Exquisitely Yours: A Sin City Tale Page 19

  I take the final steps down the hall and notice, maybe for the first time, the sixteen-by-twenty framed headshots.

  Daddy’s picture is, of course, front and center, bracketed by the CFO and other VPs. Their pictures consist of airbrushed faces, bleached smiles. The proverbial head tilt typically synonymous with high school photos and studio portraits is in full effect. Each person wears a suit in a muted neutral, and gold nameplates with ornately engraved titles rest under the frames.

  Six more steps and I stop in front of the designated room. Cream-colored, upholstered doors stand tall and imposing. My hand shakes a little when I reach for the handle. I quickly ball it into a tight fist and just as quickly release it, shaking my fingers to ease the jitter.

  “I got it,” I say under my breath.

  I was born to do this.

  Chapter 26

  Jessica

  Daniel's name flashes across my car’s center display panel with a call. I hit the answer button on the steering wheel as I parallel park between his SUV and a silver Mercedes in front of the address he sent earlier.

  “Where you at?” his deep voice breathes in through the surround sound and dammit if I don’t get goose bumps. “It’s six fifteen. The party is about to start.”

  Daniel’s family is celebrating his grandmother’s ninetieth birthday. I learned about the party somewhere between postcoital bliss and ice cream. That must be the reason I agreed to meet his family, for the first time, in such an intimate setting.

  My stomach churns with anxiety. Lord help me. I’m meeting the man’s family and as of right now I can hold every morsel of what I know about him in the palm of my hand and feel it across the surface of my skin. We haven’t had the ‘what are we?’ conversation, although I don’t think we need to. I don’t have the exact definition of what we’re doing but we both agree that it’s something. I’m just not sure that it’s a meet-the-parents-without-a-title kind of something.

  Calm down, Jess, you want this and more importantly, you want him.

  It’s been close to a month since Daniel and I…reconnected. In layman’s terms, for the past several days I’ve spent every night at his house, in his bed. We wake up and laugh together over breakfast. I come home—see there, I’m already referring to his place as home—from work and get tangled up in his long limbs while we binge-watch HBO Max.

  We don’t feel casual. If I’m honest, we never have. Which is why I need to swallow the nerves and get in gear to meet his family. It’s why I’ve been pushing for him to meet mine. It’s why we need to sit down with my brother and his band and tell them we’re a thing. God, that sounds so trite, regardless of attitude.

  I’m twenty-four years old, people. Twenty-damn-four, not fourteen. Daniel is only nine years older. In the grand scheme of things, the age gap really isn’t that much. Jake will get over it, Sin will make sure of that. My mom? Is a whole different story but she’ll come around in the end. At least I think she will. Since separating from Momma, Daddy has morphed into this go-with-the-flow creature that I have no idea what to do with, but the mistakes he made with Jake and Sin will ensure that with me he’ll be the first to accept our burgeoning relationship. He might even be one of the few rooting for us.

  Right now, my family is on the back burner. I need to focus on tonight. Meeting the Xu family is step one. I was hoping for something a little more casual like the tacos and tequila with his brother Chris, who, by the way, is awesome. Not a formal family dinner for their matriarch.

  “Jessie?” his concerned voice crackles through the car speakers.

  “I’m here,” I say in a rush. “Just parked.” I lean over the wheel and peer through the windshield, looking for the house number. I’m already late, the last thing I need on top of late is to show up at the wrong address.

  On the left side of a firecracker-red front door, black house numbers hang in a vertical line.

  Yep, right place.

  I let out a shaky breath and take a fortifying glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror. Makeup is neutral, edges laid, ponytail still smooth and tight. Granted, I have on an interview suit, but McQueen is timeless in a Jackie O kind of way and, to my credit, on the ride over I ditched the lightweight camisole I’d worn for the interview, like I’ve seen in the Nordstrom catalog, and the day-to-night transition was immediate. Instead of uptight corporate suit, I’m more Vivica Fox, circa the 2001 movie Two Can Play That Game. Which ain’t half bad.

