Housekeeper (Lavens Family, part 1)

12. Birthday boy and girl

*Dave*

The upcoming weeks promise to be freezing. Vanessa arrives for work, carrying out her duties with practiced efficiency, but our interactions remain strictly professional. With a business trip to Brussels scheduled for a week, she has already taken the initiative to pack my luggage.

I haven't asked if she'll attend my birthday celebration. It seems understood that I will go alone. The thought unsettles me more than I expected.

Entering the kitchen, I find her tending to the pots. The aroma is mouthwatering, rich with garlic and herbs. Clearing my throat, I catch her gaze—melancholy flickers there before she quickly looks away, her shoulders tense.

"I'm leaving after dinner. Join me, if you'd like. It'd be a shame to waste such a meal. It would be a great help to me, Vanessa."

She exhales deeply, lips parting as if to argue. Instead, she grabs another plate and cutlery without a word.

We eat in silence. The lasagna rolls are perfect, but the tension between us makes each bite heavy. When I finally push back my chair, reluctant as I am to leave, I can't help but ask, "See you this weekend?"

"Mhm," she hums, not lifting her eyes. The hollow sound of it lingers. It stings more than I care to admit.

With a sigh, I grab my suitcase and head out to where Billy, my driver, is waiting with the car door open.

The trip is a blur of meetings, company visits, business dinners, and lonely nights filled with work. Sleep doesn't come easily. I catch myself rereading old messages from Vanessa, hovering over the keyboard, drafting responses only to delete them.

Now, en route to the airport, I sort through emails and spot one from Arturo with the subject: Have a look at what Stephanie sent me.

I open the attached images, and my breath catches. Vanessa and Stephanie lounge on a sunbed. Vanessa wears a black bikini, her pale skin glowing in the sunlight. Loose waves of dark blond hair frame her face, and behind her sunglasses, a teasing smile lingers. Carefree. Relaxed. Beautiful.

My fingers graze the screen, my jaw tightening as heat pools low in my stomach.

Fuck, she looks stunning.

The restaurant hummed with quiet sophistication, the clink of silverware against porcelain blending with low murmurs of conversation. A warm, golden glow from the chandeliers above bathed the crisp white tablecloths in soft light. The scent of truffle risotto and seared steak hung in the air, but my appetite had already soured.

As Vanessa and I approached the reserved table, my parents were already seated. My father, George, glanced up from his menu with mild interest, while my mother, Anna, barely hid the scrutiny in her sharp gaze. I took a steady breath before speaking.

"Mum, Dad, this is Vanessa. My girlfriend."

Vanessa extended a polite hand, offering a small smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Lavens."

My father shook her hand with a nod, but my mother merely studied her before motioning toward the empty chairs. "Sit. Let's eat."

We settled in, and a waiter swiftly poured wine into our glasses. Vanessa remained quiet at first, carefully unfolding her napkin as our appetizers arrived—delicate plates of smoked salmon and creamy burrata with basil. Small talk floated around the table, mostly led by my father, who asked about the wine and weather. Vanessa answered politely when spoken to, but she was waiting—waiting for the real conversation to begin.

By the time the main course arrived—filet mignon for my parents, seared duck for Vanessa, and lamb for me—Anna's patience wore thin. The knives had been metaphorically drawn.