Page 51 of Love on the Vine
OLIVIA
Callie: So he did admit he wanted you?
Olivia: Callie, he slept in the car. IN THE CAR. I’ve ever been so thoroughly rejected.
Callie: It’s time to change your strategy. What do you think, Levi?
Levi: Go big, or go home, Liv. Make him an offer he can’t refuse.
Olivia: Thanks, Don Corleone. I’ll keep that in mind.
Iflung my phone on the bed with an ironic laugh at Levi’s last piece of advice. After what had happened in Beaune, Jake had made it pretty damn clear that he would refuse any offer I made him.
We’d hardly spoken to each other on the ride home. I hadn’t slept at all that night alone in that big bed, and I couldn’t bear the thought of trying to make meaningless small talk—or worse, having to listen to more of Jake’s excuses for why he’d rather cut off both arms before he’d touch me.
So I’d slumped down in my seat as soon I’d climbed into the car and dozed fitfully until we reached the chalky hills of Provence. Jake’s Japanese clients had arrived shortly afterward,and he’d been busy with them ever since while I was left to replay the scene of my rejection over and over in my head.
I couldn’t even be happy that he’d admitted he wanted me—or, in his words had imagined doing a hundred different things to my body—because he was so determined not to touch me that it didn’t matter.
Curling up in the window seat in my room, I thumbed through the last issue of Lucie’s magazine determined to work on my French and forget about Jake. But it was no use. I was still so angry. How dare he pretend to know what was best for me? As if I had no say in the matter.
My phone rang and my dad’s number flashed across the screen. I groaned. Here was another one who thought he knew what was best for me. He hadn’t called much this summer, although he did text me silly jokes on the regular. I knew why he was calling now; I hadn’t responded to his last message about my upcoming move to Chicago because I still hadn’t gotten up the courage to tell him about Ferrandi.
“Hey, Dad.” I flopped onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, bracing myself for another unpleasant conversation.
“Hey, kiddo. What are you up to?”
If you only knew. “Not much. Working on my French.”
“Yeah? How’s that coming?”
“Let’s just say that when I order food in a restaurant, what shows up on the plate is always a surprise.”
He laughed. “Geez, it sounds like you inherited my language skills. But I know you, you won’t give up until you’ve mastered it, right?”
“No, I’m not giving up.” There were a few things I wasn’t willing to give up on yet. Language was the least of it.
“So listen, Kirsten and I are heading to Chicago this weekend. I’ve been checking into some real estate there and found a coupleof nice apartments. It would be an investment for us, but you’d stay in it while you’re finishing your degree.”
My heart pounded in my ears, and I sat up so quickly I sent the magazine flying to the floor. “Dad, I . . . you can’t do that.” I stuttered, my voice trembling with panic and frustration. “That’s a decision I need to make on my own.”
Just tell him. Tell him you don’t want to go to law school. Tell him.
But I couldn’t. Because part of me was terrified of the idea of staying in France, terrified that I wouldn’t be able to make a living doing what I loved. What if Dad was right and I should just stick with food as a hobby?
“Well, the trip’s already planned. We’re taking the boys to see the Tigers at Wrigley Field,” he continued. “I promise not to sign any contracts without you. I just want to make sure you’ll be in the right neighborhood. You want me to do a video call so you can tour it with us?”
“No, I have to help with some of Jake’s clients this weekend,” I lied.
“Oh yeah? Have you made any good contacts?”
“Most of Jake’s big clients are in Asia.”
“Hmm, I guess it would have made more sense for you to join him when he was in China. Sounds like France is more of a vacation for him. Tough life,” Dad joked.
“It’s not a vacation. He works all the time. In fact, I’ve hardly even seen him this week,” I protested, annoyed at him for making light of Jake’s career. He couldn’t take any kind of work with food seriously.
“Look, I should go. There’s a delivery, and I need to sign for it.” Another lie, but I had to get off the phone. This conversation had sent my anxiety through the roof.