  The front door opens, and a recognizable backlit silhouette exits, jaunting down the driveway toward me.

  I’m already out of the car, standing and smoothing wrinkles from my pants legs when Daniel reaches my side. And in true Daniel fashion, as soon as he’s in touching distance he cups my face with both hands, planting a sweet kiss on my lips.

  “Hello, poppet. I missed you today,” he says against my lips. “Did you get the gig? Slay the dragon? Press the red button to detonate the evil, male-dominated corporate world so you can rebuild it in your image?”

  “You think I could do all of that in one day?” I ask, searching his eyes for the answer. No one believes in me like that. Not outside of my family, anyway.

  “Not believe, Jessie. I know,” he says with so much conviction I feel silly for even thinking the question, let alone asking it. “Now let me look at you.” His hands drop and he takes the tiniest step back.

  “I didn’t want to be super formal, but I didn’t want to come too casual either. Is this good?”

  “It might be too good.” Daniel reaches out to run fingertips down the sliver of exposed skin between my lapels. “You’re braless.”

  “Mm-hmm,” I respond absently. “Now bullet point me. Quick, I need tips and tricks.”

  “But all I have to do is move this little piece of fabric,” he continues, completely ignoring my plea for information. “And I’ll have nipples and tits like, bam, all up in my face.”

  “I’m serious, Daniel.” I sigh under the tickle of his fingers.

  “Me too. All I’d have to do is pop this button and b-a-m.”

  “Do you take anything seriously?” I have to laugh. He’s just so ridiculous. “I want your parents and family to like me.”

  “They’ll like you because I like you.”

  Spoken like the deluded.

  “Is there anything I can do to guarantee that?”

  He lets out a resigned sigh into my neck and stands to his full height. “Speak to the oldest person in the room first but acknowledge everyone you pass.”

  “Oldest person. Got it.”

  “Don’t put more on your plate than you can comfortably eat and don’t get seconds until everyone in the house has eaten.”

  “My family does the same thing.”

  Daniel links our pinkies, and we walk, arms swinging between us to the front door.

  “My entire family speaks Mandarin at home.”

  “Even you?”

  How did I not know this?

  He whispers foreign words that lack the fluidity and romance of Latin-based languages, but the rough cadence in his deep tone is seductive.

  “What did you say?”

  “Even me,” he laughingly translates.

  “That’s it? It sounded like…” Candy to my ear. “Way more than that.”

  “The lady likes, does she?” Daniel grips my chin. His laughing gaze drifts across my face. “Are you an audiophile, Jessie? Let me unbutton your jacket and I’ll talk all kinds of dirty shit.”

  The tightness in my stomach eases and I take my first easy breath since pulling up. “Maybe later tonight.” I laugh lightly, hitting his arm. “Now can we please get in there?”

  He opens the door but pulls me to a stop before we fully enter. Startled by the change in momentum, I look up to a Hershey gaze, deep and melting. “You got this, Jessie J. You got it in fucking spades.”


  Daniel steps to the side; his large palm is centered on the red door, holding it open. He tilts his head, indicating that I should go inside. So I do, straight into chaos.

  A couple of kids go screaming by. And is that karaoke? Whitney Houston must be rolling over in her grave at the god-awful rendition of “I Will Always Love You.”

  A woman rounds the corner and stops dead in her tracks. Her curious gaze, identical to the man next to me, sweeps down my body before jumping to Daniel. No introduction needed. I’m looking at his mother.

  She’s petite with porcelain skin and graying hair that stops at the curve of her waist. An apron hangs down to her knees and clunky pink Crocs encase her small feet. Ms. Xu speaks to Daniel in rapid-fire Mandarin, and the natural smile seemingly always present on his face falls.

  His response is monotone. A harsh cadence unlike anything that I’ve experienced in his presence. At one point, he turns to me, and I force a self-conscious smile at the sound of my name. I don’t understand a word being said but her body language doesn’t need translation. It asks who in the hell is the stranger in her house. Daniel tips his head in my direction with a stern look.

