Christmas Wishes Part 3. Diana Palmer
Читать онлайн книгу.
and almost like a home away from home. Woolen throw rugs are bundled in a wicker basket by the recliners, and secondhand books are an arm stretch away. I want people to visit, and loll about as if they’re at a friend’s house. To stumble in on a cold day, take a deep breath, savoring the scent of what we’re baking, and take their time while they’re here.
Dad and Damon wander to the window display, wine glasses in hand, chatting away as if they’re old friends. They’ve only known each other a few weeks, and already they get on so well, it makes my heart sing to watch them. Dad’s one of those people that really listens when you talk. Looks you right in the eye and asks questions as if you’ve gone and solved the meaning of life or something.
Mamma pours herself a glass of wine and I take the opportunity to strike. “I hear we need a few more place settings at the wedding?” I purse my lips.
She fumbles with the stem of her wine glass. “Honey, it’s only a few—”
“An entire bookclub, Mamma?”
“They’re my friends…”
“And Rosaleen?”
She lifts a hand. “You ever think she’s just lonely? I think she could use some friends, Lil.”
“How’re we all supposed to fit at L’art de l’amour? Mamma, I know you’re excited but how can I make that work?”
“Well, I asked—”
A flurry of wind whips in as the front door opens and in walks Olivia with George in tow.
“Good evening.” Olivia saunters over. She’s wrapped a fine fur stole. She makes a huge show of kissing Damon on both cheeks before striding over to me.
Mamma starts to fidget with her shoulder pads. “Olivia, I’m Lil’s mamma, Sue. It’s nice to finally meet you.” I hear the nervousness in Mamma’s voice and I just want to hug her.
Olivia smiles that sugary smile of hers and says, “Wonderful to meet you, Sue. We’ve been looking forward to this for an age.”
“Us too.” Mamma smiles at Olivia.
Olivia takes off her stole, and begins taking her gloves off, finger by finger. “Lil, as we discussed I went ahead and found you the centerpieces. They’re being delivered tomorrow.”
I clear my throat. “About that, Olivia, we didn’t actually—”
She grins at Mamma. “She’s so busy, what with the café, and Christmas, it was the least I could do. I practically drove the entire length of Connecticut until I found them.”
“That was really kind of you,” Mamma says. In the background Damon makes a joke that has both dads sputtering into their hands.
I glance back to his mother. “But, Olivia—”
“They’re gorgeous, stunning in fact. Big fake sweeping white lilies.” She puts so much emphasis on the words fake and lilies that I almost reel. Is she calling me fake? “They sit in a crystal vase, quite tall, actually. I did worry about people being able to see over the top of them, but figured that isn’t important in the scheme of things.”
“They sound darling,” Mamma says, and nudges my arm. “Don’t they, Lily?”
Damon sits on the arm of the sofa, swishing his red wine before taking a mouthful. I try to catch his eye, but he’s too caught up with a story my dad is telling. “Well,” I say, “I’d hoped on getting poinsettias as part of the Christmas theme.”
Olivia lets out a high-pitched laugh. “Oh, Lil. No! They’re so old-fashioned.”
Mamma nods. “I’ve been trying to tell her that.” I stare at Mamma, trying to explain by the sheer look in my eyes that she’s not helping.
Mamma touches Olivia’s arm. “Let me get you a drink. Red wine OK?”
“Lovely.” Olivia throws her gloves on the nearest table, and fusses with her jacket. “I hope you’re not upset, Lil? I didn’t do the wrong thing, did I?” For a brief second she looks contrite, and again I wonder if I’m making too much out of nothing.
“I’m sure they’re lovely, Olivia. I guess we’ll make them work. Although we had planned on a more festive—”
“Great.” She cuts me off as she twirls her wedding ring on her finger, a dazzling diamond that probably cost more than my house.
Damon wanders over, smiling like a loon. He loops an arm around my waist. “Your dad says he’s got the bachelor party all sorted. I intend to win big, and show the old men how it’s done.”
“Is that so?” I ask, arching a brow. Thankful he’s finally beside me.
“Darling, I was just about to tell Lil all about Katie. All those tête-à-têtes you two have when you come to New Orleans… I thought maybe it’s not too late to fly Katie here. She could definitely help with the menu.”
Mamma returns with an over-full glass of red wine, and manages to slosh half out before handing it to Olivia.
Olivia grabs a napkin from the table and wipes the side of her glass. Poor Mamma looks mortified. I shake my head, trying to signal to her it’s OK.
“Katie’s a lovely girl, quite famous in her own right as a chef these days, works alongside a Michelin-starred someone-a-rather. Damon adores her! Always rushes straight over there when he arrives in New Orleans. Don’t you, darling?”
I give Damon a closed-lip smile as my pulse speeds up. Damon has never once mentioned anyone other than Charlie when he visits New Orleans. I take a step back from him; his hand falls from my waist. “You rush over where exactly?” I keep my voice neutral but I’m sure everyone can tell from the clench of my jaw it’s the first I’ve heard of…Katie.
Damon has the grace to blush. “Katie’s an old friend of mine from high school—”
“They were childhood sweethearts.” Olivia puts a hand to her chest. “Such a sweet girl, lovely family too.”
Damon says, “We were just friends in high school.” He clutches my hand, and gives it a squeeze, but right now I have the most immense urge to ask Olivia what she’s playing at here. And Damon, too. Lunches with his childhood sweetheart?
“So you catch up with Katie a lot, then?” I ask Damon, finding it almost impossible to keep the hurt from my voice.
He swallows hard. “Charlie and I go to her restaurant when I visit New Orleans. We talk shop, that’s all. There’s really nothing more to say.”
We stand silently. Anger courses through me and in equal measure I feel like a fool. Olivia smiles benevolently, and I make my mind up about her. She’s intent on creating a wedge between us for some inexplicable reason. My dad must sense the awkward vibe radiating from us. He scoops up a platter of oysters Damon prepared and waves it under my nose. Immediately I cup my mouth and run to the bathroom.
Damon lifts the quilt up to my chin, and kisses my forehead. “I’ve left a pitcher of water here, and there’s soup in the fridge when you’re up to it.”
I nod, truly miserable. Being sick this close to Christmas, especially with so much work needing to be done, and Cee having to take up the slack at the café is the worst possible timing. “Sure.”
He sits on the edge of the bed; the slight movement makes me close my eyes against waves of nausea.
“You were angry last night,” he says, stroking my hair back. “About Katie.”
I bury myself further