by J. L. Perry
“I bought this dress on a clearance rack, it was like twenty dollars. I bet your underwear cost more than my entire outfit.”
“You’re wrong, my underwear didn’t cost me anything because I’m not wearing any.”
My lips curve up when she gasps. She has no idea how adorable she is. All the money in the world couldn’t buy that—her innocence and incredible sweetness. It’s what I love about her the most. “Do you want to know what seeing you in that twenty-dollar dress did to me?”
“What?”
“It left me breathless, literally breathless. And it’s not the first time the mere sight of you has stolen all the air from my lungs.”
“Really? I did that to you… more than once?” A smile bursts onto my face.
See, that right there. Fucking priceless.
Leaning forward, I brush my lips with hers. “You do a lot of things to me, Em. Things that no other woman has managed. And that’s the honest truth.” I run the back of my hand down the side of her face, and she leans into my touch. “Now, we’re going to go inside, you, me, and your million-dollar dress, okay? You’ll meet my parents, we’ll eat dinner, and then leave. How does that sound?”
“It’s a twenty-dollar dress, remember?”
“On you, it looks like a million dollars.” And fuck me if I don’t mean it.
Emma’s cheeks turn the same shade as her pink lipstick. This woman has no clue how captivated I am by her.
She runs her palms down the front of her dress as we climb the front stairs. I reach for her, but instead of wrapping her hand in mine like I usually do, I entwine our fingers together. Her eyes move between our conjoined hands and my face, but she doesn’t pull away.
“Don’t be nervous. They’re just people, and no better than you or me.”
I use my free hand to ring the bell once we reach the door. It only takes a few moments for Charles to answer.
“Good evening, Master Barclay,” he says.
I nod my head. “Charles.”
His gaze moves to Emma. “Hi, Charles, I’m Emma.” I grin when she extends her hand to him. “Emma Phoenix.” Phoenix—I finally know her last name, and I like it. “I’m a friend of Ashton’s.”
My smile grows when I see the shock on Charles’ face. It’s probably the first time a guest has greeted him so warmly. Unbeknownst to her, it’s not customary to greet the staff in that way. Be polite, yes, but friendly, not so much. I love that she did—she’s sweetness right to the bone—and I hope she never changes.
“Good evening, Miss Phoenix,” he says, politely, shaking her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” she says, smiling.
“Please, come in.” Holding the door open wide, he steps aside allowing us to enter.
“Thank you, Charles,” she says as we pass.
“Your parents and their guests are awaiting your arrival on the back patio, Master Barclay.”
“Thank you.”
Emma’s eyes are everywhere when we enter the main foyer. With the expensive antique furniture and priceless art that adorns the walls, this place looks more like a museum than a home.
I give her a moment to take it all in before we start heading down the long hall toward the back of the house. “You do realize he’s just the butler, right?” I whisper.
“So,” she says, frowning. “He’s still a human being, Ashton.”
I feel her grip on my hand tighten as we approach the laughter and chattering in the distance. Her unsure eyes meet mine, so I lean in, placing a chaste kiss on the side of her head. “Just be your usual sweet self, Em. They’ll love you.”
For her sake, I pray tonight goes well.
We reach the floor-to-ceiling glass panels that run the entire length of the back of the house. My mother is in deep conversation with Mrs. Henderson and doesn’t notice our arrival. But, Willow does. She lights up, but once she realizes I’m not alone, it’s replaced with a scowl. Her eyes move down the length of Emma’s body before zeroing in on our conjoined hands. She better not start any shit.
My stomach churns as we step out onto the patio. My father is sitting by the large in-ground pool smoking a cigar with Mr. Henderson.
“Mother,” I say, gaining her attention.
“Ashton, darling.” She goes to stand but momentarily freezes when her gaze lands on my plus one. Mother’s eyes widen for the briefest moment before a huge smile breaks onto her face. It’s only then I release the breath I’m holding.
