This was so much harder. These people cared about Chris. They were invested in who he dated. This was new territory. She hadn’t been groomed for personal relationships. Her last name was usually enough to win over her date’s parents.
A small sea of faces greeted her. She recognized Mara and Wes. Wes could make ovaries melt the way he hovered close to his wife and propped his little boy on his shoulder. Mara’s dark hair was streaked with green, her little black dress adorned with a bold yellow bat on the front.
Natalia wanted one of her own.
“Hey!” Mara’s wide smile instantly relaxed Natalia, but she stayed hugged into Chris’s side as he made introductions.
“Over there by the lasagna is Flynn. He built Arcadia, and his wife Tilly bought and paid for him fair and square.”
Flynn nodded at them, his hands full of plates and utensils. The woman next to Flynn turned. She was wearing a tight shirt over a round baby belly. In pink letters on her shirt was We’re hoping for a Warrior Princess. Her grin could power Arcadia’s lights. “He was worth every penny.”
Natalia chuckled. “I’ve heard the story.” Chris had said he’d narrowly missed the bachelor auction, but he had shamelessly used Jaycee as his excuse.
Mara sat next to an older woman in a motorized wheelchair who was laughing. The gentleman beside her had the stiff posture that came with wearing a suit all day. No slouching allowed.
“It’s almost more salacious than our story,” Mara said. “This is my mom, Wendy, and one of our most faithful customers, Ephraim. He sued my husband for me.”
“I tried,” the man said in a deep timbre. Wendy lifted her hand in greeting.
Jaycee was parked next to another woman in a standard, unmotorized wheelchair.
Chris steered Natalia next to Jaycee. “Lynne, this is Natalia, the woman I told you about.” He leaned down and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “The assassin.”
Chris had said Lynne was nonverbal, but since Flynn had been back in her life and in charge of her care, they’d all been learning some basic signs Lynne could do with her functional arm. Natalia got a thumbs-up.
“Nice to meet you.” Natalia peeked over Jaycee’s shoulder at the pad in front of Lynne on the table. Her eyes widened at the page the sketchbook was open to. The pencil drawing of Lynne was in black and white, but the detail put into the woman’s hair, clothing, and even her wheelchair was at a level that not many fourteen-year-olds possessed. “That’s stunning.”
Lynne ducked her head.
Jaycee shrugged. “The others seem embarrassed when I sketch them. Not Lynne. We’re planning a canvas for her room, but I need to practice on a smaller scale first.”
If Chris’s heart wasn’t going to burst with pride, Natalia’s would. This was the rebellious, obnoxious girl in her office at the beginning of the year? And she didn’t suddenly turn this corner. Jaycee might spend one weekend a month with her grandparents, and have a meal or two with her mother, but these people at Arcadia were her family.
Natalia swallowed and glanced around. Flynn carried two plates loaded with food to a spot across from Lynne and Jaycee. His wife was articulating with her hands and laughing over the story she told. At the neighboring table, Mara had just taken her son to the restroom with a giant maroon-and-black tote thrown over her shoulder. Were those Deadpool eyes stitched into the side?
Wes had joined the conversation with Wendy and Ephraim. Chris led her to the food table. She went through the motions of picking and choosing lasagna, salad, and—was that cheesecake? She carried her plate to a separate table and sat. As Chris took his chair next to her, Ephraim turned. “I found a vintage Axis & Allies on eBay.”
The two men delved into a conversation she couldn’t follow. Board games weren’t her thing. She picked at her food and looked around. The party was informal, comfortable, a way for everyone to connect without the interruption of daily life. So different than any gathering Natalia had ever experienced.
And she felt horribly out of place.
* * *
Chris poked around in a cupboard at Natalia’s place. He’d thought he was going to have to wait another week before he could spend a night with her, but Mara and Wes hadn’t seen the newest Star Wars movie and Jaycee had offered to babysit and she’d just spend the night at their place. Chris hoped it’d give him a chance to ask Natalia if anything was wrong, and he had, but she’d brushed him off. And once they were here and naked, well, talking wasn’t what either of them were interested in.
