by Lee Winter
“Hey, Aunty C!” Tad’s teeth gleamed in a dazzling smile. He lifted his perfectly manscaped eyebrows. “Miss me?”
“I miss my beautiful LA house,” she countered, tone teasing. “How is it? Are you looking after it?”
“Trashed it with another party.” He offered a heavy sigh. “Had actors snorting coke off your antique coffee table until someone danced on it and broke it. Fairly sure models were doing the deed all over the house, including your bedroom. Couldn’t see them myself. I was too busy cleaning up the Persian rug in your study.” He lowered his eyes and whispered, “Don’t ask.”
An Oscar winner he’d never be. “Such a shame.” Catherine gave a sad cluck. “Oh well, I’ll bill you the cost of replacing the rug and the table.”
“Yeah, don’t do that,” he said, and his easy grin was back. “Of course I’m looking after your place. It’s a dream. I can’t ever say thanks enough for letting me stay rent-free.”
“Rent adjusted,” she corrected with a twitch of a smile. “The deal was that if you actually get a paying role, you’re supposed to pay rent.”
“Semantics.” He waved, and then dazzled the room with another grin. “I’d forgotten how funny you can be. I’ve missed going out to all the LA parties with you. They were awesome. Remember when you used to hate your wife-to-be?”
“I didn’t hate her.”
“Oh really? Well, nothing says love like threatening to clamp a girl’s car.”
Catherine gave him her best evil eye. Tad had never dared to joke about her love life before he’d met his boyfriend. “I see Joshua’s been a bold influence on you.”
His smile was replaced with a cautious look.
“And that’s not such a bad thing,” Catherine added quickly. “We both know too much about secrets and lies. Don’t we?”
“It’s the family way—don’t ask, don’t tell, never share a damn thing. God, I still can’t even talk to Mom about Josh. She’s just all… I mean, she makes comments about me not dating girls, but she never really talks about it. And sometimes she randomly says stuff like, ‘Why do people have to put their private business out there? It’s forcing others to think about unsavory things they don’t want to.’”
Catherine felt her chest tighten. She’d always wondered what her sister really thought of her impulsive public outing of her and Lauren. How…disappointing. Tad was so right. Hiding things and never talking about them was the Ayers way.
Hell, her father had affairs, and they all knew it, including her mother, but it was decreed not so terrible as long as he was discreet. Catherine had only apparently brought great shame to her family the moment she was honest.
“Your mom must have worked you out by now, though,” she suggested.
He shrugged. “Who knows? And Dad’s so like Grandpa, only interested in the business and bottom lines, so what’s the point?”
“I see. Look, I know we didn’t discuss any of this before, and we should have. I’m sorry I didn’t. But I want you to know you can always talk to me if you need to.” She paused on unfamiliar words that stuck in her throat. “You…mean a great deal to me, Tad.”
The moment she said it, she felt a surge of tenderness for her only nephew.
Tad visibly swallowed. “I appreciate that. I mean it. Thanks.” He hesitated. “Which is why it’s so hard to say what I’m about to.” All the color seemed to drain from his cheeks.
Chapter 7 –
Rube’s Awakening
It had taken an hour to get to Rube’s Steak House in Montour, Catherine noted with a scowl.
Lauren had borrowed one of her father’s vehicles to drive them, some wrecking-yard rescue project that had limited suspension. Apparently, a sign of toughness was feeling every bump.
The blue classic Chevy looked exactly the same as Lauren’s own tank-like red beast back in DC, which probably explained her fond sigh and the way she patted its dash, calling it “Kitten” when she first climbed in.
The eating establishment loomed in front of them—a monument to brown. Brown brick. Brown, lined, galvanized steel sides. Dark brown eaves with a sickly orange glow from a long column of downlights. Catherine supposed she could be in a more accepting mood, but her Skype call with Tad earlier had left a sour taste in her mouth. She bit back her first retort at the building. Then her second.
