Mindlessly, Colton corrects me. “It’s Downton Abbey.”
I shrug. “I know, but it’s habit to say it wrong because it drives Tiff nuts. Sometimes it’s the little things that say ‘friendship,’ you know?”
Colton’s smile is tight, false. “The family drama hasn’t even begun, I’m afraid. I do apologize for dropping a clanger and calling you my girlfriend without discussing it first.”
I search my mind, heart, and poll those butterflies in my belly, but I find not a bit of offense. Instead, I find iridescent happiness.
“It’s fine. I know we’re doing more than the ‘fun’ you proposed, but we don’t need to worry about that now. Focus on your family, and I’ll follow your lead. It’s what a good girlfriend and a good assistant would do.”
I wink big and fake, hoping to make him laugh or at least smile. All I get is that twitch at the corners of his lips before they press together again.
“I need to give you a dare, an important one.”
His nerves make me nervous, and I pray to whatever ancestor is haunting this hallway that Colton’s not about to ask me for my knickers before meeting his parents. Because I’ll fucking do it and then be a complete goob in front of them. Well, I’ll probably embarrass myself regardless, but at least if I piss myself, there will be a layer of cotton absorbency before I wet the rug.
“Okay.”
“Whatever you see here, whatever you hear here . . . it has to stay between us. Not your father, not Tiffany, not the people at the office. Just us. I will divulge what I need to, when I need to, but I need this life to be separate from that one. I dare you . . . to keep my secrets.”
I stop in the hallway, letting Alfred and crew turn a corner to give us a bit more privacy, though they don’t seem to have been listening to our conversation as they discussed Lizzie’s latest marks at school. Turning to Colton fully, I search his face. It almost seems as though he’s embarrassed by the privilege of his life, dreading for anyone to glimpse behind the curtain he’s created as Colton Wolfe, Fox executive.
“You don’t have to dare me for that. Or order me as your assistant. I can respect that you want to be your own man, not whoever this was supposed to make you.” I gesture around the hallway lined with antique oil paintings, marble busts, and closed oak doors that lead to any myriad of rooms.
“Thank you, Elle.” Colton places a chaste kiss to my lips and leads me to follow Alfred again.
Just past the corner, double doors stand open, and Alfred waits to the right of them. With a sweeping arm, he invites us into the room. He booms, “Master Colton and Miss Elle Stryker.” I jump and then instantly feel like a dork, but the old guy’s surprisingly got a voice like a wrestling match announcer, and I am definitely not ready to rumble.
When Alfred had said the Wolfes were waiting in the parlor, I’d envisioned a frilly, fancy room where ladies sip tea and nibble finger sandwiches. Something frou-frou and white. But this is nothing like that image.
The room is cavernous. That’s the only thought that comes to mind as I look around the space, with its vaulted ceilings, paneled walls, and ornate furnishings. The back wall is occupied by five towering windows, bookended with heavy drapery and capped with stained glass that matches the ones over the stairs. Light floods the room and the thickly carpeted floor in identical beams separated by shadows from the stone columns between the glass. If I didn’t know this was their family home, I’d think I had walked into a centuries-old church for all the history around me, from the floor to the ceiling and windows to walls.
“Jeez, and I thought your office was fancy,” I whisper once we step inside.
A man clears his throat, and I look at the two people I haven’t met before. The man is obviously Colton’s father. He looks so similar through the shoulders and chest, although his face is narrower, giving him a pinched, harsh expression. He’s wearing khaki, his white shirt nearly blinding in the gaps of his khaki vest. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s been horseback riding today. Either that or jodhpurs are making a comeback with the British elite. I suppose either is possible, for all I know.
Colton’s mother has clearly lent her perfect face to her son and daughter, with the same piercing eyes and sculpted cheekbones. Around her neck is a beautiful multi-strand string of pearls, antiques, by the look of them, with a small brooch of some type in the middle. Her dress is simple and elegant, slim to her wrists and swirling out in an A-line to her knees. She looks equally aristocratic, though her smile is considerably warmer than her husband’s cold indifference.
