Page 73 of Resisting Mr Black
My heart sinks to my black wedges as my eyes slide to the already half-drunk glass of red wine in front of Mum. I just know she’s going to be firing questions Art’s way once she’s had a few more.
“Yes, thought it was best. I want to enjoy myself,” Mum laughs. “We haven’t seen our Sophie for ages and it’s so lovely to meet her new boyfriend.”
I keep my eyes on my menu, inwardly cringing at the word “boyfriend.” Why the hell didn’t it occur to me that she’d say something like this? Art and I haven’t even broached that discussion yet. God knows what he must be thinking. I can’t look at him. This definitely isn’t one of my better ideas.
By the time the main course arrives, the first bottle of wine has been obliterated mainly by Martin and Mum, and the second has been ordered and uncorked. Art has been his most polite and courteous self, charming the pants off them both and I’ve managed to steer the conversation onto the neutral territories of sport, news, and the weather, but I know the inevitable interrogation is looming closer with every sip of wine my mum drinks.
“If you don’t mind me saying, you’ve got a touch of the Italian about your looks, Art,” Mum enquires, between sips of wine.
He places his fork down and dabs the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “I’ve some Italian in my bloodline.”
I stab a forkful of pasta as he provides the same answer he provided me and it hits me that I’m still none the wiser about where his Italian heritage is actually from.
“I was going to say you must have, with your dark, good looks.”
I cringe and concentrate on shoving a forkful of pasta into my mouth.
Please don’t tell me mum’s got the hots for my boyfriend. Shit... even I’m at it now.
“So, Sophie says you own some gyms,” Martin pipes up.
“I own a chain of gyms, Go Fitness.”
Martin’s brow wrinkles and I can almost hear the cogs turning in his head. “Go Fitness,” he says to himself, then his eyes light up as he remembers something. “Ahh, yes, I know. There’s one on the high street. I went a few years back. They’re very popular.” Hepats his belly. “As you can see, I don’t go very much.” He then frowns as if he’s puzzled by something. “But you say you own them?”
Art sips his water. “Yes, they’re an international chain now.”
A stunned silence descends on the table as Martin and Mum exchange looks of disbelief and stare at him.
“Well, I never,” Martin chortles after a while. “Sounds like you’re a bit of an entrepreneur.”
“You could say that.”
Martin finishes his lasagne and gives me a look. “Sophie’s very precious to us. I hope you’re looking after her.”
Art places his hand over mine and gives it a squeeze. His lips curl into a smile as he looks at me. “She’s very precious to me, too.”
I melt and as the waiters arrive to collect our plates, he doesn’t break eye contact with me.
“Whereabouts do you live?” Mum asks, picking up her glass of wine.
Her cheeks have taken on a permanent rosy glow and there’s a glassy look in her eyes that tells me she’s tipsy. Anything could come spewing out of her mouth now.
“I’ve an apartment in Mayfair.”
Mum nearly chokes on her wine. “Oh, I bet that’s lovely.”
Martin’s bushy brown eyebrows arch. “Mayfair.”
I stare down at the glass of wine I’ve nursed all night and pray for them to stop. They couldn’t make it any obvious that they’re impressed with his wealth, if they tried.
Mum’s glassy eyes sweep over him as she sips her wine. “How’s Magda, Sophie, love?”
I feel Art’s eyes on me, and I know I need to tell her that I’ve moved.
I tuck my hair behind my ears and shift uncomfortably in my chair. “I don’t know, I haven’t seen her for a while. You see, I don’t live in the flat anymore.”
Mum’s eyes widen in surprise, and she looks from me to Art. “What? You two live together?”