by Erika Rhys
“Dad finally called me back last night,” I said.
“How did it go?” she asked.
I sat down in my armchair. “As expected. I told him about our engagement and that we want to get married in Southampton on May seventh. He was fine with everything.”
“No cross-examination?” Ava said.
“Dad doesn’t do that kind of thing. He’s always been too focused on his work to take much interest in any of his three children—unless one of us screws up or embarrasses him in some way.”
Ava nodded. “Cara once told me that your father’s never gone to a show of her paintings, which kind of shocked me. I don’t have many memories of my parents, but my grandparents were always there for me.”
I almost told her how lucky she was, but then I stopped myself. While her grandparents sounded a hell of a lot better than Dad and Veronica, Ava’s life hadn’t been easy, and I didn’t want to sound like a whiny jerk.
“In our family, Veronica’s the cross-examiner,” I said. “Although my father did ask a few questions about your background.”
Ava’s lips quirked. “My nonexistent pedigree, you mean.”
I sipped my coffee. “It’s true that Dad’s a snob. But your Harvard degree made a positive impression on him, as did the fact that you run your own business.”
“When do he and Veronica expect to meet me?”
“He suggested a family dinner next week,” I said. “Veronica will call to set a date.”
“How formal should I expect this dinner to be?” Ava asked.
I shrugged. “I usually wear a jacket but skip the tie. I’m sure whatever you want to wear will be fine.”
She looked amused. “Men. When it comes to fashion advice, you’re about as useful as a phone without a signal.”
I gave her a suggestive look. “I’m an expert on undergarments—but I don’t expect you want my help choosing panties.”
“Pig,” she said mildly. “Although right now you look more like a sleepy hedgehog.”
I rubbed my jawline, which did need a trim. “Hedgehog?”
“It’s not your stubble,” she said. “It’s your hair, which is spiked out on one side and doing a bizarre wave thing on the other. If you dyed it lavender, you could crash a Halloween party as Kelly Osbourne.”
I laughed. “That’ll be the day.”
Just then, the door phone buzzed.
“That must be Cara,” Ava said. “We have lunch plans—although I didn’t expect her this early.”
I rested my mug on the coffee table, got up from my chair, stepped into the foyer, and picked up the receiver to tell the doorman to send my sister up.
But when I did, the phone emitted a burst of static, followed by a familiar voice that sent a chill down my spine.
“Good morning, darling. I’ve stopped by for a quick visit. See you in a minute.”
With difficulty, I restrained the impulse to tell Veronica to go fuck herself. Instead, when she returned the phone to the doorman, I told him to send her up. What choice did I have? As usual, my stepmother had successfully seized control.
I hung up the receiver and raced back to the living room to warn Ava. “It’s not Cara. It’s Veronica, and she’ll be here within seconds.”
Calmly, Ava set down her mug on the coffee table and got to her feet. “Cara predicted that Veronica would drop in on us,” she said. “She’s shown up sooner than we expected, but we’ll be fine. Get the door when she arrives, and stall her for a minute or so while I check the bedrooms to make sure everything looks OK.”
And with that, she disappeared into the master suite.
I dashed into the half bath off the foyer and checked out my reflection in the mirror, which confirmed that my hair was as fucked up as Ava had said it was. After splashing water over my hair and face, I grabbed a hand towel and sopped up the excess, before slicking back my hair with my fingers.
A knock at the door announced my stepmother’s arrival.
“Coming!” I yelled as I strode back to the living area and looked around for Ava. Where was she, and what the hell was she doing? We were out of time.
Just then, she emerged from her bedroom.
“All good?” I asked.
She gave me a thumbs-up. “Bring it on.”
14
AVA
When Ronan opened the door and Veronica stepped inside, I was struck by her beauty but also by something that Cara’s family photos hadn’t revealed—the subtle arrogance that emanated from her like a poison invisible to the eye but palpable in her presence.
