Proserpina
Dinner that evening was a strange affair.
For one thing, Schwartz had left without a word of goodbye. Normally he would wander into the kitchen and spend some time teasing Beatrice although she pretended to get annoyed; he would then fool around with the kids, wink and joke with the maids and Sita. Ignoring him for the major part, Sita would look at him stonily but it was obvious where her heart was. This was a routine we had every alternate day of the week and I knew that the twins looked forward to it. As for me, I enjoyed the light-hearted banter of this handsome man who was a dear friend. But only that.
That evening, the twins looked around for him before settling down meekly as Lucien sat, glowering at them like an angel of darkness from the head of the table, his large thick arms bunched under the jacket he still wore.. The tumbler of whiskey, positioned effectively at his elbow, gleamed rosily in the light of the chandeliers. One of his men, Ted Brister, was doubling up as a valet and the kids watched him, goggle-eyed as the man served the master of the house dutifully.
It was an eventful meal, alright. We had never had Lucien Delano seated with us at the dining table before and we, the kids and I, generally chose to eat in the comfort of the kitchen where there was a dining unit for a family of four. It used to be the time when we sat and ate, laughing and relaxed with the twins making a racket as the maids and Beatrice indulged them.
Not tonight though. We were like actors in a play, on our best behaviour. Only the muted sound of the crockery and the cutlery were to be heard. The twins were ominously silent.
We sat in the huge dining hall, eating, conscious of every spoon of curry, every bite of bread.
***
Earlier, I had watched him furtively before entering the room. Rather, I felt terribly conscious of his dark, brooding presence at the head of the table, the salt and pepper head catching the light from the overhead chandeliers, the icy grey eyes gleaming as they watched the food being served. He looked older, I thought, reflectively. The lines around his mouth had deepened, the frown lines between his brows were now permanently etched and the stubble on his unshaven hard jaw made him look dangerous. He looked much older than the forty-plus years he was.
Yet the familiar tug in my heart, in the depths of my body, made me ache for him.
Chastising myself for being a complete fool, I walked in with Piers clinging to me.
***
When Lucien raised his eyes to look at me, I scuttled to the side, having decided to put as much place as I could between him and me. Taking a seat away from Lucien, placing Piers beside him, on his right, I monitored the children's plates, making sure that Ria had her fair share of vegetables, despite her cross protests. My daughter had taken up her duty as a Daughter very seriously. So now she sat importantly, perched on a couple of cushions, balancing herself on the elegant chair, seated on his left. She stared at him openly, obviously trying to get used to the idea of him as her father.
If I wasn't so stressed, I would have been smiling.
She studied him closely, making no effort to look away when he raised his head and tried to fix her with one of his basilisk stares. Instead, she dimpled at him, a great gap-toothed grin that had his lips twitch in response.
Our son was a totally different matter. Piers bowed his head, completely ignoring Lucien and steadfastly refused to look at him. Ria made baby talk, even going so far as to offer him some of the Indian bread I had broken into bits for her, from her plate. Leaning over, she placed some bits in his plate and made an encouraging face, imploring him to eat. Lucien's reaction was priceless. He stared at the tiny pieces I had broken the bread into earlier that were now on his plate; then, unwilling to upset her, he took a piece and prepared to eat it.
Ria squealed in horror,
"Noooo! Pappa! Eat with curry!' She made it sound like CURDY but it only made him smile. My Mafia Don's first smile, and my heart clenched.
Watching Lucien grappling with her obvious attempts to befriend him was a treat! The big Mafia Boss who ruled his men with an iron hand and had me totally under his domination, was in a quandary, alright! He was like a kitten, clumsy and helpless, accepting her food, nodding his head at her as she, emboldened by his meekness, began to tell him how to chew and when to drink water.
All the small things I had countlessly told the children.
Watching him from below my lashes, I saw a strange look on his face when he was unaware of being watched.
At one point, he seemed to sense my eyes on him. When he raised his dark brows and shot me a look, I ducked my head and hid my grin. Let him stew, I thought happily and refused to help him out.
But worse was in store for him.
At some time during the meal, just before the Indian dessert, phirni, that I had prepared before, was to be served, Ria leant forward conspiratorially and lisped loud enough for everyone to hear,
'Pappa, you smell bad.' And pointing to the tumbler of whiskey with a podgy finger, she crinkled her tiny nose for effect and nodded as one would talk to a particularly slow creature.
I knew she meant the whiskey but the sight of Lucien's grim face darkening in embarrassment as his daughter surveyed him critically and passed judgement on him, made me give a gurgle of laughter. I hastily disguised it as a cough, avoiding his gaze as he gave me a look that should have burnt me to cinders. But for once, I could not care. My daughter could handle him so much more easily than I had ever managed to! I marvelled.
Strangely enough, he responded at once. He indicated that the server, Gustav, remove the offending tumbler of Scotch when he saw the distasteful grimaces Ria was directing at it.
***
Lucien
Lucien watched his family as they began an elaborate charade of trying to be normal when he joined them for dinner. His son seemed to resent him; not unexpected, thought Lucien angrily, downing a tumbler of his favourite Scotch, his brows gathering in a frown.
As for Proserpina, she shot nervous glances at him when she thought he was not looking but her entire body language spelled stress. As she flicked her long brown hair away from her face, tucking errant strands behind her small ears, in a dainty gesture that made him grow hard, he noticed that she looked more mature, more in command. The cheekbones of her pretty face were prominent, her wide smiling mouth was a sullen pout and she looked tired.
But her curvaceous body still had him grow hard with desire uncomfortably so that he shifted in his seat to hide the bulge in his trousers. The lush curves seemed to be calling to him like a siren's call as she swayed her hips and moved further down the table, as far away from him as possible, he thought heatedly. The scent of her freshly washed hair along with that lingering fragrance of vanilla, her own body scents, made him feel aroused.
Damn, he thought furiously, but he wanted her so badly it was eating him. He could barely control the urges that made him want to grab her and drag her to a room, throw her onto the table and f*ck that wet, pink pus*y.
If not for his daughter, he would have walked out mid-way through the meal.
But the little minx Ria, with the golden curls tumbling around her cherubic face kept him rooted to his seat. With her dimples and the eyes that gleamed as she charmed him into doing her bidding and eating the food she placed imperiously on his plate, he felt a strange reluctance to leave.
How much he had missed out on by treating his Woman and children in such a cold, remote manner. How much he had not experienced; the little ones growing up, laughing as easily with them as he had seen Schwartz do... it all made him ache with a growing desire to keep his family safe and protected.