DOTTY (The Naughty Ones Book 3)

by Kristina Weaver

  “Good for me?” Peter laughed. “You were rather dubious about the whole thing yourself.”

  “That’s because it came as a surprise, is all,” Frank complained. “Your blasted secretary — no offense intended, Gemma, dear — knew about it before I did.”

  That didn’t help my flush whatsoever. The only reason I’d known about the so-called France acquisition was because I’d made it up, spun the tale out of thin air as a way of convincing my mother I was something much more important than a dog walker and cocktail waitress. I’d pretended, back then, to have the life that I had now so that she wouldn’t worry about me. I was convinced that Peter had swooped in and saved me from certain discovery of my lies by agreeing to snap up a group of hotels in Paris. It was a deal worth millions of dollars, and he’d done it for me. It was yet another reason I felt inferior. What could I ever do for him that would even hold a candle to this Paris debacle?

  “None taken,” I said faintly.

  “We’re not here for hotel business, of course,” my mother interjected before Frank could quiz Peter further about the acquisition. “It’s strictly wedding business.”

  “Ah, the wedding,” Peter said eagerly, beaming. He was probably just thrilled not to have to go over the details of a plan he didn’t want to do. “How is the planning going?”

  “Pretty frantically,” Frank chuckled. “That’s what we get for a short engagement, of course.”

  “You’d better not be complaining,” my mother said, prodding him with a finger. “It was as much your idea as it was mine not to prolong the agony of planning.” She turned to Peter as if to appeal to his sense of justice. “If there wasn’t that much time to plan, then there wouldn’t be as many choices to make. So we couldn’t agonize over what cake or what venue or what dresses. It would only be what could be quickly made available.”

  “For the right price, anything can be quickly made available,” Peter mused.

  “Which is what we’ve discovered,” Frank said grimly. “Money’s no object, of course. I want my Lydia to have the wedding she’s always deserved.”

  I had to hide a smile behind my hand at the way my mother gazed up at Frank, her eyes full of love. Of course she deserved a beautiful wedding. She deserved all the happiness in the world, which was why I’d lied to her for so long about my dire money situation in the city prior to crossing paths with Peter.

  “There are just too many decisions,” my mother sighed. “We’re more or less out of our depth, here. We need some help.”

  “There’s no ‘we’ about it,” Frank said, raising his hands, alarmed. “Now, Lydia, I told you that you were in charge of planning all of this. All I’m going to do is show up in a tuxedo. We can do it in Vegas, if you like. Officiated by Elvis.”

  “Absolutely not,” my mother gasped, appalled. “We’re going to do this right. It’s just … I’m overwhelmed, Gemma, and I was hoping to get some insight from you. Especially since Frank’s no help at all.”

  He shrugged, and I finally had to laugh.

  “I can help you,” I told her. “I bet you’ve already made all the right decisions. You just need someone to validate them.”

  “Do whatever you want to them,” she said, waving her hand in the air. “I just need someone to say yes or no to several dozen people and things.”

  “Can you spare your secretary to my fiancée for the afternoon, Peter?” Frank all but begged his son. “I don’t see how else we’re going to get everything done before it’s time to walk down the aisle.”

  “For the greater good of mankind, and for my father’s happy marriage to a lovely woman, I would gladly spare my secretary,” Peter said, winking at me as I rolled my eyes at him. “Go, Gemma. We’ll suffer here without you, but you are needed elsewhere today.” I snorted. The only “we” he was referring to was him and his cock, which had been left hanging by our parents’ sudden arrival.

  “I’ll catch up with you later tonight,” I said, letting my eyes drift downward, to his crotch, for a fraction of a second before smiling at him. I hoped he understood my meaning. I’d been looking forward to that little tryst just as much as he had. “You can…fill me in.”

  “Let me take you out for lunch,” Frank boomed as my mother and I left Peter in the office. “We can talk all about Paris.”

  I winced as we made our way to the elevator. My multi-million dollar mistake. It was a wonder Peter put up with me.

  He snagged me before I could follow my mother too far across the office. “A quick word with your daughter, Ms. Ryan,” he said, jovial.

  My mother smiled. “Of course, Peter. And it’s just Lydia. Or just plain ‘Mom’, sooner or later!”

  I couldn’t hide my wince at that one. “I’m the only one who gets to call you Mom.” It would be too weird, otherwise, to be sleeping with someone who enjoyed such a familial connection.

  “I’ll be by the elevators,” my mother said, shaking her head at me. “You take your time, Peter.”

  “It won’t be but a minute,” he promised, watching her go before grinning at me. “You little minx.”

  “I am not!”

  “I bet you’re enjoying this,” he said, licking his lips at me. “You dodged a bullet this afternoon, but not for very much longer. That ass is mine, girly.”

  “That remains to be seen,” I said, my cheeks growing hot.

  “You said we’d see each other tonight,” he reminded me, a little too close for anyone to think our posture was even remotely business related.

  “Maybe.” I shrugged and feigned disinterest, making him laugh.

  “I will be waiting for you at the penthouse,” he promised. “And it’s there I’ll do unspeakable things to you. Things your mother would cringe to consider.”