He focused on the sad contents of the shelves. Rye toast, tins of tuna, and packets of shredded chicken with their own crackers that had actual flax seeds on the surface. He must be out of touch with the cracker world.
Switching to the fridge, he searched for something he could make them both for breakfast. Who didn’t even have eggs?
Greek yogurt, something called kefir, and an assortment of already-sliced fruits and vegetables stocked the fridge.
Froufrou crackers and fruit then. He couldn’t stomach yogurt, but he’d grab her a container.
The doorbell rang and he jumped, letting the appliance door swing shut.
He rounded the corner of the kitchen. Natalia had sprinted to the top of the landing, a sheet wrapped around her, ready to trip her if she attempted the stairs. Her hair was as wild as her expression.
“Oh my god. I forgot about brunch. My parents!”
The panic in her face didn’t make sense, but maybe getting caught with a guy at any age wasn’t something a kid wanted to do. At least they hadn’t walked in on him in the kitchen like he was stuck in the Groundhog Day episode of Supernatural. Only instead of watching Dean die over and over, he was repeatedly busted half naked with Natalia.
He was about to suggest he let them in, but he was in nothing but boxers.
“Just a minute,” Natalia shouted. Her frantic gaze swiveled from the front door to him. “You’re naked.”
“Nearly. Let me get dressed.” He jogged up the stairs. By the time he reached the second floor, Natalia had disappeared into the bedroom. More clothing littered the floor than before. A Preston sweater had already been pulled over her head and she was dancing around on one foot to get into the black leggings he’d peeled off her hours ago.
“Brunch. Dammit.” She tore out of the room.
His gaze lingered on the doorway for a moment before he picked through the items on the floor to find his clothing. He was thirty-two, but flashbacks of his time with Cierra ran through his mind, her terror that her parents would find out they were dating. It was like she’d thought she’d be disowned if her parents discovered they were sleeping together. It turned out that hadn’t been far off the mark.
But Natalia wasn’t a scared seventeen-year-old girl. She was independent and had an enviable career. He refused to be ashamed of where he was in his life; he was exactly where he wanted to be. And that included spending the night with her.
Voices drifted upstairs.
“I, um, had a friend over last night.” Natalia never lacked conviction, but she could pass for Jaycee the way she talked to her parents.
“Oh?” That must be her mother. And she didn’t sound thrilled. “I was concerned you were going to wear that out.”
Harsh.
“Well, invite him along.” Natalia’s dad. “I have a reservation at Nicolette Island Inn. It should be no problem to accommodate another.”
“Uh…”
Chris paused at the top of the stairs and waited for the rest of her response.
“I’m not sure he can make it.” Natalia’s back came into view. She had herded her parents away from the entry to where they couldn’t see the stairs.
He descended, his stocking feet not making a sound. His shoulders squared, he turned the corner. Natalia wasn’t facing him. Her parents noticed him first. Had they ever worn a stitch of denim in their life? The way her mother’s manicured eyebrows rose and her gaze drifted down him, growing more dismayed as it went, probably not.
>
Natalia’s father was dressed in slacks and shoes that cost more than any pair in Chris’s closet, and he still had every pair he’d ever bought that weren’t athletic shoes. The black peacoat the man wore was trendy and kept him from looking older than his sixty-ish years. Given the more traditional threads Natalia’s mom was sporting, his choice was probably a style risk in their world.
Natalia spun around. “Chris. Mother, Father, this is Chris Halliwell.”
Her father stepped around her and extended his hand. “Bertram Preston.” Chris’s heart stammered at the last name. Natalia’s family really were the owners and founders of that damn school. “This is my wife, Carina. Halliwell, you said?”
