by M. H. Soars
Felix makes himself at home, jumping on top of the pristine couch to Gilbert’s clear dismay.
“Linus will bring your suitcases in a moment. Since I didn’t think anyone would be staying here, the kitchen is not stocked yet, but if you let me know your preferences, I can arrange for food to be delivered within an hour.”
“Should I write down a list?”
“You can send it to my e-mail. Here’s my card.”
He hands me a fancy business card with his full name, cell phone, and e-mail address on it. Holy smokes, how things have changed.
Despite my annoyance with the guy, I thank him and promise to send him a list of things soon. It doesn’t happen. The long hours of travel have made me weary, and the last thing I want is to make a grocery list.
I check on Felix and find him snoring already. Then I head to the master suite, undressing until all I’m wearing are my panties. I have a change of clothes in my bag, but I’m too tired to bother grabbing it so I get under the covers as I am, almost naked. The cool sheets against my skin make me hiss, and I curl into human ball until I get warm. The moment my eyelids shut, I’m dead to the world.
I wake hours later, feeling lost. Where the heck am I? I spot the silhouette of someone near the bed and my heart jumps to my throat. I scream, scooching up on the mattress and hitting my head against the headboard in the process.
“Relax, sugar. It’s me.”
Heart still stuck in my throat, I rub my blurry eyes. “Oliver? What time is it?”
“It’s almost suppertime. Why are you here? I thought my mother had arranged a room for you in the main house.”
“Gilbert didn’t think your mother would appreciate Felix’s presence.”
“Ah, I see. He’s right. In that case, I’ll have my stuff brought here too.”
Oliver’s tone is softer, and it lifts a weight off my chest. He sounds like his normal self again.
“How’s your dad?”
“Stable, at least that’s what Mom says. I haven’t seen him yet.”
I sit up and cold air brushes against my naked chest, turning my nipples as hard as tiny pebbles. Shit. I had forgotten I wasn’t wearing a shirt. Oliver’s gaze drops to my breasts before a hissing sound whooshes from his mouth. I pull the sheets up quickly, covering myself as heat rushes to my cheeks.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to give you a peepshow.”
“Sugar, never apologize for flashing me your glorious rack.”
My face turns even hotter, and I’m glad it’s dark in the room.
I clear my throat to disguise any signs of embarrassment. “What’s the plan? When do I get to meet your mom?”
“Oh, in an hour or so, at dinner. There’s someone else here who is dying to meet you.”
“Who?”
“Grandma Adeline.”
My stomach twists into knots. I hate meeting the family. I don’t speak for a couple of beats.
Oliver turns the lamp on and looks closely at my face. “You look like you’re about to puke. Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine. Just a little hungry. I guess I should be getting ready, then?”
“You know,” he starts, lowering his gaze to my lips, “the tub is pretty big. We could finish what we started.”
The hot memory comes to the surface and my body reacts accordingly. But the idea of meeting his grandma just after having sex with Oliver makes me extremely uncomfortable.
“Tempting, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Oliver’s face falls right before he stands up. “Right. Well, I’ll come get you in a half hour?”
“Sounds good.”
He turns on his heel with shoulders a little hunched forward.
“Ollie?”
“Yes, sugar.” He pauses but keeps staring ahead.
Come on, Saylor. Say that this rebuff means nothing. Confess what’s in your heart. But the words get lodged in my throat. I’m such a coward.
“What should I wear?” I ask instead.
Ugh. Kill me now.
“Anything you like.”
Well, that doesn’t help me much.
Oliver is gone before I can say anything else.
Twenty
Saylor
“Liv, I totally screwed up. Not only did I turn Oliver down, but I didn’t even wish him happy birthday. I’m such a cow.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Blue. I don’t think he’s thinking about his birthday right now.”
“It doesn’t matter. Plus, I’m totally freaking out about meeting his mom and grandma. You know how I hate meeting the family. I have the feeling they’ll have a quick look at me and find me lacking.”