  Reluctantly, the woman extends a hand. “Jessica, so nice to meet you. I’m Ming-Na, Daniel’s mother.”

  I force myself to hold her gaze as I clasp the petal-soft hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “We’re gonna go say hi to the birthday girl,” Daniel says purposefully in English. Clasping my hand, he steps around his mother. “Please, be nice, Ma.”

  The brittle, brown eyes drop to our joined hands and a finely arched brow slowly raises in question.

  “Nice. Ma.”

  “Of course. After you’ve introduced your friend…”—she rubs all the possible stank she can muster on that last word—“to Nai Nai, I could use your help in the kitchen.” To talk about me, she means. The subtext hangs uncomfortably between the three of us. Until Daniel offers a brief nod.

  “Come on, Jessie J.” He offers a weak smile, moving in the opposite direction of his mother and pulling me in his wake. “You’ll love my grandma.”

  “Your nai nai, right?”

  “Look at you. Picking up Mandarin like a pro. That was better than half of my cousins from Gardenia.”

  The nervousness that took a brief sabbatical doubles down. This introduction is significant, maybe even more so than meeting his mother, who, by the way, hates me on sight.

  Daniel adores his grandmother, changed his life to accommodate her care. And I want the woman who is everything to him to invite me into their world. I want her to root for me, and us. Honestly, I just want her to like me.

  “Hold up for a sec.” I pull on his arm, forcing him to stop. “Is it okay for me to approach your grandmother? I mean, because of the Alzheimer’s. I don’t want…” to mess this up.

  “Jessie J.” He shakes his head and wraps an arm around my waist, briefly squeezing. “Today is actually a good day and she’ll love you.” He beams, dropping a brief kiss on my temple.

  Daniel maneuvers us through milling family members to the other side of the house, where his grandmother is situated in a quiet nook. The woman in front of me doesn’t appear dimmed with age or loss of memory. In fact, she’s stunning. Elegant in a way associated with class and money and classic Hollywood films. Her silver hair is cut into a stylish bob that frames a surprisingly wrinkle-free face, and intelligent brown eyes study our approach. A floral-patterned, high-necked silk gown clings to her torso, and perfectly matched pumps are showcased on her feet.

  From her position, Daniel’s nai nai can observe all the ruckus being caused by her kinfolk without being at the center of the tornado, and from the tranquil look on her face, I’d say she’s content.

  Multiple heads track our progress across the room. The stares, because they are definitely staring, pepper my cheeks with their curiosity and pity, which I don’t know how to interpret. Before I can give it much thought, I’m standing in front of his grandmother.

  Speak, Jess. It’s literally the only thing he told you to do and you’re standing here mute. Tap into those Sweet Potato Queen roots, girl, and turn on the southern charm your momma paid an arm and a leg to give you.

  “Hey, Grandma.” Daniel leans down, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. “Why are you over here hiding in the corner?”

  “I’m not hiding. You don’t recognize the woman of the hour when you see her? And how many times do I have to tell you to call me something a little more elegant. Grandma sounds like something from one of those Clint Eastwood spaghetti westerns.”

  I laugh at her spunky response, drawing her attention. “And who is this beautiful girl?”

  “What would you say if I told you she was my girlfriend?”

  My stomach does a little flip at the title. We’ve never defined the parameters of our situationship, but I like the sound of it.

  “That depends,” she says, open curiosity morphing into scrutiny as her gaze bounces between me and the laughing man in front of her. “Is it true?”

  Daniel winks at me over his shoulder before turning back to his grandmother. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  If she doesn’t, I would.

  “Always you with the jokes.” She shakes her head with a chuckle and pats his cheek. “But this time you don’t have to say anything because I see it.”

  As if to confirm her statement, his nai nai nods sagely, her gaze once again sliding between us. “It’s all over the both of you. I think you might’ve finally met your match.”

