Bad Teacher (Bad Girls Club Book 3) Page 6

  He propped himself on his elbow, lifting his gaze to meet hers. “What’s your excuse? Divorce?”

  “No.” Indecision lumped in her throat. She’d never told anyone new in her life about what happened. But, Theo wasn’t a permanent fixture. After she helped him with his daughter and their attraction subsided, he’d be a warm memory on cold nights. Why not use this time with him to practice opening up? Her stomach plummeted at the idea of him leaving her immediately after finding out—chastising her, as she’d done to herself so many times.

  “What aren’t you telling me, Violet?” The amusement dissipated from his face. He regarded her with curiosity, and a touch of compassion in his eyes. “I feel like you allude to bad times in your life, but you never go deeper than the surface.”

  A twinge of trepidation stabbed at her, like she’d been stripped of her clothes when she least expected. He’s perceptive. “Isn’t that what our fling is? Superficial?”

  “There is nothing superficial about how fiercely I want you. And while I’m not in the market for a new wife, I’d like to help you if I could.”

  She chewed her bottom lip. Help her? There was a good chance he’d pick up his clothes and leave if she told him she’d abandoned her children for eight months. No, not abandoned, she reminded herself. Sought help so she could take care of them the way they deserved. “Over a year ago, I had severe postpartum depression.”

  He nodded, encouraging her to go on.

  “I didn’t experience it when I had Amanda, but after Trevor I was down a lot. And the depression actually triggered a part of my past that I had bottled inside when I left New York.” Probably much earlier than that, she added to herself, bitterly. “My biological father had been raised in a very strict home, and when I was born, a girl and not the boy he wanted, he punished me. My mom couldn’t have any more children after I was born.”

  He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I’m so sorry, Violet.”

  Tears welled inside her, and without delay they stung the area behind her eyes and tightened her cheeks. She could blink them away, but why fake it? A weight still sat on her chest. She’d lied to a lot of people, for a long time—even to herself. “He would lock me in the closet, sometimes for hours if I failed to do anything remotely compliant. Sometimes he hit me, and when that happened I actually preferred, even though it hurt. Because I knew then that he wouldn’t lock me away afterwards.”

  A dark emotion crossed his eyes, darkening them to a matte black. “Tell me where this motherfucker lives.”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she wiped them with the back of her free hand, stifling a mix of a cry and a nervous chuckle. The concern in his face, the hard contours of his expression offered her temporary solace. Of course he didn’t mean it—why would he, he barely knew her—but the thought of having someone in her corner, after so long, warmed her heart.

  “He’s dead. One day he tried to hit my mom and she defended herself with a baseball bat,” she said, remembering that day when she came home from a regular day as a sophomore in high school, and found police cars parked on the driveway. Bile rose from her throat, but she swallowed the bitter memory. She hoped after his death his mother would become the mother she’d always wanted, but it only underscored Bette Manning’s narcissistic personality.

  “Where was she when he was doing all these things to you?”

  “She looked the other way and explained to me that he was trying to discipline me the same way he had been. Also, she didn’t want to give up the lavish lifestyle he provided for her.”

  He sat next to her, without letting go of her hand. She appreciated the silence, the lack of judgement. Would he also support her when she told him the rest? She took a long, deep breath, weighing her options. She could stop here, and finish the story as a survivor. No. I’ll go until the end.

  “One day I was putting my baby’s clothes away in his closet, and the images of me being locked in one all of a sudden unraveled in my mind, and I couldn’t breathe. My therapist later said it was some kind of post-stress traumatic disorder that I never got treatment for.”

  “That’s terrifying.”

  “Yeah. So from that day on, something just clicked, and I couldn’t function anymore. I went through the motions and talked to people, but barely felt present. I had hallucinations, and these terrible dark thoughts of bad things happening to my children. Because of me.” Because I could turn out just like my father. She understood now that wasn’t the case, but that fear had threatened her like a firearm pointed at her head. How could she have kept on parenting when both her parents had been so awful?

