There. She was truly committed now. A little over a week from now she would be meeting Rhys’s family. All at once.
She was the first to admit that she wasn’t at her best in large group situations, even under ideal circumstances—she was too much of a loner, or perhaps simply too used to being alone, to revel in rowdy group gatherings where people were expected to fight for the chance to be heard. And these were far from ideal circumstances. All Rhys’s family knew about her was that she’d met him in a bar, gone home with him and now was pregnant with his baby. Rhys might claim that they wouldn’t judge her for any of the above, but they would have to be an almost freakishly open-minded group of people not to have formed some idea of who and what she was.
There was no point kidding herself—meeting his family was going to be horrible and awkward and embarrassing, and she had no choice but to do it, even if her toes were curled inside her shoes the whole night. Rhys’s brothers and sisters were going to be uncles and aunts to her child. Their children would be her baby’s cousins, and Rhys’s parents would be her baby’s grandparents. She needed them to accept her. Or, at the very least, to accept her baby. She could live with their disapproval or dislike, as long as they loved her child.
Opening the calendar on her computer, she marked down the party for next Friday. Then she made a note to herself to buy a good bottle of wine and something nice for his sisters’ birthday. And maybe she should get her hair cut. It had been a while, and it might help her feel a little more prepared.
Please. It’s going to be a freakin’ nightmare, haircut or no haircut. Nothing’s going to change that.
But she would do it anyway. For her baby.
“THE THING YOU NEED to know about Mark is that even though he looks big and he talks loud, he’s a complete pussycat underneath.” Rhys changed lanes, preparing to make a left turn ahead.
“Okay.”
“Don’t talk about Wall Street and you’ll be fine.” He was aware of Charlie frowning as he signaled.
“Wall Street the place or the financial markets in general?” she asked.
“Both.” He turned the corner.
“Right.”
She sounded nervous. He’d be nervous, too, if he was her.
News flash, buddy—you are nervous.
It was true. He had no idea why. They were his family after all, not a firing squad. But there was no denying the tension in his chest and belly.
This felt like a big deal. Charlie meeting his family for the first time. The first of many meetings if things went well. The beginning of awkwardness and discomfort if it didn’t.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Look, you’ll be fine. They’re nice people. A bit loud and rude sometimes but nice.”
And Charlie was nice, too. Smart and funny in her own quiet way. The odds were good that everything would be fine.
A small silence fell as he drove through the dark residential street to his parents’ house.
“When was the last time you brought someone home for dinner?”
He glanced at her, surprised by the question. She was watching him, a small smile on her lips.
“I don’t know.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe ten years ago. Why?”
“You seem a little out of practice.”
He laughed, the sound loud inside the car. “Yeah. Maybe I am.”
“Although the last woman you brought home probably wasn’t pregnant, huh?”
“Not to my knowledge, no.”
“Then I guess it’s a voyage of discovery for all of us.”
He found a spot in front of the neighbor’s house and parked. He shut off the engine and turned to Charlie. Her face was in shadows and he could see the glint of her eyes but not the expression in them.
“You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Then let’s do this.” He started to open the car door.
“Wait.” Charlie’s hand caught his sleeve. “How do I turn on the interior light?”
He reached across and flicked the map light on. She reached into her bag and pulled out a lipstick. He watched as she applied more color to her already pink mouth. It occurred to him that this was the first time he’d ever seen Charlie fuss over her appearance. Most women of his acquaintance—including his sisters and his mother—were constantly tweaking their hair or makeup or worrying about things like bra straps showing or visible panty line. But Charlie always seemed composed and confident within herself.
She wasn’t a fussy dresser, either. Her black fitted shirt and tailored pants were well cut and conservative, and she wore no jewelry to speak of. He couldn’t help contrasting her appearance with the way she’d looked that night at Café Sydney. Sultry and sexy and mysterious. Looking at her now, it was almost impossible to believe that it had been the same woman. Not that she wasn’t attractive and sexy in a far more subtle way in her current outfit, but there was definitely a Jekyll and Hyde thing going on as far as her appearance went.
“Is something wrong? Did I get lipstick on my teeth?”
He realized he was staring and that she’d finished checking her hair and makeup.
“No. You’re fine. You look good.”
She shook her head slightly in instant negation of his comment. “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
She busied herself readying her handbag, but he’d have to be blind not to notice the pink flush on her cheeks.
“We should go in.” She opened her door and slid out of the car.
He hesitated before following her. He wasn’t sure what the blush was about. Self-consciousness? Discomfort because he’d all but admitted he found her attractive? Although how that could be a surprise to her after the night they’d shared together, he had no idea.
He climbed out and locked the car before joining her on the sidewalk.
“Careful of the crack on the pathway,” he said as he led her toward the house.
She nodded, the movement a shadow in the darkness. He could smell her perfume, something that reminded him of orange blossom. Despite having already offered a warning, he couldn’t stop himself from taking her elbow when they reached the crack in the walkway.
“Thanks,” she said.