Tall and statuesque, with dark eyes, classic features, and black hair swept back from her face in a sleek chignon, Veronica was elegantly dressed in a taupe silk pantsuit that flattered her well-maintained figure. Diamonds glittered at her ears, a Hermès scarf was knotted loosely around her neck, and a tan Birkin hung from her shoulder. Although I knew that Veronica was well into her fifties, she didn’t look a day over forty, and as I moved to Ronan’s side to greet her, I felt dingy and unkempt in my casual blouse and jeans and wished that I’d had time to apply a dash of makeup.
“You must be Ava,” she said, flashing a gleaming smile as she looked me up and down.
“Allow me,” Ronan said. “Veronica, I’d like to introduce my fiancée, Ava Walker. Ava, this is my stepmother, Veronica Kingsley.”
Veronica sighed. “Ronan, Ronan. Always so formal. You’d never know that I’ve been his mother since he was seven years old.” She placed a manicured hand on my arm. “Ever since Carter told me the happy news last night, I’ve been dying to meet you. And then it occurred to me that I needed to stop by Bergdorf’s and pick up the dress I’ve chosen for the Met gala. So here I am, killing two birds with one stone.” She tittered at her joke, before turning back to Ronan. “She’s lovely, Ronan. Where on earth did you find her? Not in one of your usual whiskey dens, I imagine.”
I felt Ronan stiffen beside me. “Ronan and I met at Cara’s New Year’s party,” I said, giving Veronica my best fake smile. “But won’t you come in and sit down? Let me get you a cup of coffee—or something else to drink, if you prefer.”
“Perhaps a glass of mineral water,” Veronica said.
“I’ll get it,” Ronan said and gestured toward the living room. “Go ahead and sit down—I’ll join you in a moment.”
When Veronica entered the living room, she eyed the colorful arrangement of roses and Peruvian lilies that I had placed on one of the end tables that flanked the couch.
“I see that you’ve already made a few changes to Ronan’s apartment,” she said as she seated herself in his favorite armchair. “Which is all to the good. Like his father, my stepson has no interest in decorating.”
It was her third dig at Ronan in as many minutes. No wonder my husband-to-be avoided his stepmother like an infectious disease. Given his quick temper, Veronica’s bitchy little barbs probably set him off like a rocket.
“Ronan may not be into decorating, but he has fabulous taste,” I said as I held up my left hand to show off my ring. She’d been darting glances at it since she walked through the door, and I meant to give her a good look. “He couldn’t have chosen a more beautiful engagement ring.”
She pursed her lips. “Harry Winston never disappoints. The oval shape suits your hand, and the micropavé frame and band are stunning. But you didn’t choose it yourself?”
“Ronan surprised me with it,” I said as I sat down on the couch. “It was the most romantic moment of my life.”
“How sweet,” Veronica said lightly. “But let’s talk about you. The woman who finally convinced my playboy stepson to settle down. I’m simply consumed with curiosity, and although my husband is a financial wizard, the man is useless when it comes to passing on any information that doesn’t fit into a spreadsheet. After Carter’s conversation with Ronan last night, all the man could tell me is that you roomed with Cara at Harvard, and you run your own floral-design business in Brooklyn.”
“Cara and I becam
e friends during freshman year,” I said. “We were roommates for the rest of college, and since we both live in New York, we’ve been fortunate to be able to keep up our friendship.”
“And you and Ronan met at New Year’s?”
Just then, Ronan returned from the kitchen with a glass of mineral water, which he handed to Veronica.
“We did,” he said as he sat down on the couch beside me. “And when I realized what a treasure I’d stumbled upon, I seized the moment. After Cara’s party ended, I walked Ava to the subway and asked her to have dinner with me the following night.”
I gave Ronan an appreciative look and placed my hand over his, grateful that he was sticking with the backstory we’d discussed. As long as we kept our story consistent, we’d be fine. Thanks to the work Cara and I had done staging the apartment, nothing but our own words or actions could give us away.
