However, there are paintings from generations ago among so many other personal effects in the attic that I couldn’t and wouldn’t feel right about just getting rid of them, even if I don’t have them displayed.
“Are you going to keep your mother’s godawful china?” Susan slurs from her chaise lounge.
I don’t tell her that the way she’s decorated this house is fucking gaudy and terrible. Instead, I just grunt and jerk my head.
“Lucinda may want it one day,” I murmur as I look around the room to see if there is a shred of myself left in the space.
There isn’t.
She’s removed every part of me, of my existence from the main house that she could. Everything of mine is in the attic, in boxes or just leaning against the wall collecting dust. Turning from her, I don’t even pause when she speaks.
“Lucinda would never want anything from that vile woman,” she sneers.
I don’t tell her that my mother was only vile to her because she knew exactly what Susan was from the start. She knew that Susan was nothing more than a social climber. I was blinded by lust. I won’t say love, not in the beginning, and in all honesty, I’m not sure that she ever truly loved me.
I did love her though, at least I thought that I did in the beginning. As time waned on, as real life settled in. We had children and I had to spend the majority of my time at the office. The exciting part of our relationship was over and as I was settling into a routine, she was becoming angry toward me, toward everyone.
Leaving Susan to her drinks, I head up to the attic space to check on the movers. I have a few more boxes that I need to double-check before I take them. I don’t want Susan to claim that I’ve taken anything that she doesn’t approve of, because if I know her, it will just be another reason to cause me grief at this point.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I reach for it as soon as I enter the attic space. Flicking down, I see an incoming text message alert. Sliding my thumb over the message, I grin at the sight of the picture that was sent to me.
It’s a picture of a house, or rather a bathroom in a house. I can’t help but chuckle. The tub is freestanding and there are marble countertops, a chandelier over the tub, and a walk-in doorless shower. It looks standard to me, but it must be something special to Tennessee, at least based by her caption.
TENNESSEE: This is amazing. It’s out of this world. I could LIVE in this bathroom.
Judging by the time and the schedule, this is house number two. I quickly begin to type out my text response.
WHAT ABOUT THE REST OF THE HOUSE?
TENNESSEE: Does the rest matter?
I bark out a short laugh, shaking my head as I respond. IF THIS IS THE WINNER, SEND ME A FEW MORE PICS AND THE LISTING.
TENNESSEE: I’m not sure yet. I have to weigh all of the options. This house is definitely better than the first.
BECAUSE OF THE BATHROOM?
TENNESSEE: That and the pool was really small. This is Texas. Also, the garage wasn’t finished and that’s just wrong. I’m not even going to tell you the condition of the oven, but you would think people trying to sell a house for this amount would clean it before someone came over.
“Who is making you smile like that?” Lucinda’s voice rings from beside me.
Sending Tennessee a quick text back, I clear my throat as I lift my gaze and turn to look over at her. She’s not close enough to have read my texts, not that it matters, there wasn’t anything said in them anyway. But she’s watching me suspiciously, no doubt having already talked with Lawrence before coming here.
“My assistant is looking at property for me today. I had intended on going myself, but your mother wanted my things gone today and only today.”
Lucinda is quiet for a moment, her eyes focused on me and nowhere else. I have no doubt that she’s trying to read me, she’ll probably figure me out, but I’m not sure that I care too much. I like Tennessee, even though nothing will happen between us, that doesn’t change the way that I feel about her or the way that just her presence makes me feel.
“Assistant. Yes, Laurent told me about a new assistant. Lawrence told me not to dig into it too much. I am curious,” she murmurs.
“There’s nothing to be curious about.”
She snorts, then straightens her shoulders. “You’ve officially filed for divorce, leaving Mother with a stigma in her circle. You’re hiring pretty young assistants. Frankly, you’re too old to even go through a midlife crisis, Dad. So please stop before you make a fool of yourself.”
I could tell my daughter a plethora of things, one of them to shut her mouth or I’ll take the access to her monthly trust fund interest away from her. I don’t. Instead, I tilt my head to the side and watch her for a moment.
“Why are you really upset? It doesn’t have to do with your mother or her status, so explain.”
She looks down to her feet, then slowly lifts her gaze up to meet my own. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispers. “Just don’t make me look like a fucking fool.”
I watch as she turns around and stomps off. For twenty-five, she is not showing me the maturity that I wish she would. I blame myself, not only is she my only daughter, she’s my youngest child and I have spoiled her.
Without a doubt, I have done her a disservice in many ways. I shouldn’t let her talk to me that way, but her tensions are high. She never expected this to happen and the thought of me actually moving on is probably upsetting. Even if it’s not what she thinks—well, not completely anyway.
Chapter Twelve
TENNESSEE
Well then. That was probably the most fun and disappointed I’ve ever been in my entire life. Fun, because looking at fancy houses is probably my favorite thing in the world, disappointing because I know without a doubt, I will never actually live in anything like I’ve seen today.
