Starfire (Erotic Romance) (Peaches Monroe) (29 page)

From deep within the blanket, came a feeble, “Thank you.”

“Are you good in there? In your blanket?”

“Yup.”

“It’s almost one o’clock. Do you want me to go down to the lunch without you, or do you want me to stay here?”

Brightly, he said, “You go.”

“Okay. I’ll be wearing the green shirt, FYI. With a purple skirt, because I’m crazy like that. Woo! Green and purple. With silver sandals.”

I got dressed, one eye on the rocking blanket.

“You look pretty,” he said.

“You’re under a blanket and you can’t see me.”

“You’re always pretty.”

I looked around the room and did a last-minute mirror check on my hair and makeup. “Dalton? Do you want me to stay here with you?”

The blanket answered, “No, you can go. I might have a nap.”

“Don’t fall asleep under the blanket and suffocate.”

Sounding very calm now, he said, “I’ll get into the bed and tuck myself in.”

Pretending this wasn’t the weirdest fucking thing ever, I went to the door and said, “Okay, I’m off to lunch with my parents and your father, whom I’ve never met before. We’re just going to…”

The blanket didn’t move. “Have fun!”

I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, muttering, “We’re just going to have the world’s most awkward lunch, ever.”

My parents emerged from their room down and across the hall, wearing entirely new outfits.

My mother asked where my fiancé was. I explained that he was in the room, exhausted from work, and having a nap. She seemed more than a little disappointed, and I had to push her down the hall, away from the door.

Once we were a few doors away, I explained, “He’s having a panic attack about seeing everyone, so I gave him a Time Out.”

She nodded and said I did the right thing, as if leaving your fiancé in a room with a blanket over his head was a completely normal thing. My father just kept on walking, more interested by the portholes in the floor than anything else. In light of the recent revelations, about him hiding his true feelings about my underwear modeling contract, his nonchalance did seem suspicious to me.

We walked into the resort’s dining room, ready to meet Dalton’s father, the porn star.

CHAPTER 27

We got to the resort’s dining room, where we had little challenge spotting Dalton’s father.

Was he the round-faced, bald man reading the same thriller novel my father had brought on the plane? Was he the silver-haired man walking through and leaning shakily on a cane? Or was he the man with the jet-black hair and his first three shirt buttons undone, a gold medallion worn proudly against his tanned skin, flirting with not one, but two waitresses at the same time?

My father, bless his heart, started to move toward the round-faced man with the novel. Giggling, my mother grabbed his arm and directed him toward the flirty man with the black hair. I had no doubt he was Dalton’s father. The man seemed to be commanding the whole room from his seat in the middle.

The two blushing waitresses pulled out chairs for us before walking away.

I don’t know how he did it, but Dalton’s father managed to stare at both of their asses as the girls walked away.

He stood and reached his big tanned hand toward my mother. “The luscious Peaches,” he said.

She tittered predictably, then introduced herself, my father, and me.

“Where is my son, the handsome and legitimate actor?” the man asked loudly.

His breath carried a sample of the amber liquid also in his tumbler on the table.

I took my seat, smoothing down my purple skirt in an identical motion to my mother smoothing her own skirt, sitting next to me. My father chose the end seat of the table set for six, facing us from the head position and leaving an empty seat between himself and Dalton’s father.

“Dalton’s not feeling well,” I said. “He was exhausted from working on set all week—”

“Don’t I know what that’s like!” the man shouted proudly. And then, for several seconds, I’m sure all four of us imagined the forty-something man bouncing around on big boobs and round asses, plunging in and out of…

I tried to shake the images from my mind, but they were persistent. The next wave of horror was worse, when I noticed he had the same ears as Dalton, and the same nose and lips. I thought male porn stars were always average-looking, except for the gay stuff. Holy mothershit. Did he do gay porn? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but now a whole bunch of very different round, bouncy things sprang to mind.

I rearranged the silverware in front of me and rolled the cloth napkin out onto my lap—as though an extra layer would make me feel less exposed.