Rising, she quickly makes her way to us. “When you said you were bringing a friend, I presumed you meant Grayson.” She places a soft kiss on my cheek before turning her undivided attention to Emma. “And who do we have here?”
I glance at Willow over my mother’s shoulder, she’s watching us intently. “This is Emma,” I say. “Emma Phoenix, my girlfriend.”
Emma’s hand painfully squeezes mine, and I fight to suppress my grin. She’s going to kick my ass for that later.
My mother gasps. “Your girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
Emma tugs her hand from my grip, extending it toward my mother. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Barclay.”
“Likewise, dear. But please, call me Valentina.” She takes Emma’s hand in hers. It’s more than obvious Mother is taking a moment to size her up. It’s been seven years since I brought a woman home, and the last time I did, it didn’t go so well.
“You have a lovely home, Valentina. Thank you so much for allowing me to be here tonight.”
My mother’s eyes dart to me before the smile on her face grows. “Oh, Ashton, she’s lovely.” Her words have me feeling immediate relief.
“She is,” I say, beaming. Because it’s the truth.
My mother hooks her arm through Emma’s, leading her away. “Come and meet the others, dear.”
So far so good, but the night’s still young.
Chapter Sixteen
EMMA
To Ashton’s noticeable frustration, his mother has been keeping me all to herself since we arrived, giving Willow ample time to fawn all over him. That woman has no shame. She’s tall, thin, and blonde. Extremely beautiful, in that fake kind of way. I’m not a fan. She seems to be more like Ashton’s type, over me, that is. She’s been giving me death stares every available chance she gets. Bitch. She better be careful I don’t trip during dinner and accidentally, on purpose, deflate those ridiculously huge sausage lips with my fork.
Botox to the extreme.
I’m not usually vindictive, but I have to suppress my giggle when an image of her airborne and pinging off the walls as she zooms around like a balloon does when it deflates.
I’m yet to get the chance to reprimand Ashton for referring to me as his girlfriend, but rest assured my time will come. I don’t like being used as a scapegoat. I should’ve called him out on his lie straight away, but I didn’t have the heart to.
Apart from the obvious—being Willow—the evening isn’t as bad as I anticipated. I like Valentina, though Forbes, Ashton’s father, doesn’t appear to be as friendly as his mother. He’s not rude, but there is an arrogance about him.
Valentina is stunning and looks too young to have a thirty-year-old son. She has an exotic appearance reminding me of Sophia Loren. Ashton has inherited her dark features but gets his piercing blue eyes from his father.
“Charles,” Valentina call outs, in her very posh, yet friendly voice. He steps out onto the patio seconds later. “Could you let the kitchen know we’re ready for dinner?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The kitchen?
I’m not sure how many staff they have, but I’ve spotted three so far, and that’s not including Charles.
“Come, let’s head to the formal dining area.” Valentina threads her arm through mine as we walk back into the house. “I hope you like French cuisine, dear. We recently poached Manu, the head chef from Atelier Crenn. Have you ever eaten there?”
“No, I haven’t,” I say politely. I haven’t e
ven heard of it, to be honest.
“Oh… the restaurant has three Michelin stars. Forbes and I dine there whenever we’re in San Francisco. You’re in for a real treat. Manu’s food is exquisite… he’s not bad on the eye either, just quietly.”
I release a small laugh. I’ve never eaten French food before or been to San Francisco. Please, God, don’t let Manu serve us snails. Eww. I’ll surely die if he does. I’m a guest, so I have to eat whatever they serve me, right? It would be rude not to. My stomach churns at the thought.
“Do you have a bathroom nearby where I can freshen up?” I ask.
“Of course, dear,” Valentina answers, pointing to her left. “One of the guest bathrooms is down the end of the hall… last door on the right.”
“Thank you.” She releases my arm, and my eyes briefly lock with Ashton’s before I turn and head in that direction.