“Colton, such a lovely surprise!” Colton’s mother says, coming forward to embrace him. “How much I’ve missed you. It’s been so long!”
“Mother,” Colton says, his voice thick. “I’ve missed you too.”
The two embrace, and I can see that whatever family issues they might have, he and his mother love each other very much.
“You should have visited sooner.” The slight scold is softened by her picking invisible lint off his shoulder, as if she can’t bear to not touch him but doesn’t know how to do so without an excuse. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
Do they not just throw an arm over each other’s shoulder? Or if that’s too much, maybe just do the entwined elbow thing?
The thought makes me think of Dad and our movie nights. It’s nothing for us to snuggle up on the couch and share the same popcorn bowl. I never gave it a second thought, but perhaps I should’ve been more thankful for it.
“I know, Mum,” Colton says, smiling a little. “But no reason to worry. I’m fine, just glad to be home.”
“Colton.” His father’s greeting is flat, cold if I had to pick a word, and somehow drops the temperature in the room ten degrees in an instant. Either Colton’s father isn’t the warmest of people or perhaps he isn’t all that happy to see his younger son. At least, he’s not stepping forward to embrace him.
Colton is as equally stiff with a nod. “Father.”
Well, that explains a lot of the tension and friction, and probably why Colton came to the States. Hell, I’d fly across an ocean to get away from this much ice as well. The rest of us are all frozen in place too, watching the icebergs of men threaten each other with frosty glares.
“What have we here?” Colton’s father asks, giving up the staredown to look at me. It doesn’t feel like he lost or gave up, though, but rather that he’s attacking from a new vantage point.
And I’m suddenly facing the British Inquisition, the fly pinned under the magnifying glass of Colton’s parents.
“This is Elle Stryker, my girlfriend and coworker. Elle, this is my father and mother, Edwin and Mary Wolfe.”
The label as his girlfriend is still fresh and bright, sending a thrill up my spine.
Mary looks ecstatic at the announcement. “Darling! I suspected when Mother and Lizzie looked so giddy, but . . . really?”
Colton reaches over, and I take his hand, nodding. “Yes, Mrs. Wolfe. Uhm . . . yeah. Really. It’s nice to meet you.” At least this time, I don’t try to curtsy, though I still feel like I should.
“Well, welcome, dear,” Mary says, giving me a warm look. She steps forward, her hands going to my shoulders as she leans in to kiss the air beside my cheek. “My word, Elle, you’re trembling! Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry. I’m nervous. I just wasn’t expecting . . . this is so much, and I . . . gah.”
I’m flustered and likely acting a fool, but Mary takes it all in stride, laughing softly. “Relax, Elle. While we Brits might be famous for our stiff upper lips, we’re not monsters. I’m not going to eat you alive. What porkies have you been telling this poor girl about us, Colton?”
Colton isn’t smiling, though, glancing past his mother to Edwin. “The truth.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Edwin asks, his face pinching even more. “Do you have something to say, boy?”
“I’ve merely told Elle some of the history of the family,” Colton replies. “I’m not goi
ng to feed her bog roll and call it candy floss.”
Before Edwin can cut back at his son, Mary steps forward, putting her petite body between them. “Come now, there’s so much to catch up on. Alfred, could you serve tea while we wait for Eddie? He’s supposed to arrive home soon, and I know he’d like to see you, Colton. You boys were always so close.”
Colton snorts. “Mum, you know that’s not true. So does everyone else here, so there’s no need for airs.”
Mary flushes, shrinking a bit, and I feel bad for her. Right up until she says, “Well, I guess that’s true. It was more competitiveness than closeness. You were always trying to live up to your older brother, weren’t you?” She smiles again, like everything is sweet and totally fine, but I can tell by the tight set of Colton’s jaw that it’s anything but.
Alfred jostles the teacups he’s setting down on the large table in the room. Something tells me his steady hands did it intentionally to break the tension in the room and draw everyone’s attention to tea service. He’s a genius because it works.
The table is larger than most people’s actual dining tables, holding ten people easily with plenty of elbow room. Inside, I giggle about my total lack of a dining table at all. My apartment has a bar top between the kitchen and living room that’s always served me just fine. Hell, most of the time, I eat on my couch while watching television, so this seems beyond fancy.
