by Jane Henry
“You gonna be okay out there?” he asks, pulling me to his chest. I sigh into him.
“I don’t know. I mean, God, Zack. I don’t want to be here. I want to go home. I mean, back to my place. Anything but here. This is oppressive. And that was mom on her best behavior. She thought you were my driver! My driver.”
He shakes with laughter, holding me against him. “Eh, better for her to think I’m your driver than your dom.”
I groan. “Oh my God. Don’t even go there. Are you out of your mind?”
He shakes his head, tugs my hair back and his mouth meets mine. God, it feels so good to be kissed like this, right here, in my parents’ house, as if doing this somehow tells them to fuck off and let me be. His tongue brushes mine, sending a shiver of arousal skittering down my spine.
“You’re a good girl,” he whispers, and as always when he says that, my throat tightens and warmth spreads through me.
I love you, I want to say, but I can’t. Not now. It’s too much. Too early.
“Thanks,” I whisper back. “I’m starving. Let’s go stuff our faces with canapés and then we can drown our troubles for a little while?”
“Sounds good.” He leans in, his mouth to my ear. “Behave yourself, and I’ll give you the very best stress relief a girl could ask for tonight.”
I gasp. “You brought things with you?”
“This from the girl that brought her body weight in shoes and makeup? You expected your dom to go away with you and not pack some toys? Seriously?”
“In my parents’ house?” The idea of me strapped spread-eagle to his bed makes my belly quiver.
He grins. “Especially in your parents’ house.”
He releases me, unlocks the door, and leads me back to the main entryway. “How will you be quiet?” I hiss in his ear.
His lips quirk up and he whispers back, “Doll, I’m not the one who’ll have to be quiet.”
My pulse spikes.
Is it bedtime yet?
“Is that my Trissy?”
Oh, God. He didn’t.
“Hi, dad,” I say with a forced grin. My father comes to me with arms outstretched, ignoring Zack and making a beeline to me. My dad is a large, balding man with glasses and ruddy cheeks, born of too much bourbon and Florida golfing. I left my childhood home and went off on my own because of the oppressive presence of my mother, her insistence on meeting her standards and expectations, and I still slam him in the same “judgy parents” camp, but damnit if my eyes don’t water when I see my dad. I’ve missed him. I wonder why I’ve hidden from him for so long.
When he reaches me, he pulls me to his chest and kisses my forehead. I feel Zack beside me, watching this exchange and taking it all in. He didn’t miss my mom’s frost, and he isn’t missing my dad’s warmth.
“Dad,” I whisper. “God, I’ve missed you.” He smells so good, like I always remembered him. A mix of peppermint and bourbon and expensive cologne. I breathe him in, and for a split second, I’m a child again. I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. I should never have been away from him so long. He releases me and holds me at arm’s length, peering down at me, his eyes filled with concern.
“Are you okay, honey? Are you well?” His voice is thick with emotion. “Happy?”
God, I’m a mess. He says one more thing and I’m gonna bawl in my daddy’s arms like a little girl. “I’m good, dad,” I whisper. “Real good. And I want you to meet someone.”
I pull away from dad and reach for Zack. “This is Zachary Williams. He’s a detective for the NYPD.” I swallow. “My boyfriend.” Zack takes my father’s hand, and their eyes meet, both of them shaking firmly, and neither says anything at first. They’re sizing each other up, and I’m holding my breath as they each make sure the other is someone who can be trusted. Zack breaks the silence.
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” he says warmly.
My father smiles approvingly. “And you, Zachary. NYPD, eh?” He releases Zack’s hand.
“Just Zack is fine, and yes.”
“Leonard!” My mother’s shrill voice makes all of us stiffen. My dad draws in a shuddering breath.
“Yes, dear,” he says, closing his eyes briefly and pinching the bridge of his nose before turning to face her. My mother click-clacks her way over to us on her heels.
“We’re out of ice. Have some of the help go get some,” she barks out, then her gaze roams to me and Zack. She waves a dismissive hand. “Or maybe he’ll do it.”