“These steps can be a bit tricky, too.”
His parents had forgotten to leave the porch light on and the front of the house was dark with gloom. He guided Charlie up the steps with a hand on the small of her back, worried she’d trip.
“Thanks,” she said again, but there was an unevenness to her tone that made him peer closer at her face.
Sure enough, she was smiling.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m pregnant. I haven’t forgotten how to walk or climb stairs.”
“Sorry.” He felt stupid. Of course she could find her way up three concrete steps, even in the dark.
“I wasn’t complaining. It’s just…strange to be fussed over.”
“Not much fussing in the R.A. Sigs?”
“Not really, no.”
“I’m guessing there’s going to be more fussing from everyone once you start to show.”
“I’ll work on getting used to it.”
He was smiling as he reached out to give his customary arrival knock before opening the door. Warmth rushed out—as well as the sound of too many Walkers in one space.
“Brace yourself,” he said as he led Charlie toward the back of the house.
She shot him a quick, startled look. Then she smiled, and it was only because he was beginning to know her that he understood she’d put on her social face and that the real Charlie was somewhere behind that small, easy smile. He felt a sudden, strong urge to put his arm around her, to gui
de her into his family in the same way that he’d guided her past the cracked pavement and up the steps.
Instead, he preceded her into the kitchen, stepping to one side so there would be room beside him. As he’d suspected, every eye turned to him and the volume dropped dramatically. His stomach gave an absurd, anxious squeeze and he turned to glance at Charlie. She was a little pale, but that small smile was holding and there was a determined light in her eyes.
“Everyone, this is Charlie Long. Charlie, this mob of reprobates, commie-pinko-lefties and mad people is my family.”
He went on to introduce Charlie to his mum and dad, then his brothers and sisters and in-laws, and finally the children. Charlie shook hands and maintained steady eye contact and responded to every conversational sally that came her way in a clear, confident voice. He hovered at her side throughout, watching his brothers’ and sisters’ faces, ready to run interference if anyone said anything to make Charlie feel uncomfortable.
But everyone was on their best behavior and soon Charlie was having a glass of nonalcoholic cider pushed into her hand and the volume was rising as everyone broke into smaller conversations.
“I hope you like Italian, Charlie. Kim and Becky are suckers for pasta, so I always make my lasagna when it’s their birthday,” his mother said, drawing her to one side.
The better to interrogate her, Rhys suspected. He moved with them, determined not to leave Charlie to his family’s tender mercies.
“I love Italian. I’ve actually signed up for a cooking course that one of the local restaurants is running in Balmain,” Charlie said.
“Ah, so you enjoy cooking then?” his mother asked.
“I’m not sure,” Charlie said with a small laugh. “To be honest, I’m not very good, but I’ve been trying to get better now I can’t rely on the mess to make up for my deficiencies.”
“That’s right, Rhys mentioned you were in the army until only recently. It must be a big change for you, hanging up your uniform.”
Rhys continued to hover as his mother and Charlie exchanged small talk. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his sisters checking Charlie out, taking in her clothes, her shoes, her hair. Again, he had to stifle the urge to put his arm around her shoulders. She was doing fine, and his family were maintaining the pretense that they were civilized. So far, so good.
After a few minutes his mother ushered Charlie into a chair and positioned a platter of antipasto in front of her.
“If you see something you like, claim it early,” Rhys said. “Once the locusts move in you won’t stand a chance.”
Charlie gave him an uncertain smile before selecting a couple of olives. His brother engaged her in conversation about her web-design business, then Kim started to quiz her about her life in the army.
“So, is it true that it’s a man’s world in the defense forces? Did you ever feel as though you were discriminated against or not taken seriously?”
Charlie took a moment to answer. Rhys was standing behind her chair and couldn’t see her face.
“There’s no getting away from the fact that it’s a workforce made up predominantly of men, which means you’re dealing and working with men all day. Personally, I didn’t have a problem with that. I’ve always been pretty straightforward and most of the guys were up front with me, so it was all good. But I know some of the other women I worked with found it tough.”
“But I’m sure I read somewhere that one of the best ways to gain promotion is to serve in active duty, which means that women are automatically behind the eight ball because they can’t participate in combat,” Kim said.
“There are lots of ways of participating in deployments that don’t involve active combat. I was deployed to both Iraq and East Timor, for example.”
“You were in Iraq?” Mark asked, his posture becoming more alert.
“I did an eight-month tour,” Charlie confirmed.
Rhys was more than familiar with his brother’s views on the war, thanks to the many arguments they’d “enjoyed” around the dinner table. He fixed his brother with a hard look, daring him to mouth off. Mark stared at him for a long second before refocusing on Charlie.
“That must have been interesting,” Mark said.
Charlie murmured something noncommittal. Rhys rolled his shoulders as the conversation shifted to the movie his sister-in-law had seen during the week. Charlie waited until the conversation was flowing around her before turning in her seat and tilting her head to make eye contact with him.