I only make it a few steps before he grabs me.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m just going to the bathroom.”
“Do you need a hand with that?” He raises an eyebrow suggestively.
“No,” I reply with a roll of my eyes.
He chuckles as I continue on my way.
I gasp the moment I enter. The size of the room is twice that of my apartment. The floors, walls, and countertops are white marble, and a large chandelier sits above a round porcelain bath in the center of the room surrounded by four pillars. I run my finger around the edge of the gold trim as I pass. It’s been so long since I’ve soaked in a tub. I miss it. My small bathroom only has a shower.
On either side, a pair of gold and leather benches sit before an expansive recessed vanity countertop with candelabra wall lamps. Wow, just wow. I knew Ashton was well off, he reeks of money, but this place simply blows my mind. If this is the kind of thing he’s used to, I can see why he thinks my place is a dump.
Despite what he said to me in the car, we are worlds apart. I don’t, and will never fit into this kind of lifestyle. His lifestyle. I’m a simple farm girl and always will be.
I pull out my phone, shooting Carla a quick text.
Emma: He brought me to his parents’ house for dinner!!!! Can you believe it? And it’s like a damn castle.
Carla: Get the fuck out of here. No way.
Emma: Yes way.
Carla: Grayson was right, he’s got it bad for you.
Emma: No, he doesn’t. He’s using me, Car. He admitted it on the drive over.
Carla: What! How?
Emma: He brought me here as a ruse because his mother is trying to set him up with some plastic, stuck-up bitch named Willow. Gah! I’m so mad at him right now. He even told them I’m his girlfriend. Like what the fudge???
Carla: Oh babe. That sucks. Do you want me to come and get you?
Emma: No, but thanks for the offer.
Carla: Call me when you get home. If you need me to kick him in the nuts for you just let me know. I’m not afraid to use my ninja skills on him. And that plastic bitch? She better watch her back too.
Her reply makes me giggle, Carla and her crazy ninja skills.
After washing up, I advance into the hallway. I could easily get lost in this house it’s so big.
I’m startled when someone steps out of the shadows.
Willow.
Ignoring her, I keep walking down the long hall, but she reaches for me grabbing my arm. “You have some nerve coming here tonight.”
“Excuse me?” I tug my arm out of her grip before swinging around to face her.
“You heard me, bitch. Look at you, you’re pathetic,” she says, and the disgust on her face as she eyes me from head to toe makes my body shake with anger. “You don’t belong here.”
She’s right, I don’t.
Willow takes a step forward, getting right up in my face. “You’re a cheap, two-bit whore, so why don’t you run back to whatever rock you crawled out from. You’re not wanted or welcome here. You’re not even Ashton’s type.”
“Willow!” I hear Ashton bellow.
I glance over my shoulder to see him storming toward us.
Her face pails. “Ashton… I, umm… was just making sure Emma knew her way back to the dining room.”
“I heard what you said to her. Emma does belong here, more so than you. And, she is exactly my type…” he swipes his fingers through his hair, “… she’s more woman than you’ll ever be.”
“Ashton,” she gasps, placing her hand on her chest. His harsh words cause tears to rise in her eye. I’ve never seen him this angry before.
Willow reaches for his arm, but he shrugs her away. “Don’t touch me.”
“I’m sorry, Ashton.”
“Save it, Willow.” He holds his hand out in front of him. “Why don’t you fuck off back to wherever it is you came from? And if you so much as even look in Emma’s direction again, you’ll have me to deal with. Got it?”
Thick tears billow from her eyes as she takes off down the hallway. Before I have a chance to say anything, Ashton steps forward enveloping me in his big strong arms. His body trembles as the fury radiates off him.
I get a glance of Willow over his shoulder as she stops and turns to look back at us for a moment. Am I wrong for feeling sorry for her? Because a part of me does even though she deserved what she got.
Ashton finally draws back, gently cupping my face in his shaky hands. “Are you okay, sweet-thing?”