“You’re stressing over nothing. So what if they don’t like you. It’s their loss. Oliver is crazy about you. That’s what matters.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Liv is not getting my anxiety. I don’t want to add more problems to Oliver’s life; I’ve already made him go through hell and then some.
“I don’t know what to wear.”
“Saylor, listen to me. Stop and take a deep breath. Trust your instincts. You’ve always killed in the fashion department. You’ll slay your look tonight.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, surrounded by scattered clothes. “It’s not only that. I know nothing about his family, what to expect. If I’m to judge by their butler alone, I’m probably about to enter the set of Dynasty.”
“Bas told me he met Oliver’s parents once and they were snob assholes.”
“Gee, exactly what I wanted to hear.”
“Since when do snooty people scare you?”
“It’s not. It’s just… I don’t want to give Oliver more stress by having his family hate me.”
“Hold on a second. Bas is saying something.”
I stare at my clothes while I wait. I’m leaning toward dark jeans and a heavy sweater. It’s casual, but at least my clothes won’t offend anyone. Unless they’re the type of people who wear cocktail dresses to dinner. Crap! I’m back to worrying.
“So, Bas told me that Oliver’s grandma is actually quite nice and she’s the only person Oliver likes in the family. So if you’re aiming to make an impression, focus on the old lady.”
“Okay. Make Granny love me. Should be easy enough.”
How come I don’t feel an ounce of confidence?
“Knock, knock,” Oliver says from the door, making me jump. I drop the phone in the process.
“Shit. You scared me.”
“I see you’re not ready, unless you’re planning on wearing boy-shorts and a tank top. Not that I’d mind.”
“You weren’t very helpful before.” I pick up the phone from the floor. “Hey, Liv, Oliver’s here. I gotta go.”
She says goodbye and I toss the phone onto the bed. Oliver is already looking though my clothes and while he does, I take a moment to check what’s he’s wearing. Jeans and a dark gray sweater with a button-down shirt underneath. Casual and preppy. I’ve never seen him dress like that. He looks so proper and British. Even his hair is styled in a more conventional way, no out-of-bed look.
He turns to me and catches me staring. His lips twist into a grin. “Charlotte is wearing a dress, if that helps. Maybe you can wear this one.”
From his index finger dangles a dark red, vintage-style dress that I had planned to wear at his birthday party. It has a full skirt and sweetheart neckline. The fabric has some shimmer to it; it’s definitely a cocktail dress. I stare at the garment for far too long without speaking, so Oliver continues.
“Uh, it’s my birthday today, in case you forgot.”
I snap my face to his once more, finding him smiling. But his eyes, oh God, his eyes shatter my heart in tiny fractures. He’s so sad. I want to hug him and say all the right things, but if I did so right now, I’m afraid he might think it’s an action driven by pity, not love.
Jesus Christ. Did I just admit to myself that I love him?
“I know. I’m sorry that, with everything
, I forgot to wish you happy birthday.” I walk to my suitcase and retrieve a letter-sized envelope. “Here, this is for you.”
He raises an eyebrow before taking it. Without taking his eyes off me, he rips it open. His eyebrows furrow when he pulls sheets of music from inside. “What is this?”
“I found them inside my guitar case. I must have been working on a new song before my surgery. I finished it a couple of days ago.”
Oliver reads the sheet with focused attention while my heart lodges in my throat. I didn’t tell anyone I found that work in progress, not even Liv. It was my little secret.
“Is this about us?” He looks at me.
I glance down at my feet, unable to withstand his intense stare. “Yes. It’s probably different than what my pre–memory-loss version intended, but well…. I know it’s lame—”
Oliver cuts me off by grabbing my face and crushing his lips against mine. The assault takes me by surprise, short-circuiting every nerve in my body. I have to step back to keep my balance, but Oliver wraps his arm around my waist, keeping me in place. Electricity surges through my veins, leaving my skin tingling in the most sinful way. Our tongues mingle in a dizzying dance as a wave of desire travels up my back.
