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The same strong chiseled jaw, a twin sexy dimple in his chin. His handsome face is exactly the same as the Foster I knew, but he can't be standing at my… but he is.
Foster Dunham is leaning against the wall in the dining room of my father's Manhattan apartment.
My knees rattle and the floor falls away, leaving me adrift in the middle of an incomprehensible sight.
He looks dapper in a tailored black suit with a forest green shirt and thin black tie. He's refined. Dressed up. Only the crescent gray and yellow marks under his left eye suggest his dangerous profession. He certainly doesn't look like a fighter tonight. He fits in perfectly next to Renzo and my uncles. I'm annoyed my dad invited Renzo to my birthday dinner, but I can't concentrate on that.
Foster's deep gaze drills into my being. He dips his head but keeps his cool eyes on me, very polite. Overly polite. Except for the fading bruise, I don't see anything there that hints at the Foster I knew. This man is a stranger in Foster's body.
My dad's kiss on my cheek breaks my trance. "Hello, sweetheart." His extra friendly tone implies he expects me to play along. He presses his hand to my back, urging my feet to move closer to the Foster imposter. "You remember Foster? The man who kept you safe during the hurricane?"
My palms sweat and my feet wobble in my platform pumps. I chose this dress quickly, not trying to impress anyone. No color. I usually wear brighter, more feminine dresses. ButFoster is looking into my eyes and I get the familiar feeling he sees my soul. He doesn't care what I'm wearing. "Of course." My voice falters. I nod at him. No way am I shaking his hand.
"I owe you one, Foster, smart move." For some inexplicable reason, my dad has done a complete 180 from the way he reacted to Foster the morning after the hurricane.
Foster grins and reveals a gap in the bottom row of his teeth. Holy crap. Someone knocked a tooth out of his mouth? He nods but doesn't say a word. He's eerily quiet and it's unsettling.
"I thought you might like to have Renzo here for your birthday too." My dad steps aside so Renzo can move in.
Foster's eyes flare as Renzo kisses me on one cheek, then the other. "Buon compleanno, bellissima."
We exchange an uncomfortable smile. Renzo fully believes I'm going to marry him and I'm planning a wedding for this spring. I am not, but I've stopped fighting my father and Renzo when they talk about it. I may have no say in what happens, but I won't be the one to plan my own demise.
"Come! Sit! We've prepared a special evening for your birthday and there's a room full of presents awaiting you." My father pulls out a chair for me. "Everything made precisely to your grandmother's recipe."
I drag my attention away from Foster to properly greet my aunts and uncles who have come across town to join us. Theyexpect to be treated to a five-star meal and lots of expensive booze in exchange for the extravagant gifts they brought. It's all about them and my dad. As long as I smile, they'll be happy and have a good time.
I take the seat my father offered me because I have no choice. He instructs Renzo to sit next to me and Foster across from me.
Holy shoot. This is bizarre. Why is Foster in my father's living room on my birthday of all days?
Even more bizarre, Donnie walks behind Foster and pats him on the back. Foster gives him a familiar smile. When did Foster and Donnie become friendly? Six months ago they were at each other's throats.
Have I walked into an episode of the Twilight Zone?
As we settle in our seats, I keep my gaze down and place my napkin in my lap. I can't bear looking into his probing gaze again.
As Charlotte and the staff bring out the drinks, my dad starts up a conversation with his brother. They are off to the races and my dad won't pay me any attention for the rest of the night.
A waiter pours me a glass of Cabernet and Foster chooses a white wine. He smirks at me as the waiter pours it. This is the same guy who drank straight from the bottle in the wine cellar. The same guy who was a waiter for my family at onepoint in his life. This is too crazy. I have to find out what the hell is going on.
"So, Renzo." He turns his chin toward me. "How do you know Foster?"
Foster takes a sip from his glass. No sign of nervousness or agitation coming from his body language. He's as relaxed at a private birthday dinner in Manhattan as he is out in a hurricane in the Hamptons.
"We've both been helping your dad out," Renzo replies.
I check to see Donnie's reaction, but he's diving into the rosemary focaccia a server put in front of him. Foster's presence here clearly doesn't bother him as much as it does me.
"In what way?" I press.
"Let's not talk shop, Milana. How are you and how is your twenty-fifth birthday going? Did you get all you wished for?" Renzo asks me.
Foster raises an eyebrow, waiting for my reply.
Now that the initial shock has worn off, I return to my familiar friend, sadness. I'm sad the Foster I knew is gone. I'm sad this shell of a man who looks like him has shown up tonight to confirm his passing.
White heat layers the grief in my heart. It's all true. Foster was using me to get to my dad's money. He lied to me. He wasn't who he appeared to be at all.