  He took her hand to his lips and gave it a gentle kiss.

  “I was losing my sanity… little by little, and afraid I’d become a crazy mom.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers trembling. “One night, I took off. I wrote a note and left my family—I knew I needed to be apart from them to get better.”

  He regarded her with understanding. “Where did you go?”

  “To New York. I confronted my mother first, and we had a long conversation. She’s a proud woman who doesn’t take responsibility for anything. Then I voluntarily entered a mental wellness clinic for treatment.”

  He squeezed her hand again, offering her support. “Good for you. A lot of people don’t get help.”

  She thinned her lips. “Yes, but… I was away for eight months.”

  “Eight months,” he repeated, his voice above a whisper.

  She disengaged her hand from his and rubbed her temples. So many emotions came in waves, washing through her. Regret, pain, and… comfort. “The treatment with therapy and antidepressants came first, and then for a few months I was ashamed, and fearful of it coming back. I knew I’d lost my husband, and that was my fault. And maybe I’d lost my kids too,” she said, her voice wavering. A fresh batch of tears prickled her eyes again, and she sobbed.

  He held her in his arms, and stroked her back. “You came back, though. You made it through, Violet.”

  His touch was comforting, reassuring, and welcoming like a well-worn quilt. She softened in his arms, until a long sigh escaped her lips, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “Thank you for not judging me.”

  “You were ill and needed to heal. What’s to judge, ma chérie?”

  She held him tight, so tight that oxygen faltered for a moment. Their bodies plastered together, still with a cool sheen of sweat, naked, but the jolt bolting through her didn’t have an ounce of sexuality. Well, maybe an ounce or two. Mainly a warm, soft, liberating sensation spread though her. He deposited a kiss on her shoulder, and she smiled against his neck. The sex had been amazing, earth shattering but this… this moment was priceless.

  “When do you have to leave?” she said, assuming he’d hired a sitter and at some point needed to go back to his daughter. Having him spend the night had never crossed her mind even at the most positive of times. She couldn’t fool herself, and preferred not to. “I don’t want to keep you away from Marcelle—”

  “I still got time,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Relax, Violet. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I’m not going anywhere. Her muscles loosened, and she reveled in his embrace. A silly part of her dared to dream for a while, and hope those words were true.

  7

  Theo removed his apron and sat on the chair, tossing it aside. As much as he enjoyed being hands-on, he couldn’t afford to. He had five restaurants to manage, two in Tulip and three in surrounding towns. The reminder on his digital calendar pinged, and he flicked the screen on.

  In a couple weeks, a prestigious food critic would visit one of his restaurants as he toured California. Theo glanced at his cell phone, and saw a message from Violet.

  I may be a few minutes late today to my session with Marcelle. FYI.

  Theo nodded. He had left her home last night after she’d shared those incredibly personal experiences with him. This message was all business, which hinted she didn’t want to p
ressure him.

  Sounds good. He typed and sent.

  A second later, he added, Miss you.

  Hmmm… frustration clenched his gut. Maybe it was too soon for miss you messages. He ran his fingers down his face, unsure. Quickly, his phone pinged.

  Me too.

  His heart rate skyrocketed, and he bit back a smile. Those two simple words sent a delightful sensation through him. Of course, there was nothing wrong with a simple miss you. Besides, after all she’d told him about her past, he couldn’t simply retreat and act cold and distant. He was a troubled man, surely, but not a monster.

  He searched for an appropriate emoji to reply when Alan announced his entry with his usual two quick knocks. Sliding his phone into his pocket, he looked at his friend. “What’s up?”

  Alan handed him a folder. “I printed the new menu. If you agree, we can get it by the time Arthur Fourton comes for his visit.”