My father’s jaw clenches and Zack squeezes my hand. I open my mouth to protest, but my father speaks before I do.
“I’ll go, and Zack will come with me.”
My mother’s lips thin and her eyes darken. “You can’t leave our guests like that. I’m sure he can find ice without your help. It’s a menial task, Leonard.”
“Muriel, I’m sure he can, and I’m sure you’ll do an excellent job entertaining in my brief absence.” My father’s voice holds a firmness I’m not familiar with, and I watch as my mother rolls her eyes and huffs out a breath, then marches away from us.
“I’ll get my bag,” I say, but my father swings his gaze to mine.
“No, just me and Zack, Beatrice. As much as I’d love to spend every second of your visit with you, you stay here and visit with your cousins.”
I look up to Zack his warm eyes soften, and his lips quirk up. “See you in a few, Bea.” He gives me a gentle kiss on the forehead, releases my hand, and follows my dad. Before I know what’s happening, they’re talking about my dad’s cars, and Zack’s eyes light up like a little boy when my dad says they’ll take the Bugatti. Ugh. Showy.
I stand, frozen, watching my father and Zack leave together. Something in my heart squeezes, and my fears only worsen. Was it a mistake bringing Zack home?
Chapter 6
Beatrice’s father’s a trip. He talks non-stop and shows off his Bugatti with a note of pride. He should be proud. It isn’t every day someone drives a car that cost a cool mil. I insist he stays in the car while I grab the ice from the little market he drives to, and I’m not surprised there are people surrounding the car when I come out.
When we pull away, I feel a little like a celebrity. “Got her the year Beatrice was born,” he says, as he pulls onto the main road. “Took good care of her, and now I could never part with her. She reminds me of my girl.”
I’ve never ridden in a car like this. The leather-clad interior fills my lungs, the buttons on the dash gleaming chrome. He’s taken good care of it. My hair whips in the wind as he’s driving with the top down, despite the cool fall air. “Muriel won’t ride in it. Says it messes with her hair and the smell of the diesel makes her nauseous.”
“This is amazing,” I say.
“Thank you,” he says. His voice is reserved and coiffed, like fine wine, and I’m intimidated by the fact that this guy’s filthy rich. What does he see in me when he looks at me? Does he think I’m good enough for his daughter?
“Her bringing you home is a big deal, you know,” he says. “She and her mom don’t get along.”
“I gathered that.”
“And she’s never brought a guy home before.”
Great.
“I didn’t want her to make the trip alone,” I explain.
Her father gives me a sidelong glance. “Good,” he says. “I like that.”
I may not have a million in my account in my favor, but I do care for his daughter. Hell, I adore her. I can’t imagine letting anyone or anything hurt her, and that includes her Ice Queen of a mother. Leonard doesn’t need to hear that part, though.
“Beatrice doesn’t come home,” Leonard says, as he pulls into his garage and parks the car. “I’ve tried to give her reason to. And let her know she’s welcome anytime. But she doesn’t do it.” He shrugs. “She has her reasons. And I respect those reasons.” He looks at me, and his jovial face sobers, eyes narrowed and jaw tight. “One thing you should know, Zachary.” As a detective, I’ve studied these things before. I
know how to read facial expressions. I know how to read body language. My instincts perk up. He leans in. “Keep her the hell away from Judson. You understand me?”
Immediately, I’m on alert. Beatrice and I will have a talk, and soon.
“Yes, sir,” I say. “Anything I should know?”
Her father looks past me and sighs, deep in thought for a moment, before he responds. He shakes his head. “I don’t want to overstep, or to make mountains out of molehills. But I don’t trust the guy. You’re a detective. And furthermore, you’re a man.” He shakes his head. “You’ll see.”
And he gets out of the car, just like that. He reaches for the large bags of ice, but I get them first, lifting both out easily. “I’ve got it,” I say, and we head up to the deck. My stomach growls with hunger. I’m starving, and someone’s grilling something that smells delicious. But first, I need to check on my girl.