Carina politely inclined her head, but she kept her hands tucked into her front pockets as she assessed him. A flash of understanding came to him—this was why Natalia acted the way she did in various situations. She and her mother were nothing alike. Or were they more alike than either imagined?
Natalia put her hand on Chris’s shoulder. “Chris is an alum of Preston, actually.”
Approval lit Bertram’s eyes and Carina’s body language softened, if only going from as rigid as lead to as hard as steel.
Chris smiled, summoning the charm he reserved for winning customers and suppliers over. “Yes. I was awarded a basketball scholarship.”
Bertram’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “And I’m sure the trophies are proudly displayed. What do you do now?”
Natalia jumped at the answer before he could. “He’s a business owner.”
Chris leveled his gaze on her. Guilt flashed in her eyes, but at least she had enough conscience not to hide it.
He was good enough in bed, but not good enough for her family.
No. He wasn’t playing this game. Not again.
He met Bertram’s gaze. “I co-own a comic book and gaming shop.” He could mention that their daughter was a customer, but that wasn’t his fight. If she wanted to hide parts of herself from the various worlds she lived in, that was her issue.
Carina cocked her head like she wasn’t sure she’d heard incorrectly. “A what?”
“The Arcadia. It’s a comic book and gaming shop. We also host related events.”
“Chris used to be on the—”
He cut Natalia off without looking at her. “It doesn’t matter what I used to be. I’m a dad now, and I enjoy my work. Speaking of which, I should go pick up my daughter.”
Bertram’s brows lifted. “Daughter?”
Why the surprise? Many men his age had children. Or were the Prestons used to having “people” for their children?
“She’s a student,” Natalia said, her voice soft. “Third generation.”
Chris had to give it to her. She hadn’t given up what was the good fight in her eyes.
“It was nice meeting you both.” What a lie.
He stepped away and went in search of his shoes and coat. Thankfully, they were by the garage entrance and out of view of her parents. He sensed Natalia behind him, but he ignored her as he stepped into his loafers.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Yeah” was all he could say.
He grabbed his coat off the hook and didn’t bother throwing it on. She trailed him into the garage but waited until the door shut behind her, blocking them from the couple inside, before she spoke.
“Chris.”
He was halfway to the side door. Stopping, he dug his keys out and hit the autostart. He was miserable, but he didn’t have to freeze. Facing her, he was staggered by the regret in her eyes. Her parents’ judgment was that important to her? So be it.
“Natalia. I’ve been through this before.” He gestured toward the main house. “It doesn’t end well for me, and I’m not going to live as your dirty little plebeian secret.”
She sighed and pushed her messy hair off her face. It must’ve killed her to let her mother see her like that. It would’ve destroyed Cierra. “It’s not like that.”
He drifted toward her. “Really? So, what—we go back in. I can tell them all about Arcadia and the daughter I had out of wedlock that was so scandalous I thought I’d been teleported to the 1950s. I can give them Nana and Papa’s last name and see if it gets me any street cred, though we’ll skip the part where I wasn’t good enough to become their son-in-law. Then we can go to brunch, where you’ll be as mortified as your mother that I’m wearing jeans and a shirt that cost less than fifty dollars. What if the other patrons mistake me for the kitchen staff?” Who would probably be dressed fancier than he was anyway.
“Chris.”
He cut his head to the side and held a hand up. “No. I’m not being relegated to only one of the dimensions you live in. Goodbye, Ms. Shaw.”
Chapter 12
Natalia slumped in her chair. Another month, another board meeting. Only this was the meeting she was supposed to bring up the proposal for the fine-arts track. Acid churned in her stomach. The new semester had been going for two weeks and she’d worked twelve-hour days. Mostly to avoid going home.
Her phone remained silent. Chris’s goodbye had been final. Her parents had flown back to Seattle, and her mother had been relieved that the “Chris phase” was over.
He’s not son-in-law material. You need a man who can keep up with you.
So ironic. As if Mother hadn’t been following Father’s coattails all over the country. Natalia had heard her mother admit to barely graduating college because of the travel demands of Father’s job. But for status reasons, Mother had needed the Princeton credentials.