It’s our allotted lunch break. The driver is taking his and has left us at this small restaurant, for which I’m kind of glad. I need a little time to just breathe. He’s been super nice, but he’s been a little overly attentive. Not in a creepy way, I mean, Landry probably told him to make sure I was taken care of, but he’s trying really hard.
The waiter brings over the half cheese, half Canadian bacon pizza for me and Holden, along with a cup of water with a lid and straw and a regular glass of water for myself. Holden’s eyes grow to the size of saucers at the sight of the large brick oven roasted pizza.
“Mama, pizza,” he mutters.
“Yes.” I laugh softly as I take a piece and put it on his plate.
Without hesitating, I cut it up into pieces, knowing that he’ll use his fingers and he won’t be able to hold an actual slice by himself.
“Does he use a fork, too?” a deep voice rumbles behind me.
We’re sitting outside, enjoying the decently cool afternoon. It’s only about eighty-degrees and the humidity is oddly low, so we’re taking advantage. Plus, Holden likes to watch the cars and foot traffic go by.
Turning my head slowly, I tilt my head back and look up into Landry’s mirrored sunglasses. “May I join you?” he asks.
Gulping, I try not to whimper at the sight of him. I’ve never seen him in anything but work clothes, slacks, and a long-sleeved button shirt or a jacket. Sometimes he treats me by rolling his sleeves up to his forearms.
All of which looks fantastic on him, none of which are Landry Astor in a pair of jeans and a polo shirt.
Licking my lips, I snap my mouth closed and shake my head once. “He does, but not with pizza, and yes you may,” I rasp.
His chin tips slightly and I assume that he’s looking down at me from behind his glasses for a beat before he turns and heads toward the little gate that is the entrance to the restaurant patio area. I try really hard not to watch him, but I fail. I watch the way his body moves as he makes his way toward me.
Every. Single. Inch. Of. Him.
He sinks down in the chair across from me, his lips turned up into a smirk, then I watch as he shifts his attenti
on to Holden. I halfway hold my breath, wondering how Holden will react to this man sitting with us. He isn’t really around men much, or at all. He has no grandfather, no father, and no uncles as I’m an only child.
I watch from the edge of my seat as Holden lifts his little greasy cheese hand and before I can stop him, he buries his fingers in Landry’s beard and grips him tightly.
Gasping in horror, I reach for Holden, tugging his hand off and tell him no. “We don’t touch other people like that, Holden,” I scold.
Landry clears his throat and I lift my gaze to him, no doubt a look of horror clearly on my face. To my surprise, instead of being annoyed, he lets out a low chuckle.
“Your first beard, Holden?” he asks.
Holden smiles, a little drool escaping down his chin. Then, without skipping a beat, Holden turns back to his pizza and starts shifting in his seat from side to side as he eats.
“I’m so sorry,” I exhale.
Landry doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, we watch one another, staring at each other, our gazes never breaking as we take one another in. Licking my lips, I break the staring contest and look down at my food.
“You’re more than welcome to have some. We definitely won’t eat it all,” I offer, keeping my voice low.
He dips his chin and reaches for a slice of Canadian bacon. Then, he proceeds to ask me about the houses that I viewed today. Picking my phone up off of the table, I find my notes and start to go over them with him.
The rest of the lunch is very businesslike and I find that I don’t hate it. I like the steamy looks, the little touches, the way he watches me. I more than like it, I love it. Every single part of it. As I’m finishing up telling him about the final house I looked at before lunch, he reaches for my hand, wrapping his fingers around my wrist.
Lifting my head from my phone, I look up at him, my lips parting in awe at the way my heart races and my body heats from just a simple touch. His amber-colored eyes practically twinkle as he watches me.
“I don’t want your detailed notes, I mean, maybe I will, but right now I want to know what house you loved.”
Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I flick my gaze down to my notes, then lift it back up to meet his again.
“There wasn’t a perfect one. They were all good, they were all mostly beautiful, but none screamed home to me.” His eyes widen and my breath hitches before I correct myself. “I don’t mean home, like my home, I mean like a home,” I attempt to clarify.
He laughs softly, then leans back in his chair. “Then you’ll have to come with me to see the rest, tell me which one feels like a home.”
Flicking my gaze to Holden, then back to him. “Are you sure? He’s quiet now, but that’s because he’s eating. He can be a bit rambunctious.”
Landry’s fingers squeeze my wrist, then release and he pulls his hand back to his side of the table. I miss it already and I curse myself for that. How in the hell am I going to be able to work beside him feeling this way day in and day out? I don’t think I can do it. I’ve never felt like this before and I’m a little scared.
“I’ve been around children before, Tennessee. Don’t worry, okay?”
Flicking my gaze from Landry to Holden, then back to Landry, I nod. “Okay. I won’t worry.”
“Yes, you will.” He laughs.
“Yes, I will,” I agree.
Landry pays for our food with his card. I hadn’t planned on using his company card at all for lunch. I was going to use my own money. He already pays me really well and the benefits are insane, but he insisted, so I decided not to argue.
When we walk out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk, he places his palm against the small of my back and begins to guide us down the street. Holden wriggles in my arms, wanting nothing more than to walk himself next to me.