And it’s not even the actual dining room.
Edwin and Mary sit at opposite ends of the table, boxing us in like two nobles holding court. Nan sits next to Mary, Lizzie plopping down beside her, and Colton holds out a chair for me before sitting at his father’s side. Everyone is quiet as Alfred moves around the table, setting steaming tea before each of us.
This is not like the tea parties I had as a girl, where Dad would cut peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into triangles and we’d sip Kool-Aid from plastic cups. Grape, of course, because it looked the most like tea but was deliciously sweet.
But this isn’t idle chats and silly gossip about my dolls.
This feels like serious business.
Confession time. I don’t like tea. Give me coffee, black as my soul or sweet and creamy. Either is just fine. Hot chocolate, hell yeah. But tea tastes like dirt water, as far I’m concerned. I hadn’t really considered that coming to London and meeting the Wolfes would require me to drink it down like it’s delicious angel tears. My mouth is already filling with too much spit and I have to force myself to swallow it down.
I hold myself still but watch Lizzie. She’s young, so surely, she’ll drink hers as sweet as possible. Maybe I can follow her lead on how to fix mine so I don’t make a fool of myself . . . again.
I’ve got a small pour of milk and an unhealthy amount of sugar in my cup, stirring it gently just like Lizzie. She picks hers up to sip, but I’m saved by Alfred’s booming wrestling announcer voice.
“Master Eddie and . . . companion.” Even though Alfred maintains his professional tone, I can hear a hint of disdain. It’s a fine line he’s walking, precisely appropriate but almost . . . catty. It makes me want to sit down with him to see what he really thinks of everything that’s going on around here. Over a glass of scotch, maybe. Anything but tea.
Eddie Wolfe doesn’t walk in so much as he struts in like peacock, and I get my first real look at the eldest Wolfe son.
As I do a quick study of his features, I’d say that where Colton gets his face from his mother, Eddie is nearly the spitting image of Edwin, right down to the pinched face and hawk-like nose that nearly cuts the air in front of him.
Where Colton is walking sex in a suit, attractive almost to the point of being pretty, Edwin is . . . not. He’s dressed well in designer gear and looks to be quite fit, but he’s not a head turner.
Still, considering he has a girl on his arm, he obviously doesn’t have to look very hard to find female companionship . . . although honestly, as the girl totters and giggles her way into the room, her fake breasts in danger of popping out of her low-cut top and her vag nearly visible at the hem of her skirt, I wonder just what the girl is interested in . . . Eddie or his bank account.
“Later, we’ll head up to Soho. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” The baby talk tone is weird to say the least, but the girl’s hanging on Eddie’s arm like a desperate little puppy. She’s straight up fawning over him. “I’ve heard of this new club, and you know I can get us in—”
“Eddie.” Edwin’s bark is sharp, cutting Eddie’s not-at-all humble brag right off.
Eddie just grins, though, his eyes slowly leaving the girl to turn to Edwin. “Father.” The greeting is only a single word, but even I can feel the casualness that seems in direct conflict with everything around us and everything I’ve learned about the Wolfe family. Eddie doesn’t even look at the other end of the table when he says, “Mum.”
“Hello, Eddie,” Colton says, his voice strained but polite as he stands up. “It’s nice to see you.”
“Coltie!” His performance is a virtual mime of surprise that fools no one. When no one responds favorably, he gives up and comes around the table. “Oh, stop with the faffing. Come here, old chap! Give your brother a hug!”
There’s something in the way he says it, like he’s commanding a minion instead of a brother. It pricks at my nerves, and to me, he just sounds condescending.
Colton approaches his brother warily, hugging him and holding back any response as Eddie cinches him in tight and starts pounding on his back a little too hard to just be excitement. It looks and feels like a big brother picking on his sibling, something they’ve done a thousand times before in their lives, and even though Colton’s the same size as Eddie now, the pantomime goes on. Edwin and Mary even smile, as though this is a normal, sweet greeting, and I’m suddenly very thankful I’m an only child. At least I never had to put up with aggression in the guise of affection.