“Yes.” It’s a lie.
I’m not sure what I’m feeling at this moment, but okay isn’t it.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
He stuck up for me. Nobody has ever done that for me before.
“I hope you don’t believe one word she said. She’s just jealous.”
“Jealous of me… right,” I reply with sarcasm dripping from my voice.
Ashton pulls me back into his arms again, crushing me against his chest. “It’s true.” I don’t believe that for a second, but I don’t bother correcting him. “I never should’ve brought you here.” He draws back again, his eyes meeting mine once more. “Not because you don’t belong here, but I should’ve known Willow would make things difficult for you. She’s a nasty piece of work.”
“It’s okay. I’ve had worse things said to me.”
“Em…” His face softens, and there’s a look of sorrow in his eyes as he leans forward brushing his lips against mine. “Do you want me to take you home?”
Yes.
“No. I don’t want to be rude. Your mother’s been very sweet to me.”
“I’ve noticed. She likes you, but I knew she would.”
“I can’t believe you told her I was your girlfriend.” I grab a chunk of skin on his side, squeezing it between my fingers.
“Ouch,” he says, laughing. “Well, you are.”
“I’m not your girlfriend, Barclay. You need to tell your mother the truth.”
“Emma,” he says, sighing. “You’re a girl, and you’re my friend. Do I need to spell it out for you? Girl plus friend equals girlfriend.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
A smile plays on his lips. “You’re my girlfriend, Em, and that’s all there is to it.”
Ugh, he’s so bossy.
Ashton’s smile grows when I narrow my eyes. Leaning in, he places a soft kiss on my cheek before threading his fingers through mine. “Come, they’ll be waiting for us.”
Things seem awkward, well, for me, anyway, as the seven of us sit at the ridiculously long, rich mahogany dining table. It would sit fifty people easily, possibly more. I’ve never seen a table so long. Numerous staff fuss around us, filling one of the four different sized wine glasses that sit in front of us. Why so many, I have no clue?
Willow’s taken Ashton’s advice because she doesn’t so much as look my way. Her face is sullen as she picks up her wine, downing the entire glass in one gulp.
That’s not very ladylike, Willow.
Aston’s hand is resting on my
thigh under the table. It’s comforting. I hate what happened earlier, but I’m feeling grateful. The way he swooped in and came to my rescue was amazing.
Drowning out everything going on around me, I focus on the gold utensils. There are so many pieces—three forks to the left of my plate, all different sizes, and to the right lay two knives, a spoon, and a tiny two-pronged fork.
I lean in toward Ashton. “Why are there so many utensils?” I whisper.
“They’re for the numerous courses we’ll be served.”
“Oh.”
“Start on the outside, Em, and work your way in.”
“Ah, okay. Thank you.” He must think I’m an idiot.
His grip on my leg tightens.
The servants reenter the room in a line, each carrying a plate in front of them. I watch on in amazement. They take their place behind each of us, and when Valentina nodes her head, they place the meals down in uniform precision.
I stare at my plate having no idea what it is. There’s some white-ish, slightly browned long thingies piled in the center with sautéed green beans underneath and a sauce drizzled around the edge. It’s plated beautifully. Are they snails? I have no idea. I mean they’re not in shells, but I don’t know how they’re usually served.
I lean toward Ashton once more. “Please tell me these aren’t snails.”
“No, it’s cuisses de grenouilles.”
He says it in perfect French.
Swoon.
“That doesn’t help… I don’t speak French.”
“Frog legs, Em. They’re frog legs.”
“As in Kermit?”
He chuckles. “Yes, as in Kermit.”
“Oh good God,” I mumble as bile rises to my throat.
I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure my face just turned green.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I shake my head, I’m too afraid to speak. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ashton remove the white cloth napkin on his lap, placing it on the table.
He reaches for my hand before standing. “Mother, Emma isn’t feeling well,” he says. “I’m going to take her home.”