up, way above us on the hill. It’s enormous, on a tall slender pillar.
“We can go see the statue if you like,” he says.
“Maybe we can come back to it when Grace is older,” I say.
“Good plan.” Dell takes my hand and we walk along the trail in the dark. The moon and the spillover light from the park above provide enough light for us not to stumble.
There’s no one here. We come to a clearer space, and all of Birmingham seems laid out below.
“It’s lovely,” I say.
Dell puts his arm around me. We look at the sight for a moment.
“Tough night,” he says. “You doing okay?”
My voice sounds gritty. “Oh, I don’t know. All our secrets got spilled and I told my mother how I felt about her leaving, and I have no idea what to do next.”
He squeezes me tightly against him. “Everyone will think things over tonight. You know what I believe?”
I look up at him. He’s ruggedly handsome in this light. Strong and stalwart. “What?”
“That Grace will be the thing that brings us all together. We can’t blow apart, let our families fragment. If we do, someone loses Grace.”
“I guess this was exactly the time for this to happen. Weddings are happy events. Everyone will recover for that.”
“Exactly,” he says.
“I hope so.” My mom is a tough nut. But then, so is his. “We can always elope.”
“Exactly. They’ll be afraid of that.”
“After all, you have a private plane,” I say with a laugh. “You showboat.”
He chuckles. “That I am.”
The night air is cool and I’m glad for Dell’s warmth. I slide my hand beneath his sports coat. “It’s lovely here. Quiet. Peaceful.”
“It is,” he says, and his voice has a husky quality to it, rumbling and low.
The sound of it wakes up parts of me. We’re so close, our arms entwined. We’ve never had so much peace in the outdoors, not together. It can’t be managed where we live. There’s too much bustle, so much noise.
He turns me to him, and I melt against his body. He leans down, his lips brushing mine. The hard evening falls away as his mouth takes over, warm, seeking, insistent.
His hands move around my body, sliding along my waist. He caresses my back, my ribs.
The kiss deepens, our mouths seeking more. He tastes faintly of sweet liquor. I’m lost in him, lost in these woods, in the quiet.
His hands slide down my hips to the backs of my thighs. I feel aloft as he grips them, lifting me off the ground.
I tuck my legs around him, the skirt of my dress riding up.
And I feel him, hard against me, his body responding.
He takes a few steps forward, walking between a bench and a stone wall. The distance is perfect. My back presses into the stone, cushioned by my dress and my sweater. My feet reach the metal of the bench. I’m suspended, Dell between my legs, pressing me into the wall. His mouth moves to my neck, my collarbone.
His hands are more free, one cupping me, holding me in place while the other reaches behind me for the zipper of the dress.
I cock my hips forward, giving him room between my back and the wall. This connects us more securely, his erection raging there, pressing into me through my skirt and panties.
The top of the dress goes loose, and now Dell tugs down the thin strap beneath my cardigan. The top falls enough to expose the lacy cup of my bra. He slides down that strap, tugging everything down on one side.
One rosy breast is revealed to the moonlight, the nipple tightening instantly in the cool air.
His head dips down, catching it in his mouth. It’s warm and wet, and I suck in a breath.
He rocks against me where we join below. My hands clasp his shoulders, but I reach down, lifting my skirt out of the way.
His free hand moves down, beneath the dress, sliding up my thigh. He reaches my panties, small and delicate, and flirts with the lacy edge.
I push with my feet to create a little space between our bodies, flattening against the wall. I reach between us to unbutton his khakis, tugging the zipper down.
His boxers are soft satin and easy to push out of the way. He springs up to me, and I slide my hand along his length.
He groans, leaving my breast and burying his face in my neck. I work him a little longer, fingers tight, moving with his rhythm until I can feel the veins pulsing under his skin.
“Arianna,” he says, both hands holding me now, lifting me higher. I let him go and hang on, arms trembling, anxious and needy.
His hand slides between my legs and shifts the panties aside. Fingers slip inside me, and I clutch his head, sucking in another breath.
He works my body, in and out, finding the sweet nub that aches for him, and circling it with his thumb.
The tension begins to increase and I rock with his movements. I want him now, here, right here. “Dell, please, yes,” I say.