“Such a romantic story,” Veronica said airily. “Love at first sight. But now that the two of you have set a date, there are a few things we need to discuss.”
“I’d prefer to go over our wedding plans when the entire family is present,” Ronan said. His deep voice was calm, but I sensed his tension. “Dad suggested that we all get together for dinner in the coming week. We can deal with the wedding then.”
Veronica sipped her water before dropping her bomb. “I’m not talking about your wedding, darling.”
“Then what are you talking about?” he said.
She sighed. “You’ll accuse me of meddling,” she said. “You always do.”
Ronan leveled her with a look. “Since when has that stopped you?”
Veronica gave me an exasperated look. “See what I have to deal with? Even as a child, he was always difficult.”
“Enough about my childhood,” Ronan said. “What do you want to discuss?”
Her voice dripped with fake sweetness. “Your engagement party, darling. I plan on handling it myself.”
15
AVA
“Engagement party?” Ronan said. “What engagement party?”
“The engagement party your father and I are throwing for you and Ava, which is the reason I made time to drop by today.”
Although Ronan’s expression was impassive, I could feel him vibrating with annoyance. Clearly, Veronica’s announcement had taken him by surprise. And over the past two weeks, I’d learned that my husband-to-be wasn’t a man who responded well to surprises—especially surprises that stole time away from his work.
So before Ronan could stick his foot in his mouth, I did what needed to be done—the only thing that could be done.
“That’s very generous of you and Carter,” I said, forcing my lips into a smile as I squeezed Ronan’s hand in a desperate signal I hoped he would understand. “And we’d love to celebrate our engagement with you. But are you sure that you want to go to so much trouble for us? By hosting our wedding, you’re already doing more than enough.”
“Consider it an early wedding gift,” Veronica said. Her voice took on an edge. “You wouldn’t understand this, Ava, but the Kingsley family has a reputation to uphold. Your wedding may be rushed—no doubt for the usual reasons—but that’s no excuse for Ronan to disregard his social obligations.”
As I processed what I’d just heard, my blood heated. I’d done my best to think of everything. I’d prepared myself to face suspicion, even hostility. But I’d completely failed to consider the possibility that Veronica would think that Ronan and I were rushing to the altar because I was knocked up or that I had deliberately gotten pregnant to trap Ronan into marriage.
Furious, I opened my mouth to defend myself.
But before I could speak, my common sense reasserted itself. Regardless of my feelings, I needed to take this one for the team. Veronica was looking for an explanation of why Ronan and I were fast-tracking our marriage, and believing I was pregnant was preferable to other directions her imagination might travel in—like the truth.
So I pressed my lips together, suppressed my anger, and swallowed my injured pride.
The bitch shot me another of her toothpaste-commercial smiles. “You’re blushing,” she said teasingly. “I’ve guessed right, haven’t I?”
It was then that Ronan surprised me. “Ava’s not pregnant,” he said evenly.
Veronica raised an arched brow. “Really?”
Ronan glared at her. “Really. So stop suggesting that my fiancée and future wife is a gold digger. It’s insulting, not to mention untrue.”
“As usual, you’re overreacting,” Veronica said. “I suggested no such thing. I merely voiced what everyone will think, due to the abruptness of your engagement and wedding.”
Ronan’s lips tightened. “I don’t give a shit what people think. Here’s the reality. Ava and I are adults, we know what we want, and once we decided to build a life together, neither of us saw any point in delaying our marriage.”
His protectiveness moved me, and I couldn’t resist adding a twist of my own. “But don’t worry, Veronica—you’ll be a grandmother soon. After Ronan and I enjoy a year or two as newlyweds, we hope to start a family.”
Ronan’s hand twitched beneath mine, but his voice remained steady. “Long engagements are old-fashioned. You know I’ve never been one to concern myself with silly conventions.”
Veronica released a brittle laugh. “I’m well aware of your lack of interest in doing things properly, darling—but perhaps I’ve spoiled you by taking care of such matters for you. In any case, one convention that will be observed is an engagement party in Southampton for you and Ava.”