“You can let him down, I’m in no hurry. The agent can wait.”
“He’s really slow,” I say as a warning.
Landry grunts, applying a bit more pressure to the small of my back. “He’ll be fine. Stop worrying.”
I set a wiggling Holden down on his feet, gripping his hand in mine, and together, the three of us walk down the busy sidewalk. I can’t keep my imagination from racing. What if this wasn’t a work thing? What if we were really a couple? What if we were really a family?
I know that I shouldn’t think like that. I hardly know Landry. Physical attraction doesn’t mean anything other than body parts being hot for other body parts. When we reach a white sedan, I pause.
“What about Holden’s car seat? We aren’t going back to the driver?”
Landry turns his head, tilting his chin down at me, then without a single word, he reaches forward and tugs the back door open. My eyes widen and I shift my gaze back to meet his. There in the back seat of his fancy white car is Holden’s car seat, already strapped in and ready to go.
“You knew we would come with you? You wanted us to come with you before you even met him?” I breathe.
I wish that I could take the questions back, that I could tuck them back inside of my mouth and swallow them down. But when Landry smiles at me, showing his white teeth, he lets out a low chuckle.
“I’m not sure what I knew or didn’t know,” he admits. “I just did it. Felt like it was the right thing to do, the natural thing.”
“Natural,” I whisper.
I feel it too.
Everything with him feels natural, feels right. Every touch, every kiss. I want so much more, a need that fills me and is begging to be sated and he is the only one who can do that. I know that I shouldn’t be thinking or feeling any of it, but I am and there is no way that I can pretend it doesn’t exist—that these desires don’t exist.
LANDRY
The first house we see together is a dud, but this one, as soon as we pull up to the front of it, I know that it has to be a contender. Tennessee is sitting next to me. I can only see the fall of her dark hair as it skims her waist, though I wish that I could see her face, at least her profile. She’s turned toward the passenger window, her face practically pressed against the glass.
“Do you like it?”
She whips her head around so quickly that I can’t help but jerk back slightly at the sudden movement. Her green eyes are wide, her lips parted, and her cheeks pink.
“Landry,” she cries. “It’s a Tudor-style house.”
Flicking my gaze behind her, I notice that it is a Tudor-style. It’s all limestone brick front with two deep steep pitches with gable style roofs. One on each side. I like the symmetry. The front door entry has a deep arch, with several layers of arching until you reach the front door.
I like it. I have never really cared much about the style of the outside of a house, but I knew that I didn’t want anything as grandeur as the home I had with Susan.
This is smaller, only around four thousand square feet, which is part of my list of desires, and it’s on half an acre of property, which is good-sized for this area.
There is also a small extra garage shop in the back for storage or projects. Plus, a pool, which is a must. I have missed having my own pool since I’ve been living at the office the past few years.
“It is, Tennessee.” I chuckle. “I assume this is good?”
She shakes her head. “It’s like a dream house. It’s gorgeous.”
Without a second longer of hesitation, I watch as she slips out of the front seat, wrenches the back door open and unbuckles Holden before she sets him down on the ground next to her. The little man wraps his fingers around his mom’s and together they make their way toward the front door.
“It has a little front porch, Landry,” she calls out from across the driveway.
Exiting the car myself, I can’t wipe the smile off of my face as I make my way toward my waiting realtor. “I think your wife likes this one,” he grunts.
I think about correcting him, but I can’t deny that I like the sound of it. Thinking of Susan as my wife left a black pit in my stomach for ye
ars. But a single mention that makes Tennessee my wife, it changes everything I’ve felt about that word for years. She changes everything I’ve felt.
Following behind her, I almost ask her to slow down, but decide not to. She’s far too excited and it’s in this very moment that I decide I have to own this house. Turning toward the realtor, I grin.
“Make an offer.”
“But you haven’t seen it all,” he murmurs.
“Do you hear that?” I ask.
Her gasps and shouts fill the entire house, they float down to the foyer where we’re standing. She is in love with this house. She needs this house. I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know what the future is going to look like, but I do know that if we ever find our way to one another, it will be in this house.
“Make an offer. I want it ready to sign by the time I’m finished touring the home,” I state. “Offer listing price, cash.”
Turning away from him, I make my way upstairs, where I can hear Tennessee oohing and aahing over something in the master bedroom. When I turn the corner, I can’t see her. Then I hear her say something, and I make my way toward what I assume is a closet.
It’s a closet.
A woman’s closet.
There’s a chandelier in the middle of the room, hanging above a dresser. There are rows of shelves, and bars to hang clothes. She spins around to face me, her eyes wide and her face flushed with excitement.
“This closet is as big as my bedroom in my apartment. And there’s another one, this is just the hers,” she cries.
Had I known house shopping was so exciting, I would have taken her days ago. “Is this a place that feels like a home?” I ask.
She licks her bottom lip. “I think… no, wait. I know that yes, yes it does. I’m trying really hard not to be biased because a Tudor home is my dream, but everything about this place is amazing.”
Hypocritically Yours: A Standalone Age-Gap Romance Page 9