  Theo opened the new menu and sat. Alan chose the chair in front of him. A quick scan of the pages and he already noticed one major fail. “The duck confit is gone.” The confit du canard was his late wife’s specialty, and one of the original dishes that stood the test of time in the several years they’ve had the restaurants.

  Alan touched the back of his neck, the way he did whenever he was about to deliver bad news. “Yes. Since we changed other dishes, we decided to revamp the menu and the confit du canard hasn’t been ordered much in the past year.”

  He didn’t need to ask who “we” were. Alan had a meeting with the chefs from the restaurants to go over the menu the previous week. Theo drummed his fingers on the desk. A chilly void took over his stomach, like removing one of his main organs. He shook his head. “The confit du canard stays.”

  “Theo, please, be reasonable—”

  “I am. You know I trust you and I’ve been especially grateful about how you stepped up on the last two years, but I can’t remove Celine’s favorite dish from the menu.”

  Alan stared at him, a gleam of kindness in his green eyes. “I admire your sentiment, Theo. But the big food critic is coming. And this is a great time to take a risk and move forward with different creative choices.”

  “I’m all for adding more, and I don’t mind the changes you’ve made, but taking that dish off the menu would be like…” he started, his voice losing energy at the end. He rocked back in his chair, restless. Would be like erasing Celine from his memory. He didn’t have to say it, but Alan shuffled in his seat and gave him a knowing look.

  “You’re too hard on yourself, Theo. You’re a young man and shouldn’t have to live the rest of your life grieving. That’s not what Celine would have wanted.”

  “I’m not grieving,” he rushed to say. “She’s gone, and I accept it.”

  “Then act like it. I’m not saying her favorite dish won’t come back, this is a trial.”

  What if Marcelle noticed the difference? What would he tell her then? She visited his restaurants sometimes and knew enough of the business. She certainly knew about her mom’s favorite dish. He rubbed his forehead. “Let me think about it.”

  Alan sighed. “How’s your non-relationship?”

  “She’s fine. We’re fine.”

  “Fine,” Alan said sarcastically. “Don’t share.”

  “She’s been through a lot. Tough woman,” he said with a pang of pride. “But I have to be careful… because I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “You don’t want to get hurt,” Alan said in a slightly accusatory tone. “That’s comprehensible, after what you’ve been through.”

  “That’s not what I said. God, man. Must you always change my words?” he snapped. Why did Alan think he was worried about getting hurt? Of course he wasn’t, because his heart wasn’t on the line. To suggest otherwise would be silly at best.

  “You’re lucky you look good and have money, Theo.” Alan stood, shaking his head. “Let me know about the menus as soon as you make a decision.”

  “Vegas?” Violet repeated, looking at Brit, who had come in to drop off the kids for the weekend. Brit had just told her that she and Damian decided to elope to Vegas instead of making a big deal about their wedding. With Brit’s budding career as a makeup artist, and also as she worked to open her first store with her makeup line in a few months, planning a big wedding would take too much of their time.

  Brit twisted her hands together. “Yeah. We’re hoping to make this a fun weekend getaway. You know, with friends and family, whoever can come.”

  “You’re coming, right, Mommy?” Amanda asked, her eyes searching for hers.

  “Of course,” Violet said. Acid spread through her stomach, but she slapped on a smile. Not only would she have to face her ex getting married, she had to be with the happy couple for a whole weekend. Another ripple of apprehension coursed through her. “Wow. A wedding! You know how weird this is, right?” She winked at Brit.

  Brit blushed. “I know. Hey, maybe you can bring a guest.”

  Violet leaned closer, giving Brit the long look that hopefully would get her to stay quiet. She’d mentioned the no strings attached affair she started with Theo to the girls when they met the night before, but she didn’t want Amanda to learn about it and get ideas in her head.

  Brit gasped. “Oh, right, yes. I meant, you know—”

  “I know,” Violet said.

  Amanda gave Brit a hug before storming inside and tossing her backpack to the right. Thank goodness she didn’t seem to notice anything.