“Very well,” Ronan said. “What date have you and my father chosen?”
“Two weeks from today.”
“We’ll add it to our calendar,” he said. “What do you need from us?”
“Only your presence and the names of any people you and Ava want to invite,” Veronica said. “I’ll take care of everything else.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked. “I have a lot of event-planning experience.”
“I doubt your experience extends to this kind of event,” Veronica said. She rested her half-empty water glass on the coffee table and glanced at her wristwatch. “Now that that’s settled, I should be running along,” she said as she stood and slung her Birkin over her shoulder. “I’d prefer not to be late for my appointment at Bergdorf’s.”
Ronan and I stood with her, and as she headed toward the foyer, I sensed and shared his relief that she was leaving.
But then she stopped and turned to us. “I nearly forgot,” she said. “Before I go, Ronan, show me what you’ve done with Cara’s paintings. She mentioned that you bought half a dozen pieces from her last show.”
Here we go.
Just as Cara had predicted, Veronica was hell-bent on nosing through our apartment—and she’d provided an impeccable pretext. Fortunately, thanks to Cara, I was prepared.
“The smaller paintings are in here,” I said, leading the way to my room. “This room used to be Ronan’s guest bedroom, but we’ve turned it into an office and TV room for me.”
Veronica followed me into the room, with Ronan behind her.
“Cara’s paintings look wonderful on the green you chose for the walls,” she said. “Although she hasn’t found much success as a painter, I think she’s very talented.”
“I agree,” I said. “Cara’s paintings are unique and original, and I just know that someday she’ll be famous.”
Veronica’s gaze drifted over the room’s furnishings and stopped on my grandmother’s desk. “You should get rid of that old desk. It looks cheap, and it clashes with the tone of the room.”
“It may not be an ideal match with the other furniture,” I said, bristling at her dismissal of the most precious object I owned. “But it belonged to my grandmother, and I love it.”
“It’s hardly an heirloom,” Veronica said, wrinkling her nose. “If you can’t bring yourself to throw it away, why not store it? Now, where are the rest of the paintings
?”
“In the master,” Ronan said. “Follow me.”
Veronica and I trailed him into the master suite, where she admired Cara’s paintings, while Ronan took in the last-minute adjustments I’d made before his stepmother’s arrival. A lacy black brassiere peeked from beneath the rumpled sheets of his unmade bed, and matching panties lay on the floor beside the bed.
As I’d expected she might, Veronica excused herself to use the bathroom, which I felt certain was an excuse to go through its contents.
When the door closed behind her, Ronan stepped just behind me.
“Nice touch with the underwear,” he said in a low voice against my ear. “My bed looks like it’s seen some serious action.”
“That’s the idea,” I whispered back, trying to remain composed. With Ronan standing so close to me that his breath caressed my neck, and Veronica in the next room, no doubt inspecting my makeup and tampons, I’d never been less at ease.
What was wrong with me? How had I ever thought myself capable of handling this situation? Maybe I’d escaped my financial problems, but in doing so, I’d created a host of new problems that I didn’t even begin to know how to deal with.
A posh engagement party with the Southampton elite—the kind of people I was accustomed to working for, not socializing with.
A hostile monster-in-law.
And a fake husband-to-be who, despite my best efforts, I found increasingly attractive. I only hoped that my loose-fitting blouse concealed the fact that his proximity had brought my nipples to full attention. How could I be so turned on by a man I didn’t get along with half of the time and who was also a total man-whore? Was I that starved for sex?
It was completely irrational—but I couldn’t deny that whenever Ronan accidentally touched me or came near me, my body lit up like a goddamned disco ball.
The only saving grace was that he wasn’t into me in that way, which made my attraction to him irrelevant. Hopefully, with time I would get over it. I stepped away from him and forced myself to focus, just as the sound of a flushing toilet announced Veronica’s imminent return. Moments later, she emerged from the dressing area and bathroom that was supposedly mine.