“I could lie and say it looks better inside.” Lauren’s tone was cheery as she parked and tumbled out. She hit the ground with much the same terminal velocity as the Chevy had afforded them. “But remember it’s not about appearances. It’s all about the taste. The food is amazing, I promise. And I’d crawl over broken glass for their bacon-wrapped rib eye.”
“I am marrying a Flintstone,” Catherine said with a wince. She slid out of the vehicle.
Laughing, Lauren came around to her side of the truck and looped her arm through Catherine’s. “I appreciate your noble sacrifice. We’ll hit all your favorite restaurants for a month when we get back to DC to make up for it.”
Inside Rube’s was like a butcher’s shop had mated with a restaurant. Wall-to-wall fridges filled with raw meat selections were on display, beyond which sat tables and the smoky centerpiece—a giant grill which had a small crowd of diners standing around it.
“So, you select the piece of meat that you want from the fridge, then you throw it on the grill and cook it yourself.” Lauren beamed from ear to ear as though this was the most incredible thing in human history.
“I see.” Catherine shot her a cynical look. “Who needs to hire a cook when we do it ourselves?”
“At least you get it cooked exactly as you like it. And, of course, they have a cook. After all, you should see the dessert menu.”
Catherine said nothing, eying those around them taking part in this primitive ritual. The food did smell good. And at least it wasn’t deep-fried. Her stomach still hadn’t entirely recovered from lunch. She supposed she could get in the spirit of things.
“What’s the smallest thing they have?” she asked hopefully.
“Hey.” Lauren nudged her as they were eating. “Earth to Catherine.”
“Hm?” Catherine looked up. “Sorry. What?”
“Want to tell me what’s bothering you? You’ve been in a world of your own since we got here.”
“What makes you think I’m bothered?”
“The tiny little line between your brow is furrowed. That usually signals someone’s about to meet a sticky end.”
Exhaling, Catherine said, “I spoke to Tad.” It shouldn’t hurt so much. It really shouldn’t. She reached for her glass of wine.
“And what did your nephew have to say for himself? Has he finally RSVP’d for our wedding?”
“Yes, actually.”
Lauren’s face brightened.
“He confirmed that he is not coming. He wants to support his boyfriend’s big November launch. And Joshua cannot shift the date on it—a fact Tad felt the need to repeat about a dozen times. So, you need a new best man. And my nephew will not be in attendance.”
Disappointment washed across Lauren’s face. “Oh no.”
Catherine nodded slowly. “I know you really wanted Joshua to be there.”
Swallowing, Lauren reached for her beer and took a gulp. “Okay, true, but that’s not why I’m so disappointed. I know how hard it is for you that Phoebe is your only family coming. And I’ll be drowning in relatives, and you’ll have only your sister, who you aren’t that close to. So, I’ve been really, really hoping Tad would be there for you, too.”
“Well, I’m used to family placing me second.” Catherine froze, shocked she’d said such a vulnerable thing out loud. Her insecurities were usually much better buried. Her gaze darted to Lauren.
Lauren’s hand covered hers on the table and gave it a squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”
“Never mind.” Catherine straight
ened. Pity she definitely did not need. “Let’s consider the now. Has Mariella said yes to being matron of honor?”
“She has.” Lauren’s eyes were still soft with empathy.
Catherine extracted her hand from under Lauren’s and let it slide to her glass stem. She watched as a laughing couple shared playful hip bumps at the grill.
With a vigorous head shake, Lauren said, “Look, I’ll talk to Josh and explain he has to de-guilt Tad so he’ll attend the wedding instead. I mean, Tad’s only doing it to prove his loyalty to his boyfriend. So, I’ll get Josh to make him see reason.”
“No.” Catherine’s voice became cool. “Don’t do that. It’s Joshua’s first designer line. It is a big deal. His boyfriend should be with him. Tad and I will catch up later. At Christmas, perhaps.”
“Catherine, that’s not the same, and you know it.”