I scan the deck for her after I drop the ice off by the coolers, and at first, I can’t see her. There are so many people. Then I see the flash of a hand waving, and look to see Beatrice waving me down, all the way at the other end of the deck. She’s in a crush of women dressed to the nines, and she’s wearing some sorta ridiculous feathered mask up to her eyes, which she pulls away when she sees me heading in her direction. They’re snapping pictures. A few guys dressed formally stand to the side, and I’m suddenly way underdressed here in the slacks and a polo shirt I changed into. I thought we were just meeting her family, maybe having dinner, and I wasn’t planning on dressing up until tomorrow. But these guys are already dressed as if we were heading to see a show on Broadway.
One particular guy catches my attention. He’s taller than the rest, and he’s built. He could’ve been a quarterback or something. He’s clean shaven and has a strong jaw, his eyes focused on the girls without humor. His suit is expensive, and even the way he holds himself is somehow above the rest.
Fuck me. My gut says this is him. I don’t even need an introduction. The way he’s staring at Beatrice, I know. It’s Judson.
Beatrice lights up when she sees me. “Hey, Zack,” she says, leaning in to kiss my cheek. I move my head as her lips come close and take her mouth with mine, and quickly wrap my hands around the back of her neck. I don’t kiss her long, but anyone who’s watching us—and I know at least one person is—knows this girl is mine.
She pulls away, breathless, and her eyes are bright with excitement. “Well hello,” she says. “You missed me in the past fifteen minutes?”
“Course I did.” I wrap an arm around her waist and take in the scene around me. Wait staff serve champagne in flutes, and plates decorated with white doilies of hors d'oeuvres. Elegant music plays below us, a five-string quartet set up on the sprawling green expanse of lawn. And this is just the rehearsal dinner? Jesus.
I see her mother watching us with narrowed eyes in one corner, but I ignore her. She’s a bitch to Beatrice, so she can keep her narrow eyes and scorn. They don’t touch me. It’s the douchebag football-player guy approaching us now that has my full attention. His gaze intensifies, his jaw clenched. He’s seen me kiss her, and he didn’t miss a damn thing. I tighten my grip on her.
“God,” she hisses out of the side of her mouth. “That’s him.” No shit.
I give him a full grin. Come and get me, loser. He seems momentarily taken aback by my smile, and halts for a split second, before he comes closer.
“Judson,” Beatrice says, holding onto my arm as if I’m her lifeline. “How nice to see you.” She’s lying through her teeth, but I don’t blame her.
The guy pushes past me, practically making me lose my balance, leans in and kisses Beatrice on the cheek. She gasps, and I barely contain the urge to yank him by his collar and break his nose. Something tells me that maybe wouldn’t go over too well here. Beatrice, however, can hold her own. She shoves him away and steps back, her eyes flashing.
“Judson, this is Zack.” She grits her teeth. “He’s on the NYPD.” It seems a random fact, but one she is proud to say. Good girl. I want this guy to fear me.
Fire flickers in the man’s eyes for a split second before he extends a hand out to me. “Nice to meet you,” he lies.
I take his hand and shake it firm enough for it to hurt. “Same to you,” I lie back. The man’s jaw clenches as he stares at me, and I swear there’s something familiar in his eyes. Where do I know him from? Wherever it is, it isn’t good, but my job’s made me way too suspicious. Everywhere I go I see something or someone who sets me on edge. I don’t like to ignore my instincts, but at the same time, I can’t go chasing shadows. Could have something to do with the fact the guy just kissed and practically groped my girl.
“Beatrice and I go way back,” he says, and there’s something about the way he says it that dredges up a horrible vision of the two of them in bed together. I want to snap his fucking neck. “Did she tell you? She told me how excited she was to come see me this weekend.”
“That isn’t exactly—”
He talks over her. “And I looked forward to our reunion.” He turns to her. “Bought a new Beamer, baby. You want to go for a ride?”
Baby?
Her jaw drops. If he thinks she’s the kinda girl who’s gonna get impressed with the car he drives, he really doesn’t know her at all. He curls a lip at me, raking his eyes over my khakis and polo. “And who are you again? Jack?”