  “You can bring Theo,” Brit whispered when the kid was away. “Lara said he’s hotter than the pictures online.”

  “It’s too soon,” Violet said. “Plus, I don’t think he’d want to go.” Accompanying her to a wedding like this would delve into steady boyfriend zone, what he’d been clearly avoiding since the beginning of their affair. What if she lost him by asking? She’d hate to sound needy or clingy.

  “Maybe you should ask? There’s no harm in asking.”

  “Truth,” she said, to end the subject if nothing else.

  She exchanged a couple of pleasantries with Brit, information about the kids then her friend said goodbye and she closed the door behind her. The idea of inviting Theo along stuck in her head like the chorus of a bad pop song on repeat. She’d love anyone to go with her, really. She didn’t know who else would attend this wedding, but she could imagine at least his family and a few close friends she knew from the time they were married.

  Sighing, she realized she’d have to play it cool. She’d be on her own, besides the kids. A male presence would prove a great distraction and help dispel the awkwardness. And Theo’s presence… her pulse skyrocketed. His presence definitely would both make her at ease and nervous. Four nights ago, she’d trusted him, and he hadn’t run away. Maybe the temporary nature of their relationship, the lack of rules, had made him not care about the mistakes she’d made in the past.

  Still, he’d understood her and supported her. He’d behaved like the man she’d want by her side. One day—and it’d probably be a different man.

  “Today, I want you to write an essay about what you’ve learned as you tried different schools,” Violet said to Marcelle after she sat at the round desk.

  Marcelle picked a pencil from her case and played with it, rolling it between her fingers. “I don’t know.”

  “Write in French… don’t worry about typos. Just give it your best. Five hundred words.” She glanced at her watch. “Go.”

  Violet watched her. Marcelle rolled her eyes and blew her bangs, shuffling in her seat. She’d improved her reading and acquiescence but writing still wasn’t her forte. Inhaling, Violet surged to her feet and walked around the room to give her space to be intimate with the paper.

  Maybe writing, even if it wasn’t about her mother, about the hurdles she’d faced hopping from school to school would help Marcelle understand herself better. Either that or she’ll be really mad at me for pushing her.

  She glanced at Marcelle, and when the girl began writing, V
iolet smiled and wandered to the hallway leading to the dining area. Several family pictures adorned the walls, and a couple of them showed a beautiful woman with kind eyes and brown hair. Celine.

  Violet had seen her picture before, quickly, trying really hard not to pry. But today, with no one around to watch her, she took her time and studied the pictures including Theo. He’d seemed a lot more carefree and jovial on the pictures with his late wife.

  She bit her lower lip. He’s broken.

  What if he never let another woman close to his heart? The idea saddened her. She knew their fling had no false hopes, but the idea of spending her entire life without a partner broke her in a different way. One day, she’d find him—and having this affair with Theo helped her get ready. She wasn’t a fool to fall for him. No. She was just—

  “Hey,” he said from his office.

  She’d heard him on the phone when she walked in, but hadn’t had the chance to say hello yet.

  She popped her head in, and he crooked his finger, inviting her in. A quick glance at Marcelle showed her focused on her task, so she entered the office. “Hey.”

  “When can I see you?” he asked in that sexy, sultry voice that carried a tantalizing promise.

  “Funny thing you ask. Tomorrow I have a half day at school, and was going to invite you for lunch.” During the past two weeks, they’d shared late nights at her place on the few nights she didn’t have her children. She treasured each one of them, but each time saying goodbye became harder.

  He scratched his chin. “I’m supposed to be at one of my restaurants tomorrow.”

  She tilted her head to the side, and gave him a close-lipped smile. Showing him her disappointment would give him more power. “Too bad.”

  He stared at her with his irresistible eyes, and her heart flipped in her chest. “Unless, of course, you want to visit me. The restaurant has a back office,” he said the last sentence in a tone as seductive as a midnight walk in Paris.