“Well, what do you suggest?” she snapped. “I force the only family member to whom I’m even a little close to choose me when he doesn’t want to?”
Lauren winced. “Sorry.”
Catherine pushed her plate away. “I can’t eat anymore.”
“Did you like it?”
“Yes.” She regretted her outburst instantly—for taking her mood out on Lauren and for giving oxygen to her worst insecurities.
“I really am sorry,” Lauren repeated. She frowned for a moment, then looked up. “Hey, we could just get married sooner.”
“Mrs. Potts already said no one can book a wedding venue around here in less than three months. It’s why we said November, remember?”
Lauren gave a reluctant nod. “Well then, we could get married much later. Next year?”
“You wish to delay our wedding?” Catherine schooled the hurt from her voice.
“No! Of course I don’t want to delay it. It’s just you clearly want Tad there. So, what’s the alternative?”
“The alternative is not to worry so much about whether people like us as much as we do them.” She felt the familiar ache at the reminder of how true this had been for her over the years. “I’m used to it. It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.”
Catherine sighed. She should have known Lauren wouldn’t let this go.
“I get it,” Lauren continued. “You’ve felt let down by everyone—your parents, your ex, and those so-called friends in Washington who ditched you when that story destroyed you. It’s also normal to want close family at your wedding. And you’re allowed to be disappointed if that’s not happening.”
“I’ve learned to manage expectations.” Her words were deliberately low and cold.
Lauren went very still, and her brow furrowed. Catherine knew that look. Her fiancée was getting ready to marshal another round of persuasive arguments. To what end, though? Tad had made his choice, and she would respect it. “You mentioned dessert.” She grabbed blindly for the menu and stared at it. It took a few moments to even focus. “Well. I see why you were so enamored of it. Caramel or chocolate brownies? How will you choose? Or will you get both?”
The attempted playful edge to her voice deserted her, and the raggedness of it shredded the air between them.
“Catherine? Please don’t shut me out.”
“I’m only ordering dessert. And let me worry about my errant family members. You figure out yours.” The words flew out, sharp and vicious. Oh, hell. She was doing it again—homing in on someone’s sore point with the accuracy of a heat-seeking missile. All Lauren wanted was for Catherine and her family to get along. So, naturally, Catherine had hit that bruise.
Lauren pinned her with a dark look. “What do you mean, I should figure out my family?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, say it. Who’s getting under your skin?” Lauren’s voice dropped to a shaky whisper. “Or is it all of my family?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“If not all of us, then who in particular?” Lauren shifted in her chair.
Us. Of course she saw it as an attack on her and her family. Catherine felt ashamed at her weaknesses. She’d already ruined their evening.
“Why do you want to know?” Catherine asked in her most reasonable tone. “No good could come of me answering that question. You’ll feel defensive and want to take sides, and I don’t want that. I promise I will deal with it if and when it becomes an issue. And it hasn’t become an issue. Not at all.”
Lauren stared at her.
“Trust me,” Catherine added. “It’s nothing.” Yet. Although she’d be keeping a close eye on Lucas. He might fool the rest of Lauren’s family, but he wasn’t joking with his passive-aggressive barbs. His words had real venom behind them. “And I’m fine.” A complete lie.
Lauren reached for her own dessert menu. “I’d think honesty’s the best for two people about to get married.” She paused. “But you’re also probably right that I don’t want to hear the answer. So, I’ll trust you on this.”
“Denial is preferable,” Catherine confirmed, lips curving, willing the shadow around Lauren’s eyes to leave. Regret filled her.
“Probably.” Lauren glanced at her menu. “The cookie sundae.” She plopped the laminated plastic rectangle to the table. “And I’m sorry if anyone in my family isn’t treating you with the respect you deserve.”
Catherine looked at her hands, discovering she was clutching her own menu too tightly. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” When she looked up again, it was with a reassuring smile.
“Even so,” Lauren said, leaning closer. “You’re an incredible woman. I wish everyone in your life made you feel that you really do matter.”