Natalia’s gaze landed on the same diploma hanging on her wall. Her mind drifted back to that devastating morning Chris had walked out on her. Could she blame him? She’d tried talking him up to Father, but the attempt had only been an insult. Two different decades, yet he’d gotten the same treatment. Both of those times in the twenty-first century.
No wonder Valaria was from the future.
A knock at the door saved her from the instant replay that haunted her hourly. Ms. Branson poked her head in. Natalia straightened and wiped the dejected expression from her face. “Come in.”
“Douglas Johnson just arrived. All the board members are here.”
“Thanks.” She grabbed her portfolio. It included stacks of handouts that she’d later email. Not for the first time she wished they had upgraded with the times and had projectors that weren’t from her parents’ days in school.
She took a moment to check her appearance in the mirror, wishing she were into makeup for more reasons than just cosplay. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, and her pallid skin could use some foundation. Her customary bun was fraying after a long day and a billion attempts to run her hands through her hair before remembering how tightly bound she kept it all day.
At least she had her dark-rimmed glasses. The contrast of the frames against her face was enough to prevent her from looking sickly.
“Let’s do this,” she muttered.
Her heels clicked on the polished hardwood all the way to the conference room. The halls were empty, and when she passed the trophy case she slowed. Were one of these from Chris? Most likely. How had she never stopped to find him in the team photos?
Because what if someone asked why she was perusing the sports display?
Or was it because she’d realized that scholarships ultimately helped the kids? Physical activities helped students, and she’d been remiss in equalizing the opportunities available to each gender in the school. Or had she been trying to create a divide in her own mind?
Shaking her head, she continued to the room.
Entering the meeting, she kept her chin high, her shoulders back, and her expression cool. Adopting a pleasant smile, she met each board member’s eye. They were in charge. The occupants of the room as an entity were her bosses. They supposedly had her back. But with each meeting since she’d started, it became clearer that she didn’t have their listening ears, almost like someone else had whispered in them first.
“Ms
. Shaw,” greeted Henry Tanaka, the president. “How was your holiday?”
Long, boring, ending in heartbreak. “It was well. The same for all of you, I hope.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room as she sat at the opposite end of the long mahogany table from Henry. The meeting ran smoothly. She’d been in sessions that had grown passionate and heated. Emotions could run high in the business of education. They weren’t acquiring artifacts or shuffling money in accounts, they were educating their future.
Finally, they reached her agenda items.
She passed her worksheets down and refrained from pushing up her glasses. Nerves of steel. “I’ve noted that previous Preston Academies, and this one in particular, lack a basic fine-art track in the curriculum. A student who’s interested in seeing Preston offer more in that area offered to gather data, and I ran the numbers.”
“Art?” Claudia Ortega and derision were never far apart. Natalia never knew if the woman was friend or foe. Claudia probably said the same thing about her. Of the board of five, Claudia was the only female. Natalia had initially suspected she’d been a huge proponent of her hiring. But now she doubted it. She’d read the notes, and Henry had been the swing vote for the divided board.
“Yes.” Natalia could quote the benefits of an art program, but the notes were attached to the spreadsheet. She’d send an email afterward. Hammering the point home any more would smack of desperation and this wasn’t a group that’d feed off of it.
“How does this fit into our mission?” Claudia asked, her dark head tipped as she paged through the document.
Murdock, a burly man who towered over all of them even seated, spoke. “We don’t want to graduate students who are fleeing to Hollywood to hit it big, or gallivanting through New York art galleries. We’re educating leaders of the world, not the next big thing.” He said the last word like that would be the most horrible outcome for any student. Murdock had been a star fullback, running back, something-back in his day.
But are we educating leaders of the world? Her notes also compared the expense of all the sports programs combined, and it far exceeded all other program tracks.
Based on Principal: Fanboys Book 3 Page 12