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We get out of the truck, all of us stalling. We’re walking up the pebbled stone path to the door when the nerves really hit me, and I think I might vomit. My stomach rolls. What if they take her away from me? What if they pulled some spy crap and had cameras installed at Tiller’s house?
I shudder at the thought and push out a breath, smoothing my white flowy dress.
Tiller stands behind me, his chest pressing to my back. Drawing in a breath, he sighs edging his index finger under the strap on my right shoulder. “White doesn’t suit you. Beauty without expression is boring.”
My smile breaks my nerves. I’m going to have sex with him tonight. Shhh. Don’t tell him. And then the thought of finally giving in sends my nerves flying and my heart racing.
The door opens. It’s the maid. “Mr. and Mrs. Johnson are on the terrace. Right this way please.”
River pushes past us. “I’m hungry.” And then she takes off inside the house wearing combat boots and a yellow and pink sundress.
Tiller follows me inside the house. “Why do they call it a terrace? Why not say, hey, they’re in the backyard?”
Laughing lightly, I reach for his hand.
He stops, smiles, but then looks down at our hands. “What’s that for?”
“I’m not sure?” It’s a question. It’s not meant to be, but it certainly is.
“Are you trying to put on a show for them?” He holds our joined hands up and tips his sunglasses up. Slowly, his penetrating stare drifts down my body to the dress I’m wearing. I own nothing white. I had to borrow this from Willa.
“I don’t want them to take her away,” I admit, my voice breaking, emotions flooding like water pushing the barriers.
Dipping his head forward, he lets go of my hand and holds my head in his hands. “They’re not. Ava gave you custody of her for a fuckin’ reason. No judge is going to go against the mother’s wishes. He’d be a goddamn fool.”
Not entirely convinced, I nod to appease him and step outside where my parents are gathered at a table with Mitchel and a woman I’ve never met. River’s in the yard, a bowl of fruit in her lap feeding Kona. I had to bring him over here while I was moving the other day rather than keeping the poor thing cooped up in the house.
My father stands when he notices us and motions to the table. “Let’s have some food and then we can talk.”
I’d like to say he means well by this, but I’m sure you’ll think otherwise. I’ll skip some boring details. The ones where we eat and pretend to avoid the elephant in the room. I’ll get to the point; it’s the moment my father looks at Tiller in the face and says, “You’re not parenting material. River has no business being at your house with what goes on there.” Everyone has heard the stories of what goes on there, and my father is certainly no exception. He’s been around the business, the riders, he knows.
Tiller doesn’t look at him. “She’s been there for the last three days and been just fine,” he points out coldly, as he pushes around smoked salmon benedict he hasn’t touched.
Harry—my parents cook and I guess you’d call him the butler—appears to our left. “Would anyone like anything more to drink?”
“Vodka,” Tiller answers, his eyes never leaving his plate, the grip on his fork tightening. I take notice in the way his knuckles whiten and the hitch in his breathing.
“My point exactly,” my father adds. “It’s barely eleven in the morning and you’re drinking. Do you really think River needs to be subjected to your lifestyle?”
I level my father a glare. I can’t, no, I won’t sit back while he treats him like this. “Ava and Cullen both drank alcohol.”
My father’s lips thin into a fine line. “On occasion and always in moderation.”
“This is an occasion,” Tiller mumbles under his breath and drapes his arm over the back of my chair. “Of bullshit.”
Setting his napkin on the table, Mitchel clears his throat, finally speaking with reasoning. “I think our main focus here needs to be the well-being of River and where she’s happy.”
Everyone’s eyes shift to River who’s beside Kona in the grass, still eating berries like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. I watch her, trying to decide myself if she’s happy with me and if she acted the same way with Ava and Cullen. I think back to the anniversary party my parents had weeks before their death, on this very terrace.
My memory of the day is clear and so vivid it gives me tears remembering what a wonderful mother Ava had been. I think about the way River refused to wear shoes that day so Ava brought her barefoot and smiling, dirt on her face and her nails painted black. They let her be wild and free and express herself, even if it meant she went a day without brushing her hair or wore the same dress for a week. Okay, maybe they wouldn’t have allowed that, but they chose me because they knew I’d let her. If Alexandra had her way, or my mother, they would never have allowed that. Not in a million years.
Looking at River now, her hair a mess in the wind, barefoot again and berry juice stains all over her dress and lips, I wouldn’t want her any other way.
My stare moves to Tiller, slouched, his chest rising and falling quicker than usual, his hands flipping his lighter around in his hand. Though his stance gives off the vibe he doesn’t care, his motions, his breathing, it’s all an indication he does.
The woman at the table, the one who introduced herself as Laurie from Department of Social Service, speaks up. “It’s in the best interest of the child to be with her mother and father, and when that can’t happen, we want to grant the parents’ wishes.”
“I am her biological father,” Tiller barks, finally making eye-contact with something other than his plate. “I’ll take a paternity test to prove it.”