The ache inside felt just a little bit less at her words. “I only need one person for that. And you do make me feel like I matter to you.” She lifted her eyebrows. “Will I regret the brownie?”
“Definitely.”
“Then that’s what I’ll have. Life’s too short for regrets.”
As Catherine changed for bed, she studied Lauren surreptitiously, wondering what she was thinking. Was it about seeing glimpses of Catherine’s vulnerabilities? Even the thought made her want to close up and retreat. She’d never been one to wear her emotions on her sleeve at the best of times. But to reveal her secret fears made her feel naked.
Speaking of naked… Lauren turned, sliding on a long shirt as sleepwear. Her bare legs were an appealing sight, even if, for once, Catherine was in no mood to appreciate them.
“Hey.” Lauren hesitated. “I’ve been thinking about it. I’m sure Tad’s being eaten up inside having to choose.”
“No doubt,” Catherine said, quite certain her fickle nephew was not.
Lauren’s hands slipped around Catherine’s waist from behind. “He’d be crazy not to be.”
“You’re somewhat biased.”
“True.” Lauren kissed her temple. “But I think you’d be surprised how much Tad loves you, even if he’s lousy at expressing it.”
Catherine chose not to dignify that with a response.
Resting her head against Catherine’s, Lauren whispered, “You’re really upset, aren’t you?
She debated how to answer. Lauren didn’t need to hear all the times she’d wondered, deep down, whether she wasn’t worth caring about if so many people in her life had never fought for her. Was she really so unlovable? Catherine fixed a smile and prepared to lie.
“Don’t,” Lauren whispered. “There’s no shame in any answer. It’s just us. Okay?”
Catherine sighed. “Yes. I am upset. And no, I don’t want to discuss it.”
“Thank you for being honest. So, although the no-regrets brownie didn’t seem to work, I have a better treatment to help out.”
“Oh?”
“Mmm. Definitely. Get on the bed.”
Catherine searched Lauren’s face for some sign of her intentions. Failing to find any, she obeyed any
way.
The bed creaked as she climbed onto the thick downy spread.
“On your stomach,” Lauren ordered with a grin.
Catherine rolled over and laced her fingers under her chin on the pillow. She felt the whisper of her shirt being slid up, so Catherine shifted, allowing it to be removed, exposing her bare back. Lauren’s weight shifted onto the bed, and she slid a leg over Catherine’s waist until she was straddling her. Catherine was suddenly reminded that all Lauren was wearing was that shirt.
Lifting her eyebrows, Catherine said, “I seem to recall you saying there would be no ‘hanky panky’ while under your father’s roof.”
“And there won’t be,” Lauren said, tone emphatic.
“Then you should probably put some underwear on.”
Lauren gave a soft laugh. “Can’t think straight?”
Catherine smiled into her pillow. “My thoughts are nothing of the sort.”
“Well, put a cork in it, sweetie,” Lauren replied, the smile evident in her voice. “This is one hundred percent therapeutic only.”
There was a sound of oil being worked into hands—where did that come from?—and a faint, exotic, citrus-tinted aroma of bergamot. Catherine sighed in contentment.
The first touch on her back was electric. Tendrils of warmth shot across her nerve endings, and arousal filled her. Her body always reacted this way to Lauren. Even before they were dating, she’d had some intense dreams involving her colleague that were positively carnal. She’d awake aroused and shocked. She’d never meant to let her desire leak, either. Catherine had always thought she was the master of control…until the moment she suddenly wasn’t. The moment she’d—
“What are you thinking about?”
“Our first kiss.” Catherine smiled. “I’d just finished my pool laps, and you were on the stairs, looking at my family photos.”
“Ah.” A sensual smile was in her voice.
“Mmm. I recall you were a little annoyed with me at the time.”
“You’d been pretending to date a certain hunky young man for weeks. You’d been lying to me. Of course I was pissed.”