When he’s done, Eddie claps his hands and shouts, “Alfred! Forget the tea, we need wine! And make it the good stuff. Not the piss rubbish Nan drinks. It’s time to celebrate!”
Nan hisses, her teacup clattering to its saucer. “You wouldn’t know piss rubbish if your tart of the day were pissing in your face and calling it gold.”
I choke on my tea, and not because it’s gross tasting, though it is. But uhm, did little old sweet Nan just make a joke about Eddie getting a golden shower? Surely . . . not? And eww times a thousand. When I look at her, trying to keep my brows from crawling up into my hairline, she looks innocent as can be. But there’s something in her eyes that says she isn’t the daft old woman she lets everyone think she is. A keen intellect is hiding inside her.
“Mum,” Mary whispers, sounding scandalized but patting her mother’s hand. “I’m sure he was just being cheeky. Don’t be crude in front of guests.”
Eddie smirks, having gotten away with abusing Colton and insulting Nan. And that’s all before he’s sat down.
He steps to Edwin’s side, pulling a chair out. His ‘friend,’ who seems to think this is some sort of comedy performance for her benefit, goes to sit down, obviously assuming Eddie is being a gentleman for her.
She learns the hard way, crashing to the carpeted floor with a squawk that makes her sound a lot like a startled chicken. I gape at the poor thing as Eddie sits down, not even offering the girl a hand up or even a glance to acknowledge that she’s on her ass on the floor.
Admittedly, I’ve been in a bit of the same situation rather recently with the whole debacle in Colton’s office. The one-upmanship I can offer on Eddie’s girl is that at least I had on panties. She very clearly does not. And I’m not the only one who notices. Colton looks away immediately, being a gentleman. Edwin sneers down at the poor thing, somehow both ogling her openly and judging her all at once.
I know he’s Colton’s father, but the only thing I can think is . . . disgusting pig. And I can see where Eddie gets his ‘charm’.
Lizzie goes to help, but the girl shrugs her off. Pulling together wha
t dignity she has left, she smooths her hair and what little dress she’s wearing as she gets up and pulls out a seat to sit next to Eddie.
“Smooth, as always,” Colton says, staring daggers at his brother.
“Alfred!” Eddie bellows, seemingly oblivious to how he’s acting or perhaps not giving a damn, “hurry up, you’re taking too bloody long. I’m much too sober for this.” Eddie leans back in his seat, finally realizing that a guest is at the table. He eyes me with a flirty smirk I’m sure he practiced in the mirror, even though his girl is right next to him. “Well, now, who is this yummy biscuit?”
I glance at Edwin and Mary, expecting that even if they favor Eddie that they’d have some sort of line . . . but Mary just looks cowed while Edwin is almost amused by his eldest child’s boorish behavior.
Meanwhile, the only thing keeping me in my seat is Colton’s hand on my thigh, gentle and supportive. Though I’m supposed to be the one helping him through this mess, for the moment, I’ll take the silent order to play nice. Otherwise, I’m going to end up in a jail somewhere, and they’ll probably only serve tea to drink. I’ll die of dehydration, and Eddie’s definitely not worth that.
“Elle Stryker,” I grit though clenched teeth. I’ve been called a lot of names by jackasses in my day, but ‘yummy biscuit’ feels like one of the most demeaning. That might have more to do with Eddie than the actual turn of phrase, though. He makes me feel like I need a shower to wash off the oiliness of his gaze.
“Elle is Colton’s sweetheart,” Mary adds. “Isn’t that wonderful? They just arrived.”
“Well, now.” Eddie’s leer somehow becomes even worse. Even from across the table, it feels too intimate. “Perhaps I should call bagsy on the piece of American pie my little brother’s brought home?”
I glare at Eddie, having been insulted and hit on by better men than him. “What’s bagsy mean?”
I don’t even look to Colton as I ask, but he answers my question. “Like ‘dibs’ in America.” Colton stands, both palms flattening on the table as he leans across toward Eddie. “Quit being a prat. Respect Elle. She’s my girlfriend.”
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