“Dalton,” the man said, snorting around the name. “If you ask me,
David
is a fine name for a young man. Dalton isn’t a name, it’s just good
branding
. My son always had a keen mind for getting inside people’s heads, though, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” He grinned, as if to prove that he wasn’t being incredibly rude.

“He’s sleeping in the room, and I’m sure he’ll be rested by dinner,” I mumbled to my lap.

“How should I address you?” my mother asked sweetly.

He gave my mother a scandalous look. “You can call me Daddy.”

My father cleared his throat and pushed his chair back.

The man quickly waved his hand for everyone to calm down. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I’m used to the convention circuit, and it’s just my natural instinct to be friendly toward the ladies. My fans, they see me on screen, and they feel like they know me already, so I try to match their expectations. I apologize that I come across as too… friendly.”

“We’re going to be family,” my mother said.

My father cleared his throat, as if to say that last point was debatable.

“Call me Jake,” he said. “My real name is Richard, but I don’t care for people calling me Dick, unless the word Big’s in front.”

At this point, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I started laughing. Big Dick. Can you imagine? And my mother. And my father, his lips practically white from being pressed together so hard.

“Big Dick,” I said, between gasps for breath. In a moment, tears were streaming down my cheeks.

To my father, I said, “Dad, just ask him what kind of car he drives, would you? Someone, please. Be normal.”

My father took a breath, then asked, “Did you drive up here, Jake? We arrived in a plane, but I didn’t see another one back there at the dock. Just a few boats.”

“I’d love to have a boat,” Jake replied. “Everyone needs a hole to pour money down, especially in between wives.”

My father blinked and looked over at my mother.

“I’ll allow it,” she said, letting him know he could enjoy the joke without being taken to task for a smile later.

“Drove up in my Audi,” Jake said, moving on quickly to talk about his car.

By the time the waitress came to bring Jake a refill—“Make it a double, princess, and keep ‘em coming, because there’s nothing worse than the taste of melted ice.”—the two men were discussing gas mileage, and the cabin Jake had purchased from an environmentalist couple going through a divorce. Apparently, the cabin had solar panels and a wind turbine, and generated eighty percent of its own energy.

My mother, who I never would have pegged as someone interested in living off the grid, seemed fascinated by all of this. Or maybe she was just dazzled by his eyes, which were a darker hue of Dalton’s green emeralds.

We ordered our lunch and began eating. Jake ordered the full English breakfast for lunch, and he poked his fork into a big sausage, then held it up for us to admire. “The adult entertainment industry has changed a lot in the last decade or so,” he said, still waving the sausage.

My father, in all seriousness, said, “Of course. The whole distribution system has changed, with high-bandwidth internet.”

“Plus Viagra.” Jake winked at my mother. “If you ask me, I’d say that little blue pill was invented by women. Not that I ever touch the stuff. Don’t need to.”

“That’s enough,” I said, reaching across the table and taking the fork out of his hand. I shook the fat, greasy sausage off the fork’s tines. “Jake, I’m starting to see why Dalton has been avoiding you all these years. You can’t behave yourself for ten minutes, can you?”

“Peaches,” my mother hissed at me.

Jake swirled the amber liquid in his tumbler and brought it to his lips, his dark green eyes fixed on me.

“From what I’ve heard,” he drawled slowly, “you’re no stranger to bad behavior yourself.”

I grabbed a knife from my place setting and reached across the table toward Jake’s plate. “I’m no angel, but I don’t go waving phallic-looking greasy sausages at other people’s mothers!” I proceeded to dice his sausage into coin-shaped slices.

“You’ve raised a hell of a good woman,” Jake said to my parents, his face smooth with honesty. “I wish the boy’s mother was still around, because nothing would make her happier than to see the fine people he’s surrounded himself with. You Monroes, you’re
good
, but you know that. You’re not like me. Your daughter isn’t ashamed of you, hiding up in her room.”

My mother replied, “We are all just so sorry for your loss. Petra told us your wife passed away recently?”

“She passed unexpectedly. That’s what the papers said, because that’s their code for suicide. Cause of death was an overdose, but I don’t believe it was an accident.”

“Very sorry for your loss,” said my father, who had been quiet since the topic moved away from solar panels.