He withdraws his hand and shifts until his erection presses against me. He pulls the panties aside again, and then he’s there, sliding inside, our bodies flush against each other.
I feel so full, so complete. He holds me in his hands, lifting me, then letting me fall on him, again and again.
I push against the bench, adding pressure and speed. My fingers grip his shoulders, bulging and strong.
He’s so deep, so powerful. My need for him overwhelms me, flooding me with heat. The tightness around him builds, then pauses for a long golden moment, suspended, intense.
Then it all lets go.
I cry out, pulsing around him, my body exploding in a shower of pleasure and bright sparks. Dell grips me, holding me still, rocking inside, and I feel the warm rush of him spilling inside me.
We clutch each other, holding on, the breeze tickling my cheeks and teasing my hair. It’s intoxicating, being outside, feeling so intense and loved and full.
Voices carry from above. We look up. We can’t see anyone around the statue, which means they can’t see us either. The figure of the giant man, arm outstretched, is a silhouette in the trees.
Dell withdraws and sets me down. We arrange our clothes.
“I bet you took all the girls here,” I say.
He laughs. “No, no, I did not.”
We hold hands as we walk back to the car. It’s time to fetch our baby girl. Face more family. And see how the chips are going to fall from this very eventful night.
Chapter 25
Dell
I’m expecting the call that comes the next morning. We decided to stay in town another day to see if we could smooth over everything that happened the night before.
Arianna glances up from where she sits on the floor with Grace, trying to show her the proper hands-and-knees crawl. “Your mom?” she asks.
I nod and answer the call.
“Hey, Mom,” I say.
“Hasmund Dell Brant McDonald, your brother just Googled you!” she says.
“Hey, you know Google,” I answer.
“Don’t get smart. Pack up that baby of yours and get your tail over here.” Her voice is no-nonsense, no arguments allowed.
“All right. Should we bring something?”
“Yes. Lunch. Fancy lunch. The most expensive goddamn lunch in Birmingham.”
Well, that’s a switch. “Okay,” I say. She hangs up and I shove the phone in my pocket.
“What’s the damage?” Arianna asks.
“I’m to pick up the fanciest lunch to be procured in Birmingham and bring it with you and the baby to her house.”
Arianna laughs. “Well, okay. What’s the fanciest lunch in Birmingham?”
“Probably not something you can get for takeout,” I say.
“I think this is exactly the sort of challenge Dell Brant excels at,” she tells me. Her eyes are sparkling with mirth. I’m glad she’s enjoying this.
I think for a moment, glancing at the clock. Just past ten on a Sunday. What is open? What is fancy? There should be brunches.
This is why I have assistants. But today, I will do my own legwork.
I start with the concierge at the hotel. He gives me some names to work with. The first one straight-out hangs up when I ask for a delivery.
That’s a new feeling.
The second one assures me that very little on their menu will hold up to travel. “It’s beauty on the plate,” the man says. “But it will be tragic in a box.”
Oookay.
“Maybe just go the bakery route,” Arianna says. “I think your mom is just ribbing you about having so much money.”
She’s probably right. To cover my bases, I have two separate bakeries make deliveries to my mother’s trailer, and I call on the driver I haven’t used all weekend to pick up a variety of French cheeses, bread, and fruit from a tea shop and then a selection of sausages, breakfast ham, and steak from another restaurant.
“Don’t forget drinks,” Arianna says. “Unless you want another day of Tequila Sunrises.”
I send a note to the driver to pick up a selection of juices and to stop by a Starbucks for a carton of fresh coffee.
“You think that will do it?” I ask Arianna as we load up Grace’s diaper bag.
“It will be fine,” she says. “Even if they have Marge and Travis and Daniel Dean over, it will be enough.”
“It will be enough for twenty people, I think,” I say. But it pleases me to finally be able to do something for my family with style.
We wait for the driver to let us know he has arrived. I was tempted to change out the simple white SUV for something fancier now that the jig is up, as they say, but I don’t.
Arianna makes no progress with Grace, who is determined to keep her army crawl. Finally, we get the call from downstairs that our car is waiting.
“Good morning, Mr. Brant,” the driver says as he opens the back door. He looks very Alabaman, dressed in jeans and a denim shirt, gray hair and a beard. “I have all the items you requested.”
