who’d taught her what do. The jealous streak I harbored kept me from asking. I didn’t want to know about her past boyfriends. Or sexploits. I was that possessive. After she straightened my tie, I kissed her lightly on the lips. My stomach clenched with nerves. I was not looking forward to my dinner with my parents. Not one fucking bit.
At the last minute, Allee put on her eyeglasses. “You don’t need them.” I lifted them off her beautiful face and slipped them into my jacket pocket. I still hadn’t asked her why she wore fake glasses. Once we got through this night, I was going to find out.
When Allee stepped into the elegantly appointed lobby of my parents’ swank apartment building, with its white-gloved concierge service, she got cold feet. “Let’s catch a foreign flick and split,” she said, her eyes turbulent. “I’ll even make you come over popcorn.”
Part of me wanted to make a run for it too, and she sure made it tempting, but we had come this far. The longer I waited to introduce Allee to my parents, the harder it would be. I squeezed her clammy hand and reassured her how stunning she looked.
She was wearing her long, wavy hair loose, held back with a black velvet headband. Lightly dusted with makeup, she truly had never looked so breathtakingly beautiful.
“My parents will probably adore you,” I told her with a kiss to her head.
She gave me the evil eye. “Don’t bullshit me!” she rasped.
I quirked a lame smile. She was right. They never liked anyone west of Park Avenue or below Fifty-Seventh Street. I gave her hand another gentle squeeze.
After stepping out of the elevator, we were greeted immediately by Maria. As usual, she was thrilled to see me and wrapped her ample arms around me in a warm embrace. I introduced her to Allee.
Maria smiled brightly “Ella es muy linda.”
“What did she say about me?” Allee asked nervously.
She said, “You’re fat and ugly. And that you should wear a bag over your head.”
“That’s not funny, Madewell.” She nudged her elbow into my ribs as Maria led us into the expansive living room. My mother, elegantly dressed in beige pleated slacks and a matching silk blouse, was seated on a creamy damask couch. A half-drunk champagne flute was in her hand. With Allee’s hand entwined in mine, I strode over to her and gave her my customary kiss. She gave Allee the once-over.
“So you must be Ryan’s new girlfriend.” There was a slight slur in her speech. I wondered how many glasses of champagne she’d already had.
“Yes, Mother. This is Allee Adair.”
“You’re not by chance related to the Adairs of Palm Beach?”
“No, ma’am, I’m not.” Allee’s voice quivered.
My mother took another sip of champagne. “Please, call me Eleanor.”
Allee, relaxing a little, surveyed the room. Her eyes zeroed in on a small oil painting of a ballerina on the wall by the baby grand piano.
“Eleanor, is that a copy of a Degas by the piano?” she asked.
My mother’s lips pursed as she shot Allee a condescending look. “Darling, reproductions are found in hotels. Everything you see here is an original.”
I cringed. Allee gulped. “Ohmygod! Ryan didn’t tell me that his family owned a real Degas. He’s one of my favorite painters.”
My mother took a swig of her champagne. “Ellie—”
“It’s Allee, Mother,” I intercepted. She was sloshed all right. I supposed the buzz, or numbness, or whatever she felt was an antidote to the loneliness and pain caused by my father’s indiscretions.
She continued. “You have such an unusual accent. Where are you from?”
“France,” said Allee with a poker face.
I had to bite down on my lip not to laugh.
“That’s a very unusual French accent.”
“ Oui . I come from a very unusual region of France. Not many people have heard about Reines.” She spelled it out.
I almost peed in my pants. “Reines” in French meant “Queens.” Allee asked my mother if she could look more
At the last minute, Allee put on her eyeglasses. “You don’t need them.” I lifted them off her beautiful face and slipped them into my jacket pocket. I still hadn’t asked her why she wore fake glasses. Once we got through this night, I was going to find out.
When Allee stepped into the elegantly appointed lobby of my parents’ swank apartment building, with its white-gloved concierge service, she got cold feet. “Let’s catch a foreign flick and split,” she said, her eyes turbulent. “I’ll even make you come over popcorn.”
Part of me wanted to make a run for it too, and she sure made it tempting, but we had come this far. The longer I waited to introduce Allee to my parents, the harder it would be. I squeezed her clammy hand and reassured her how stunning she looked.
She was wearing her long, wavy hair loose, held back with a black velvet headband. Lightly dusted with makeup, she truly had never looked so breathtakingly beautiful.
“My parents will probably adore you,” I told her with a kiss to her head.
She gave me the evil eye. “Don’t bullshit me!” she rasped.
I quirked a lame smile. She was right. They never liked anyone west of Park Avenue or below Fifty-Seventh Street. I gave her hand another gentle squeeze.
After stepping out of the elevator, we were greeted immediately by Maria. As usual, she was thrilled to see me and wrapped her ample arms around me in a warm embrace. I introduced her to Allee.
Maria smiled brightly “Ella es muy linda.”
“What did she say about me?” Allee asked nervously.
She said, “You’re fat and ugly. And that you should wear a bag over your head.”
“That’s not funny, Madewell.” She nudged her elbow into my ribs as Maria led us into the expansive living room. My mother, elegantly dressed in beige pleated slacks and a matching silk blouse, was seated on a creamy damask couch. A half-drunk champagne flute was in her hand. With Allee’s hand entwined in mine, I strode over to her and gave her my customary kiss. She gave Allee the once-over.
“So you must be Ryan’s new girlfriend.” There was a slight slur in her speech. I wondered how many glasses of champagne she’d already had.
“Yes, Mother. This is Allee Adair.”
“You’re not by chance related to the Adairs of Palm Beach?”
“No, ma’am, I’m not.” Allee’s voice quivered.
My mother took another sip of champagne. “Please, call me Eleanor.”
Allee, relaxing a little, surveyed the room. Her eyes zeroed in on a small oil painting of a ballerina on the wall by the baby grand piano.
“Eleanor, is that a copy of a Degas by the piano?” she asked.
My mother’s lips pursed as she shot Allee a condescending look. “Darling, reproductions are found in hotels. Everything you see here is an original.”
I cringed. Allee gulped. “Ohmygod! Ryan didn’t tell me that his family owned a real Degas. He’s one of my favorite painters.”
My mother took a swig of her champagne. “Ellie—”
“It’s Allee, Mother,” I intercepted. She was sloshed all right. I supposed the buzz, or numbness, or whatever she felt was an antidote to the loneliness and pain caused by my father’s indiscretions.
She continued. “You have such an unusual accent. Where are you from?”
“France,” said Allee with a poker face.
I had to bite down on my lip not to laugh.
“That’s a very unusual French accent.”
“ Oui . I come from a very unusual region of France. Not many people have heard about Reines.” She spelled it out.
I almost peed in my pants. “Reines” in French meant “Queens.” Allee asked my mother if she could look more
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