“Because I’m not ready!” She made no effort to control her volume, but she wasn’t a yeller by nature, so the words came out sounding only about half as vehement as they did in her head.
The argument might have escalated, but he had the kissing-to-end-conflict technique down to a fine art.
They made love, moving together under the cascading water, his body behind hers, his arms wrapped around her so his hands could reach her most sensitive places.
As he brought her the ultimate in pleasure, he promised, “It will be all right, sérdenko.”
She desperately wanted to believe him, but a lifetime of experience had taught her otherwise. “You’ll see me through their eyes.”
“Or I will teach them to see you through mine.”
Maybe, just maybe, his supreme self-confidence would guide his interactions with her family down that path.
She could hope.
* * *
The following night, her entire family showed up at Demyan’s condo right on time.
Chanel was so happy to see Andrew and Laura that her stress at seeing her mother and stepfather didn’t reach its usual critical levels instantly. That might also be attributed to the way Demyan kept one comforting arm around her throughout introductions and the launch into the usual small talk.
He’d brought in catering with servers so Chanel didn’t have to cook or play hostess getting drinks. Somehow he’d known that those domestic social niceties had always been a source of criticism and failure with her family in the past.
She hadn’t invited her parents to her apartment since moving out as a fresh-faced nineteen-year-old. Chanel had thought that having her own place would make a difference in how Beatrice and Perry responded to her efforts at cooking.
She’d learned differently quickly enough when they’d made it clear she fell short in every hosting department. The meal was too simple, the drinks offered too narrow in choice and even her bright stoneware dishes from a chain department store were considered inferior.
As could be inferred by her mother’s gift of appropriate understated chinaware on Chanel’s next birthday. She’d donated it to Goodwill and continued using her much less expensive, bright and cheerful dishes.
Since then, Chanel had assiduously avoided her mother’s inferences and even direct suggestions that Chanel might like to host one of the smaller family get-togethers over the years. In the ten years since that first debacle, Chanel had made sure there were no situations in which she’d have to invite her mother or stepfather into her home for so much as a drink of water.
Perry was clearly impressed by Demyan as a host, though, the older man’s expression shining with approval over the high-end penthouse and being offered his highball by a black-clad server.
Demyan kept them occupied with small talk, redirecting the conversation any time it looked like it would go into the familiar let’s-criticize-Chanel direction. He was also overtly approving, verbalizing his appreciation for Chanel in ways that could not be mistaken or overlooked by her parents.
His protective behavior touched her deeply and Chanel found herself relaxing with her family in a way she could not remember doing in years.
“So, you work for Yurkovich Tanner?” Perry asked Demyan over dinner.
“I do.”
Chanel added, “In the corporate offices.”
A vague answer never satisfied her stepfather and she wasn’t sure her addition would, either, but she could hope. She didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening listening to Perry grill Demyan about his connections and job prospects.
She realized moments later that she needn’t have worried.
Demyan adroitly evaded each sally until Perry gave up with a rather confused-sounding “Well, maybe you can put a good word in for Andrew. I tried contacting them on his behalf, you know, because of Andrew’s connection to one of the original founders.”
Andrew wasn’t the one connected to Bartholomew Tanner. That was Chanel and her connection was tenuous at best, but trust Perry to dismiss her blood relationship to the founder and receipt of a Tanner Yurkovich university scholarship as unimportant altogether.
“I haven’t heard back.” Perry shrugged. “It was a long shot, but business is all about contacts.”
Demyan nodded and then looked away from Perry to smile at Chanel. “I’m always happy to put a good word in for family.”
Oh, the fiend. Chanel kicked Demyan’s ankle under the table, but he didn’t even have the courtesy to flinch.
So, that’s why the dinner tonight. He’d said he was okay with waiting for her answer on his proposal, but really he had every intention of getting her family on his side. He had to realize it wouldn’t take much.