And for some reason, I lose my shit. I’m no longer the cool, calm, collected guy I was when we arrived. There’s something wicked and enchanting about this place, and I wish to fuck I’d never come.
“Zack Williams,” I say, meeting his gaze squarely. I step toward him and I’m about to haul his ass down off this balcony and settle things like men, but Beatrice bristles beside me.
“Oh, just to say? One other thing I haven’t told anyone yet,” she says. “He’s my fiancé.”
She did not. I swing my gaze to hers, but she won’t look at me. Her cheeks are flushed pink, her eyes wide and bright. She’s trying to throw this guy off her game but shit, she just threw me off mine.
“Don’t tell anyone,” she says in a rushed whisper. “No one at all. It’s still like a total secret.”
Still a total secret? Fuck, it was a secret from me.
“Congratulations are in order, then,” he says smoothly, and lifts his champagne flute. “To the happy engaged couple!”
A murmur goes up around us, and Beatrice makes a little squeak. She knows she’s in trouble. I’m gonna spank her ass.
Chapter 7
Sometimes, I think I should seal my lips together with duct tape or something. No. Super glue. Maybe I was dropped on my head as a baby, because I say the stupidest things.
Fiancé. Fiancé! What the hell am I thinking? He hasn’t even told me he loves me yet! I know he does. He takes such good care of me. He’s so tender and strong and kind, and he’s asked me to move in with him like twenty times.
And he’s gonna spank my ass for what I just did.
“Always tell the truth, Beatrice,” he says, in what I call the “old man” voice. The stern, almost paternal tone he takes with me sometimes when I’m being particularly childish and stupid. But it’s one of the things I love best about him. He’s so… good. So honest and kind, a man with integrity who has morals and structure and accountability.
My parents spoiled the shit out of me, and it wasn’t until Carter left, and I chased him, that I realized how insulated my life was. Carter, the boy who was like a brother to me. The foster son my parents took in when my dad was running for Senate, to make themselves look good. But money doesn’t buy everything, and money didn’t buy Carter happiness.
But I won’t think about that now. I can’t. My parents say he’s “dead to them,” and he hasn’t returned my phone calls or texts or anything in so long, I wonder if he’s okay. It was when he left and moved to NYC that I followed him. It was the first time I’d been in the inner city, and I knew after going there I needed to live there. I needed to be stri
pped of the princess bubble I’d been raised in. I needed to know how real people lived, how real people paid their bills. I needed to scrub my own floors and wash my own laundry and have to worry about things like budgets and rent payments. And I had. I’d scraped off my spoiled rich girl upbringing and made my way in the world.
But I fucked up. I forgot to pay my bills and didn’t check my mail. I forgot to check my voicemail, and I’d killed four aloe vera plants in two months because I forgot to water them, and those bitches are hard to kill. I mean, they’re desert plants. They’re meant to thrive on hardly any water and still, I killed them.
And Zack… he’s everything I’m not. He makes sure I take care of myself. He makes me set reminders on my calendar to do things. He checks to make sure I’ve done what I’m supposed to, that I don’t overdraw my bank account or forget to go to my check-up at the doctor’s. And I love him for it.
I look at him with an apology on my lips, and his eyes are gentle but stern. He knows I said what I did in desperation, but how are we going to get out of this now?
“You’re engaged?” Chantilly’s by my side and she’s practically giddy, bouncing on her toes, her beautiful blue eyes alight. “Oh, Beatrice. And he’s so hot, too!” A murmur goes through the crowd, but I can’t look at anyone, can’t talk to anyone. Zack’s taking me by the hand and pulling me to a secluded area below the deck, where a vacant bench sits among the waning garden, fall mums and greens blooming along the walk, their bright orange faces a herald of cold ahead.
My heart pounds as I walk with him. I know that look on his face means I’m in trouble, and the submissive in me cringes at facing him. I hate when I fuck up.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I say. What’s even worse is that I’ve gone ahead and made me his fake fiancée, which is presumptuous, even if it isn’t real. We don’t live with each other. We haven’t declared our love for one another. And here I am, announcing in front of everyone that I’m engaged?