“Could you tell me where the bathroom is?” she asked quietly.
“Out into the hall, second door on the right,” his mother said before he could respond.
“Thank you,” Charlie said, pushing herself to her feet. “Excuse me.”
She offered his mother a small smile before exiting. Rhys was aware of all eyes turning to him the moment she left the room.
“What?”
“She doesn’t need a bodyguard, Rhys. What do you think we’re going to do to her?” Mark asked.
“I don’t think you’re going to do anything.”
“So why are you following her around like she’s had a death threat or something?” Becky asked.
“I’m not.”
“You are. You haven’t left her side since you walked in the door,” Tim said.
Rhys resisted the urge—barely—to grind his teeth. “I’m trying to make her feel comfortable. Believe it or not, some people don’t like being interrogated by a roomful of loudmouths all at once.”
“Hello, Pot, I’d like you to meet Mr. Kettle,” Becky scoffed.
“Charlie’s not like us,” Rhys said. “She doesn’t have any brothers and sisters. She’s not used to conversational guerrilla warfare.”
“Thanks for the heads-up, Rhys. We’re all so thick we didn’t pick that up,” Mark said.
“She’ll feel more comfortable without you breathing down her neck,” Kim said.
“Thanks for the advice. I know just what to do with it,” Rhys said.
His mother held up both hands. “Not another word from any of you. Charlie is my guest, and I won’t have any of you making her feel uncomfortable. Which means we all need to stop talking about her while she’s out of the room, for starters. Honestly, you’d think you were all raised by wolves the way you behave sometimes.”
“Thank you,” Rhys said, crossing his arms over his chest, very satisfied that she’d set his brothers and sisters straight.
“That includes you, Rhys. Back off a little and give the poor woman some breathing room,” his mother said.
Rhys opened his mouth to respond, but his father passed him a basket of garlic bread.
“Make yourself useful.”
Rhys bit his tongue, but only because he was very aware that Charlie could enter the room again at any second. The last thing he wanted was for her to think they’d all been talking about her. Even though they had.
His movements stiff, he placed the basket of bread in the center of the table. When he turned away, he caught Becky studying him with an arrested, intent light in her eyes. He raised his eyebrows in silent question.
She shrugged. “I’ve never seen you like this about a woman before.”
“I’ve never gotten a woman pregnant before, either.”
Becky studied him a moment longer before nodding and reaching for her wineglass. Rhys moved closer to the door so that he’d be the first person Charlie saw when she returned to the room.
He didn’t care what his mother or sister said. He wasn’t abandoning her to their curiosity and interest, well-intentioned or not.
Stop being such a coward. Wash your hands and go out there and get to know the people who are going to become your child’s family.
Charlie didn’t b
udge from her perch on the toilet lid. She hadn’t really needed to go to the bathroom—she’d needed a moment alone to get a grip on her nerves.
Rhys had filled her in on his family, but nothing could have prepared her for stepping into a roomful of tall, good-looking, confident Walkers, all of whom had started dissecting her with their eyes the moment she came through the door. If she’d thought about it, she might have anticipated that Rhys’s family would be like him—dark haired and brown eyed, very attractive, with more than their fair share of charisma—but she hadn’t. She’d been too busy being amused by his very obvious nervousness because it had made her feel that much better about her own nerves.
They’re just people. No different from you.
It was true, but it was also a lie. She might be able to fake a reasonable facsimile of social ease, but she would never have the natural, bone-deep confidence that the Walkers all seemed to have been born with. Maybe it was genetic. Or maybe it was something their parents had instilled in them in their formative years. It didn’t really matter, either way. She simply needed to get over this sense of intimidation and get her ass back to the kitchen where it belonged.
Hands on her knees, she pushed herself to her feet and crossed to the vanity. She washed her hands and tidied her ponytail before straightening her shirt unnecessarily.
Stop stalling, you big chicken.
She left the bathroom and walked the few steps to the kitchen door. Rhys was standing just inside the room, a frown on his face as he watched his brothers and sisters. His gaze swung toward her as he heard her footsteps and the frown faded from his face. He stepped closer and touched her arm as she entered the room.
“How’re you coping? Need me to napalm the curtains yet?” he asked quietly.
His hand felt very warm on her arm, even through the fabric of her shirt. She looked into his deep brown eyes and was warmed in a different way by the very real concern she saw there.
“I’m fine.”
He gave her a reassuring squeeze before dropping his hand to his side. She resumed her seat at the table and allowed herself to be drawn into a discussion about the pros and cons of the high Australian dollar between Tim, Rhys’s oldest brother, and Meg, his sister-in-law. It wasn’t long before more opinions were being offered and soon there were at least three competing conversations on the same topic swirling around her. Somehow she managed to follow all three. Rhys’s siblings had strong opinions and weren’t afraid to offer them up and stand their ground. They also weren’t afraid to take shots at each other’s logic or politics, and she found herself both shocked and amused by their take-no-prisoners verbal warfare.
More Than One Night Page 13