“I don’t touch drugs now,” Jake said, swirling his drink once more. “Booze, on the other hand, is perfectly fine in moderation.” He winked at my mother, smiling again. “Unlike women and love, for which there should never be moderation.”

My father looked up and caught my eye from his end of the table. His expression wasn’t angry, or upset. Just confused. As if he couldn’t understand why. Why did I keep doing these whimsical things that affected the whole family?

My mother responded by reaching over and grabbing my father’s hand. “I agree,” she said. “No moderation on love.”

Jake got a big grin on his face. His teeth weren’t nearly as perfect as Dalton’s, but he had a similar chin dimple, and some of my good feelings for his son were making me like him, even though he was crude and eye-fucking my mother way too much.

“No moderation on love,” he repeated. “I should write that down for the speech at the wedding.”

I pushed my chair back and stood. “Oh, HELL, no.”

He gave me a devilish look. “I promise the speech will be very tasteful.”

My mother grabbed my wrist and gently sat me back down. “You two threw everyone into a tizzy with your whirlwind wedding, so now you’re going to have to deal with it.” She asked Jake, “He’s your only child, is that right?”

“Yup. I got the old snip-snip right after the boy was born. Doctor had to go in two times, because my swimmers kept finding a way.”

My father’s chair squeaked as he turned and looked wistfully at the quiet, bald man with the paperback.

“Does Dalton have any cousins?” my mother asked. “Peaches is very fond of all her cousins. She didn’t have a sibling her own age, but we were blessed, weren’t we?”

“I’m blessed,” I said, nodding in agreement and watching Jake closely. I was intrigued by the idea of my fiancé having cousins. Perhaps one of them was single and cute, ready to be set up with Shayla at the wedding.

“Funny you should mention that,” Jake said, leaning in and glancing around as though making sure nobody would overhear a big secret. “I’ve got a bit of a surprise for the boy, and I can’t wait to see the look on his face.”

In unison, my mother and I leaned forward and said, “What’s the surprise?”

He tilted his head cockily, his dark green eyes flitting from me to my mother and back again. “Wouldn’t be much of a surprise for him if I told ya, now, would it?”

“Good surprise or bad surprise?” I asked.

“Do I look like the kind of father who’d spring a
bad
surprise on his son a week before he married such a pretty girl… who smells like a pretty little alpine wildflower?” He sniffed the air. “Did you just shower?”

“I’m sure your surprise isn’t that great.” I returned to eating my lunch, which had gotten cold.

My mother said, “I certainly look forward to meeting more of your family, especially since soon they’ll be our family.”

Jake chuckled and waved for the waitress to refill his drink. My father waved his hand as well, and asked for the same as what Jake was having.

My mother shot him a look that said you’re-seriously-drinking-before-dinnertime?

He shot back the can’t-beat-em-join-em look.

The waitress arrived and my mother ordered a glass of one of the winery’s reds, then changed her order to a bottle.

~

Thanks to the wine, we got through our first family meal without too much horror.

My mother did inform Jake that while she couldn’t say she’d seen one of his films, she couldn’t say she hadn’t, because she had watched the
occasional
adult film, “mostly for ideas.”

My father finished his second double scotch and had the pleasant expression of an old man who has turned off his hearing aid and is nodding along deafly while he ponders the meaning of life, or about circuit breakers, or that touchdown he scored in high school.

After lunch, I ran over to the room to check on Dalton. He’d moved onto the bed and didn’t even stir when I came into the room, or when I whisper-yelled, “HEY, ARE YOU SLEEPING?” a couple of times.

I fixed my hair and makeup in the bathroom, then came out to watch him sleep. “I shouldn’t have given you all that hot sex,” I said.

The sex had relaxed him too much, but at least sleeping was better than having a panic attack.

We had an itinerary for the day, so I left him to sleep some more.

I met my parents and Dalton’s father in the lobby, and we joined the other resort guests for a tour. I was the only sober person there, which was fine. Everyone was happy.

The resort staff were all universally charming, and the tour was excellent, but once you’ve seen one vat of mushed grapes, you’ve seen enough. The tasting part was more interesting, especially when Jake made his move on a couple of single ladies in their thirties.