Dirty Little Promise (Forbidden Desires #2)

Somehow, we managed to get ready and to the restaurant on time. When we walked through the wide glass doors, I found my parents waiting at the first table inside, a bottle of white wine already on the table directly in front of my mother.Content is property of NôvelDrama.Org.

“Oh crap,” I grumbled, but Gavin ignored me. Instead, he offered my parents his widest, warmest smile and extended his hand to each of them.

“It’s so good to meet you. Thank you for the invitation,” he said, and though my parents both smiled back, they looked strained, and I could see the determination in their eyes.

That’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks.

This wasn’t lunch, it was an inquisition. And poor Gavin was the target.

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Kingsley,” my father said coolly.

“Gavin, please.” He pulled out my chair and helped me into it before taking his own seat. At this, my mother raised her eyebrows and shot me a skeptical glance over the rim of her wineglass, as if to say, Aren’t we trying too hard?

My cheeks heated, but I took Gavin’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“I was telling your father about how well the renovations are going on Nana’s house, dear,” my mom said with a smile.

“Thanks.” I grinned, relieved at the neutral topic. “I’m proud of it.”

“She’s done such a great job putting the place together,” Gavin added. “It must mean a lot to both of you to have the house preserved that way.”

My father nodded, his expression guarded. “My mother was meticulous about that house. I’m sure she’d be happy to have it in the family still.”

My mother smiled her agreement. “What about you, Gavin? Are you close to your grandparents?”

I frowned, glancing at Gavin. I should have prepared him for this. They’d want to know about his family, his background.

To my surprise, he seemed completely unfazed by the question. He squeezed my hand and said, “No, I never met them. It’s just me and my brothers.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” my mother offered stiffly as she glanced at her menu.

“Don’t be. I’m very lucky to have my siblings. But I don’t want to monopolize the conversation. As I understand it, you have some amazing stories about Emma growing up that I have to hear.”

I pinched him under the table, but his poker face never slipped. Here I was, worried about him, and he was throwing me under the bus. My cheeks heated as I silently plotted my revenge.

Regardless of my feelings on the topic, though, it was the perfect play. My mother’s face lit up and she leaned forward in her chair.

“Well, since you asked . . .”

She launched into a story she’d told roughly a million times before, one where I lifted my dress at kindergarten graduation and showed the entire school my Scooby-Doo underwear. Gavin laughed along while my father and I exchanged conspiratorial glances.

There was an amiable pause as the waitress came to take our order, and I glanced at the faces around the table to note that everyone was smiling.

Okay. Not too bad. Mom hadn’t picked the most embarrassing story, and now the ice was broken. Maybe we’d get out of here unscathed after all.

“What about you? Any funny stories from when you were a kid?” my father asked before my mother could dive headlong into another Emma story.

This time Gavin did look taken aback, and a chill of unease swept over me. “I had an . . . unusual childhood, so I’m not really sure I can think of anything funny off the top of my head.”

“Unusual how?” my mother asked.

“Mom, if Gavin doesn’t want to—”

Gavin squeezed my hand gently. “No, it’s okay, Emma,” he murmured and then cleared his throat. “Look, Mr. and Mrs. Bell, I grew up in what was practically a brothel, so most of the stories are inappropriate for table conversation.”

My parents exchanged a telling glance, and then my mother poured herself more wine before managing a tight, insincere smile. “Well, that certainly is . . . untraditional.”

“Explains your line of work, though,” my dad muttered.

“Dad,” I said, my tone a warning.

“What? Are we going to sit here and pretend we don’t read the papers?” he demanded.

I blew out a frustrated sigh.

“No, it’s okay,” Gavin said. “I know the name is a little misleading and the press has been rough lately, but I don’t run a brothel, sir. My business is completely moral and on the up and up. I pay my taxes, and we protect the women who work for us and pay them very well.” Gavin said the words calmly but firmly, and my mother shifted in her chair.

And it wasn’t just a line he was feeding them to placate the situation. Gavin and his brothers really did look after the women they employed. Stella, the girl who’d been caught with cocaine, had just completed a stay in rehab—all funded by their company. And not because they had to for publicity’s sake, but just because they were good men.

My dad placed his elbows on the table, leaning closer, weighing Gavin’s every word. “Paid very well, huh? And you think that makes it better?”

Gavin cleared his throat. “It’s not prostitution, if that’s what you’re picturing. It’s a glorified dating service.”

This time, my mother spoke up. “That certainly is good to hear. Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready for some breadsticks.”

As we dug in, things were awkward and quiet for a few minutes. But soon enough, my parents began peppering Gavin with questions about his business, his brothers, and the struggle he’d gone through to make something of himself. If Gavin was uncomfortable, he showed no signs of it. As the afternoon went on, my parents seemed more and more impressed with his fortitude and determination.

I wanted to cry with relief.

“I’m still dying to hear more stories about Emma, though,” Gavin said when the long line of questions was over and we were almost through our meal.

I shot him a requisite glare, but in truth, I couldn’t bring myself to be upset. Things were going even better than I could have imagined. As my mom launched into another story, I found myself glancing at Gavin from the corner of my eye, wondering how in the world I’d found a man so kind, confident, and wonderful.

When my mother’s latest story—the time she caught me practicing kissing on a pillow—wound down, Gavin turned to my father.

“Frank, do you think we could take a walk outside? Emma said you got a new car, and I’m dying to have a look.”

It was literally the perfect thing to say.

Beaming, my dad practically leaped from his chair. “Sure thing. You’re going to love this. The way this baby purrs, I’m telling you, there’s nothing better.”

Gavin followed him out the door while my mom slipped her credit card into the check folder the waitress had laid down.

“Thanks for everything, Mom,” I said.

“Thank you for coming. I thought it was past time we met this man of yours, and now that we have? I can see that you were right. His business is certainly unconventional, but it’s not like he’s doing anything illegal. He’s a good man. And good for you.”

“You think?” My heart warmed at the soft words of approval.

“Based on the way you light up when he looks at you? I know it. It means a lot to a mother to see her child so happy.”

“I am. I’m very happy,” I said.

“Good. You deserve it, sweetie. You really do.”

As I thought of the strife over the past year, I couldn’t help but hope she was right.