He ends the kiss all too soon, taking a step back. I stare at him through hooded eyes, confused as to why he would start something and not follow through. I’m so ready for more.
“It kills me to do this, but we really can’t be late for dinner. My mother’s tongue lashing will ruin everything.”
My rebellious mind is shouting ‘fuck her.’ It’s impossible to think about a stuffy dinner when Oliver still has his arm wrapped around me.
“Plus,” he continues, “when we do have sex again, I want to have all the time in the world so I can properly worship your body.”
Fuck if he didn’t just make my body melt with his words.
“I need a shower,” I say when I finally find my voice.
Oliver chuckles, dropping his arms from my waist. “Me too, sugar. I’ll wait for you in the living room. I need to have words with Gilbert. The cupboards are still empty, and Felix needs food too.”
“To be fair, he was waiting for my grocery list, but I fell asleep and never sent him one.”
“That’s no excuse. He’s been working for my family for a long time, and I’m afraid it’s made him more arrogant than he already was. He is still the help, so don’t be afraid to put him in his place.”
“The help? That sounds awful.”
“It’s warranted. That’s what I call him when he’s acting particularly rude.”
Oliver doesn’t make a motion to leave the room, just remains staring at me as if he’s trying to read my mind.
“Uh, okay. If you don’t want us to be late, then go.” I make a shooing motion with my hand.
“All right, all right. I’m leaving.”
I’ve never dressed so fast in my life. With the clock ticking, I just hopped into the shower to rinse the travel’s yuck, and to also douse the lust-induced fire running through my veins. I didn’t bother washing my hair, knowing it would take too long to dry and style. Instead, I used dry shampoo. The blue is already almost gone, and the shaved side has grown a bit so now my scar isn’t as visible as before. I wonder what Oliver’s mom and grandma will think of my look. Too rock ’n’ roll for their conservative tastes?
Oliver is playing with Felix when I walk into the living room. He turns to me and freezes, his gaze dropping to my feet before slowly traveling up the length of my body. Then he whistles.
“Is that all for me?”
“Well, besides your birthday, it’s Valentine’s Day as well. Or have you forgotten?”
“Sugar, I think I want to skip dinner.”
I wiggle my finger. “No way. I don’t want to start my relationship with your mom on the wrong foot.”
He takes a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “I want to make something very clear before we venture into that lion’s den. I don’t bloody care what my mother thinks, so don’t bend out of shape to impress her. She’s not a very nice lady.”
“And your grandma?”
Oliver’s frown vanishes and he smiles. “She’s brilliant. Don’t worry about her. You’ve got her in the bag. She’s a fan, you know? She told me earlier that she’s listened to Wreck of the Day’s album on repeat since it debuted.”
“You’re joking.”
“No, I swear to God. Now, where’s your jacket?”
After Oliver helps me into my coat, we walk to the main house. The air is chilly and even with the extra layers of protection, the cold air seeps through the barriers, making me shiver. Oliver throws his arm over my shoulder and I lean against him. My heart is beating at warp speed. I can’t believe he can’t hear it. I’m nervous about dinner, but I’m more nervous about what’s going to happen afterward. Tonight is the night, and the anticipation is killing me.
We find the front door unlocked, but soon Gilbert appears to take our coats. “Mrs. Best is waiting for you in the living room.”
“Thanks, Help,” Oliver says, and I elbow him on the side.
When he looks in my direction, I give him a look that says, ‘Be nice.’
I barely have time to absorb my surroundings, too focused on putting one foot in front of the other without stumbling. My legs are suddenly shaking. It feels like all the progress I’ve made with Cheryl has gone down the drain. But from the corner of my eyes, I notice a few pieces of classic décor that scream wealth. Oil paintings wrapped in golden frames remind me of a museum. Double doors open to the living room, a space that is almost the size of the entire guesthouse. Expensive-looking furniture is placed strategically throughout the space. Over every surface, I find ornaments and small decorative pieces that I’m pretty sure cost an arm and a leg. Man, dusting off this place must be a bitch.