  I couldn’t help but shove at him. “Don’t be disgusting, Peter. You can’t talk dirty to me and reference my mother in the same breath. Too far.”

  “Duly noted,” he said somberly, his blue eyes sparkling and belying his amusement at me. “Have fun with your mother.”

  “I’ll have fun encouraging her to spend your family’s hard-earned money,” I teased. “She’s a real gold digger, that one. Only the best for Lydia Ryan.”

  I darted across the office before Peter could muster a response and joined my mother in an elevator that had just arrived.

  The elevator doors rolled closed, and my mother cleared her throat.

  “You and Peter Bly,” she said, leveling a gaze at me. “You’re seeing each other, aren’t you?”

  My face went hot. “Of course we see each other. We work in the same building — on the same floor — every day.”

  “Don’t pretend to be dense. It’s not becoming.”

  I shrugged helplessly at her, my heart thumping in my chest, the walls of the elevator seeming like they were closing in on me. Didn’t this thing go down any faster? I mashed the button for the lobby again and again as if I could will it so.

  “Wouldn’t you rather focus on your wedding this afternoon instead of my love life — or lack thereof?” I said finally as the elevator doors rolled mercifully open.

  “You can’t fool me, Gemma,” my mother said, matching my swift pace across the lobby and toward the car, which was already waiting outside for us. Peter must have called the driver to come pick us up. “I know when you’re going gaga over someone. You can’t smother that blush no matter how many lies you tell.”

  Maybe that was why I’d kept her away from New York City after I’d first moved here. Because she was terribly easy to lie to over the phone, when she couldn’t study the color changes my face made. That, and the obvious — she’d have witnessed my shoebox apartment, along with my menial jobs.

  I tried to use the distraction of getting the two of us loaded into the car and situated in the backseat to my advantage — that, somehow, between accusing me of seeing Peter romantically and sitting in the car, rolling away to her first appointment, my mother would forget she’d suspected anything about me and her future
stepson.

  I glanced at her to see if she was at least looking out the window and up at the glittering buildings we were passing as we sped down the street.

  My mother had crossed her arms over her chest, her eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline.

  “Well?” she asked, her voice high. “I’m waiting for you to give me an honest answer, Gemma.”

  I sighed heavily and pressed my forehead against the heel of my hand. “I don’t know that an honest answer is going to make you very happy, and I think this day should be all about you.”

  “Just a yes or no would suffice.”

  “A yes or no to what?”

  “Are you and Peter an item?” she demanded, exasperated. “Tell me!”

  “Yes, fine, we are an item,” I said, throwing my hands up in the air. “Are you happy?”

  “Are you?” she countered, giving me pause.

  “Well, yes,” I said, after a beat. “Yes, I am happy.”

  “Well, good,” my mother said, and turned to ogle the buildings.

  My mouth fell open. “Good? That’s all you have to say? Good?”

  She turned back to me and shrugged. “You seemed like you didn’t really want to talk about it.”

  I gaped at her. “You’re the one who forced me to answer.”

  “I just wanted to know. That’s all.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “What do you think?” I exploded. “Are you upset? Outraged? Disgusted?”

  “I’d only be upset if you weren’t happy,” she reasoned. “If he was treating you poorly. Do I have a reason to be upset?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Isn’t it weird that you’re marrying his father and Peter and I are…an item?” I winced at using her word for it. What we really were was difficult to define. Hot sexual and spiritual partners might best fit the bill. I’d never met anyone I had more of a physical connection with, and he’d quickly become my best friend, as well. I hadn’t had much time to develop any friendships in the city, but Peter had been a fast one. We loved to explore together and spend time together whether we were having sex or not.

  “We’re all consenting adults,” my mother said. “There aren’t any laws against it. The two of you aren’t related by blood. If you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.”

  “That’s funny,” I mused. “You sound like Peter. I was the one who tried to break it off, tried to tell him it would be too weird. He had many of your same arguments.”

  “Well, it’s true,” my mother said. “Peter’s a smart man. He understands. And if you enjoy your relationship with him, that’s the most important thing.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes, the driver ferrying us across the city, before bursting into conversation again.

  “It’s kind of complicated. We didn’t — I didn’t — neither of us knew our parents were marrying each other until that day at dinner. But we don’t want to be a distraction for your wedding. We won’t even tell anyone, if you don’t want anyone to know. We’ll even sit on opposite sides of the reception hall during dinner — you all are planning on having a dinner, aren’t you? Or will it be a morning wedding with lunch? Maybe brunch?”

  My mother laughed. Even now, even after seeing how happy she was with Frank, it was a foreign sound. Her life during my childhood hadn’t allowed for many laughs. She could’ve even been described as dour while raising me. I’d only gotten cues on how to laugh and be silly from my classmates during school. Ours was a house that didn’t hear much laughter.

  “You’re the one who has to help me decide all of this, Gemma,” she said, patting my knee fondly. “Honey, I am in way over my head. Frank says money is no object, but money is all I can think of. How can he have so much money to spend on whatever he wants? It boggles my mind.”

  “I know exactly how you feel,” I gushed. “Peter must’ve inherited that from his father. He gave me a card and told me to start spending — that I could buy whatever I wanted.”