  And I take that as my cue to step forward. “Jessica Johnson, ma’am. Nice to meet you.”

  “And she has manners.” His grandmother smiles, turning cloudy eyes on me. “I like her already.”

  “I’ll tell you a secret,” Daniel says conspiratorially in a stage whisper. He leans close to her ear and in a deep baritone, he stage whispers, “I like her too.”

  A playful smile pulls at the corner of his lips, and I can’t help but return it, even though it’s not for me. In a roundabout way, it feels like it should be, or maybe it’s just that I want it to be.

  “Food isn’t going to serve itself. Everyone to the kitchen,” Ming-Na calls from the doorway, and a wave of hungry people moves as if led by the melody of the pied piper toward the kitchen.

  Daniel hangs back, attending to his grandmother. Gently helping her stand, wrapping a tiny blue-veined hand around his forearm, and walking slowly to keep pace with her shuffling steps.

  “You read any good books lately?” he asks absently, guiding us toward the food.

  “I listened to that dirty one you gave me.” She clucks her tongue and wiggles her eyebrows.

  “And?” he croons expectantly.

  “And I had to listen to it with my headphones on so as not to offend anyone who happened to walk past my room.”

  What could he possibly give her to read that’s so bad people would be offended?

  “It was about a priest doing all manner of things in the most unusual places.” Nai Nai fans a hand in front of her face, a slight flush tinting her cheeks at the thought.

  I snap eyes to Daniel, and he gives me what can only be called a lecherous look over the top of his grandmother’s head. I stifle a laugh, which dies naturally when we round the corner of the dining room.

  Conversation dies one cheery voice at a time. Overtaken by the awkward silence of a stranger invading a private family moment. I feel their irritated eyes like an anvil, weighted and heavy with misanthropic intent and something else that I can’t really call.

  Anxiety slows my gait until my steps completely stop and the already questioning glances take on a more hostile countenance.

  Woman up, Jess. Put on your big-girl panties and your momma’s attitude. At the mere thought of my mother, I stand a little taller. I resume walking, a little more sway to my hips, each step in
tentional, building confidence drawn from the lineage and breeding of Danielle Johnson.

  On the complete opposite end of the spectrum, Daniel seems oblivious. His focus on getting his grandmother situated at the head of the table. Once his nai nai is seated, a plate of food appearing in front of her from another relative, he turns expectant eyes on me and holds out his hand. Which I grasp like a lifeline.

  We’re almost to the last open seats when Chris, Daniel’s brother, hooks me in with a one-arm hug. “Hey, Jess. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Surprise.” I shake my hands back and forth in jazz hands.

  “Hey, no. Not so much.” Chris leans over and snatches a spring roll off a passing plate, eyeing me over the top rim of his glasses. “I knew he was feeling you, but D doesn’t bring women home.”

  “You talk way too much for comfort, kid,” Daniel says, pulling me toward the kitchen. “Let’s sit at the other end, as far away from this asshole as possible.”

  We round the corner to four women speaking in Mandarin. The sound is harsh and fast, and by the way the conversation dies at the sight of us in the doorway it’s obvious that I was the topic of their…discussion.

  The youngest woman in the quad has the grace to look embarrassed while the other three school their features into polite indifference.

  “Aunt Keiko, Aunt Joan, this is…” His eyes flit to my face, roaming, drinking me in with appreciation, and for that stalled second, I breathe easy under his attention. “My friend. Jessica Johnson.”

  Speak to the oldest person first. The oldest person. Which one of them is the oldest?

  Unsure, I just put my hand out hoping someone will take it, and none of them do. The three elder women stare as if I offended their personal etiquette and sensibility, and maybe I did.

  My palm lowers of its own accord, and I clear my throat, nervously licking my lips.

  “Very nice to meet you, Jessica,” says the aunt on my left, inclining her head regally. She’s round, everywhere, like a cherub, but every stitch of clothing, from the scarf tied around her head to the strappy sandals on her feet, is designer. “And how do you know Daniel?”