We find Oliver’s mother sitting on a long couch near the fireplace. She’s wearing an impeccable light gray suit, her hair swept up in a perfectly coiffed up-do. I have no idea what Oliver’s dad looks like, but when his mom turns to us, I can see where Oliver gets his coloring. Her blonde hair is almost as light as mine, and her blue eyes are the exact electric shade as Oliver’s. However, while Oliver’s blue eyes have fire in them, hers are ice-cold. I swallow the sudden lump that’s lodged in my throat.
Opposite her, Charlotte is sitting next to an older lady also dressed to the nines, but with a less severe expression on her face.
“Good evening,” Oliver says.
“You’re late.” His mother narrows her eyes at us.
Without missing a beat, Oliver continues. “Mother, Nana, I would like to introduce you to my wife, Saylor Blue.”
His mother makes a disapproving sound in the back of her throat, making me feel like an insignificant insect. Oliver places a hand on my lower back, his touch helping with the nerves.
“Ignore my daughter-in-law. Come closer, child. Let me see if you’re as pretty as the pictures I’ve seen online.”
The warmth in her gaze is what pulls me out of my paralyzing discomfort. With careful steps, I approach the couch where she sits.
“Char, scooch over. I want Saylor to sit next to me.”
“Gee, it seems I’ve been replaced.” Charlotte stands up, going for the liquor trolley near the couch.
I sit next to Oliver’s grandma with a stiff back, not knowing where to put my hands. She keeps watching me with a small smile on her lips.
“I like what you did with your hair. Very edgy,” she finally speaks.
I touch one of the strands, a silly automatic reaction whenever someone comments on my new do. “Thanks.”
“Now, let me see that scar.”
What? No one has ever been so blunt about the red line across the side of my head. But I know people stare at it plenty when they think I’m not aware.
“Grandma doesn’t beat around the bush. I forgot to warn you about that,” Oliver says.
Feeling uncomfortable as hell, I turn my head a
nd let the woman inspect the scar at will. I wasn’t going to say no to her.
“Oh, that’s a good one. Your doctor did an excellent job. It’s healing quite nicely. I also have a scar on the back of my head from the time I fell on wet tile and hit the edge to the tub. Mine isn’t so pretty as yours, mind you. It happened in the seventies and the doctors were vile then. That asshat did such a shoddy job.”
“No one wants to see you scar, Grandma,” Charlotte says.
“How long did you know my son before you decided to elope?” Oliver’s mom cuts in like a ruthless banshee. For a moment, I had forgotten she was there.
“Uh, a little over a year.”
She watches me through narrowed eyes while she plays with the pearl necklace hanging around her neck.
“Not quite long enough to marry someone, is it? I’m sure the fact that he’s the heir of a considerable fortune didn’t factor in at all.”
“Mother, that’s out of line.”
“I couldn’t care less about Oliver’s money,” I say through clenched teeth. If I cared about that, I wouldn’t have given up my rights to my biological’s father fortune.
“So, are you saying you signed a prenup?”
Shit. I don’t know. I turn to Oliver with a plea for help. He’s glaring at his mother.
Before he can say anything, his grandmother chimes in. “Lydia, if you’re going to be insufferable, I’ll have to ask you to have dinner with the staff.”
“This is my house. You can’t tell me what to do.”
“No, this is my son’s house. A piece of property you have no rights to. You know very well that when he dies, Oliver and Charlotte will inherit it, not you.”
“Solid burn, Nana,” Oliver says.
There’s a flash of fury in Lydia’s eyes, but to give her credit, she recovers fast, returning to her constipated bitch look.
“Semantics. You know what I mean.” She waves her hand dismissively.
Not wanting to be the cause of a family argument, I change the subject. “So, Oliver tells me you listen to Wreck of the Day’s music.”
The tension leaves his grandma’s face immediately, and her eyes shine with excitement.