  “Where have these men been all of our lives?” my mother nearly screamed, and we dissolved into laughter, the driver eyeing us not so subtly from the front of the car.

  The rest of the day was filled with appointments with bakeries and dress shops and florists, my mother turning to me anytime there was a decision she thought was too close to call. For the most part, her first choices were wonderful — she’d only needed someone else to confirm them for her. But that still meant we got to try bite after bite of delicious cake samples for the reception, mulling over everything from color to icing.

  It was just as much fun to see her model the dresses she was trying to narrow down. My mother had maintained a good figure all her life, and I even got her to try on something frilly and bouncy and completely out of character.

  “You know, I’m the one who’s supposed to be forcing you to try on dresses, not the other way around,” she said, pretending not to love every single minute of the attention from both me and the salespeople on the floor gushing over her appearance.

  “Well, you’re the one getting married, not me,” I told her, snapping photos of her striking a pose on my cellphone.

  I sent one of the more flamboyant shots to Peter and captioned it “Mother’s day out” because I thought he might get a laugh at imagining her wearing that flouncy number on her wedding to his father. I sent a follow-up text: “She asked for the most expensive dress on the floor” along with a winking emoji face before turning my attention back to the belle of the ball.

  “I’m not getting this one,” she said even as she turned around to coo at the lacing up the back. “I’m serious, Gemma. This is just for fun.”

  “Your wedding should be fun,” I reminded her, shaking my head at the salesperson hiding a smile behind her hand. “I think I saw one with an even bigger skirt on one of the mannequins out front. Want me to see if they can tear it off her for you?”

  “That’s only for display,” my mother scoffed. “And it’s couture. I’d never. I want something classic.”

  “It would be an instant classic,” I opined.

  “I can go enlist two or three girls to wrestle that dress down,” the salesperson added, playing along. “It won’t be any trouble at all, Ms. Ryan.”

  “We’re just wasting time here, Gemma,” my mother complained, even with her eyes bright with mischief. “We need to be at the reception hall in half an hour. There’s no way we’ll get there in time.”

  “The driver is excellent, and he’ll get us there on time,” I assured her. “It’s just been fun watching you model all of these dresses. We both know which one you’re going to get.”

  “Do you really think I should?” my mother asked, locking eyes with my reflection in the mirror. “I said I wanted something classic, but that would be avant-garde.”

  “You looked like a knockout in it,” I avowed. “You would be a fool not to get that one.”

  The one I was pushing for was a simple white, floor-length sheath that somehow paired perfectly with a white tuxedo jacket. It was just perfect for my mother — in my opinion — because she’d fulfilled both the role of my father and mother growing up. It helped, of course, that she looked ravishing in the number, and that it didn’t offend her budgetary sensibilities. Frank would probably fuss at her for not spending more money on herself.

  “Okay, here’s the deal,” she said. “I like that one, but I don’t think I’d have the courage to wear it in front of everyone.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “I’d feel better if you had something similar to wear when you stood up beside me,” she said. “Perhaps not in white, though.”

  “I’d never compete with the bride.”

  “Let’s see if they have something in black.”

  As the lights to all those magical buildings winked on one by one in the bourgeoning night, I had the driver drop my mother off at her hotel first.

  “I can’t believe we got all that done,” she said, as out of breath at
the notion as if she’d been running full tilt through the streets all afternoon.

  “Well, it’s like you said earlier,” I pointed out. “You have to make the hard decisions now that we’re getting so close to the actual date. There’s no more hemming and hawing.”

  “It was you,” my mother said. “You’re the one who made all the hard decisions for me. You’ve always gone after exactly what you wanted. That’s why you moved to the city in the first place. To pursue your dreams. And look. You’re living them — at twenty-three. Not many people can say that. I certainly couldn’t.”

  I bit my lip and considered telling her the whole truth right then and there. That I hadn’t been honest. That I hadn’t immediately landed among my dreams in the Big Apple. That there had been some nights I was so unsure of myself it hurt like a stomach illness, and I’d tossed and turned instead of getting the sleep I so desperately needed for the energy to work at two awful jobs. That she shouldn’t feel bad because she hadn’t done well early on in her life, that happiness was slow to find her.

  But I didn’t want to detract from the wonderful day we’d had. Who’d known how much fun I’d have with my mother in New York City? If I’d known, I wouldn’t have avoided her presence here for all of those months.

  Of course, all of those months were months when I’d been living nearly in abject poverty. I doubted that I would’ve been able to relax and have fun with her…without Peter in my life.

  I felt a rush of warmth toward him — love and gratefulness. Who knew where I would’ve been without him? I knew I had to find a way to thank him — even if I could never actually repay him monetarily for all he’d done for me.

  “You know, I am expecting to be the one who’ll taste all your potential wedding cakes with you, when the time comes,” my mother said, cutting through my thoughts.

  “Yes, and then you’ll force me to squeeze into wedding dresses,” I teased her.

  “Well, now we know there’s a proper way to approach things,” she said, laughing at the memory we’d just made hours earlier.

  “Do you think it’s Peter?”