“He went up to get dressed. He has a dinner . . . appointment,” I said, rather than date. Would that word “date” always get stuck in my throat when it applied to him?
“Okay,” he said, unable to keep the relief from washing over his face. He stepped back abruptly and paused, finally looking at me. “Holy smokes,” he said, a smile curling his lips with delight. “You look fantastic.”
“Why should that surprise you?” I teased, spinning around like a fashion model.
He did look very handsome himself, wearing a fitted light blue seersucker sport coat, a rose-pink shirt, and a black tie, with a dark blue pair of slacks and black laced shoes. I saw he was also wearing a much more expensive-looking watch than he usually wore. His smile broadened.
“Well?” I asked.
“I only meant . . .”
“You’re very handsome tonight, Kane. You almost look like that emperor of car dealerships.”
“Huh?”
It was my turn to laugh.
“Wise-ass.” He held out his arm and escorted me to the passenger side of a black S-class Mercedes. It looked brand-new.
“What’s this car?”
“Demonstrator my father loaned me for tonight,” he said. And then he added, “A bribe.”
The car had that brand-new car scent and soft leather seats with expensive-looking woodwork. He got in, looking very taken with himself, very unlike the Kane Hill I was used to seeing. Maybe in the end, despite your rebellious ways and thoughts, your heritage exerts itself, I thought.
“Is the bribe working?” I asked.
“It is tonight,” he said, instantly returning to that offbeat smile that annoyed some but also could be enchanting. “Although the pressure’s off me working weekends at one of the dealerships until I get my math grades up. Plan A is successful. For now.”
“What’s plan B?”
“Running away from home. Who knows?”
We drove off. I looked back at the house and wondered if my father would use my car or take his truck tonight. He had never bought himself a new car after my mother died. I couldn’t imagine him going on a date in his truck, not that he would go out with any woman who would think it beneath her to ride in his truck. It was just that whether he said so or not, I knew that he always saw my mother beside him in that truck.
“So I didn’t say anything to Darlena about Foxworth, the story, anything,” Kane began, “but apparently, soon after she and Julio had arrived, my mother mentioned that I was seeing you, and then there was some talk about what your father’s doing, so she asked me about it tonight before I headed out to pick you up.”
“Asked about what?” A little tremor moved through my body in anticipation. From the day I had revealed what the book under my pillow was, I had dreaded the possibility that other people would find out and that my father would be very upset, especially now when he was working on the property.
“The construction of a new building at Foxworth.”
“Oh,” I said, a little relieved.
“But then she told Julio the high points of the story, which we know now was mostly developed through rumors and legends. I didn’t say a word,” he added quickly, “but like most everyone who knows about your family, she mentioned that you were a distant cousin of Malcolm Foxworth.”
“Great. He’ll be looking at me expecting some sort of weirdness or madness.”
“Just don’t eat all your food with only a knife,” he said.
I poked him in the shoulder. “It’s not funny.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t worry about it. As soon as he sees how charming and beautiful you are, any such thought will die a quick death.”
We arrived at La Reserve before his sister and her boyfriend, but the hostess took us to the booth they had reserved. I had never been to this restaurant and was surprised at how small it was compared with the size of its reputation. Perhaps that was why it was so expensive and why a dinner reservation usually had to be booked well in advance—maybe not for the Hills, but for most people. The maître d’ recognized Kane, just as the maître d’ at the River House had when he took me there on our first formal date.
“I haven’t been to France,” Kane said after we were seated, “but my mother told me this is very much like a good restaurant in Paris.” He leaned over. “Both Darlena and Julio can drink. Maybe we can have a taste of champagne. Darlena loves champagne.”
“You can have a taste. I can have a glass,” I teased, and he laughed.