It's My Party: A Royal Romantic Comedy (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 3)

by Whitney Dineen

  “Hi, Claire,” I greet as I open the door.

  “Geoffrey?” She takes a step backwards. “What are you doing here?”

  “I live here.”

  “You live here?” She’s back to sounding irritated with me. Clearly, I don’t bring out the best in this woman.

  “Yes. Why are you here?”

  She replies, “I wouldn’t have come had I known.” I’m starting to feel crazy.

  “Why are you here?” I repeat, hoping to find the thread of this conversation.

  “I just moved in next door,” she says.

  “Which next door?”

  “The Victorian with the wraparound porch,” she says, still looking like she could bolt at any moment.

  “Huh. Well, welcome to the neighborhood,” I tell her less than enthusiastically. “Is there something I can do for you or were you just coming over to introduce yourself?”

  “I wasn’t coming over to introduce myself.”

  “Okay. Then why are you here?” I’m determined to find out why Claire is on my doorstep if it takes all night. At the rate we’re going, it just might.

  “Ruby told me to come over and ask if you had a lemon. She brought supper for me and my mom but forgot to bring the lemon wedges for the fish.”

  “And she didn’t mention I was your neighbor?”

  “Obviously not.” Claire puts her hands on her hips and demands, “Do you have a lemon or not?”

  For some bizarre reason I have an overpowering urge to pull Claire into my arms and kiss the mean right out of her. Where did that come from? Beads of sweat pop up on my forehead as I answer, “Come on in and we can have a look in the kitchen.”

  “I can wait here,” she tells me.

  I don’t move.

  “Fine, I’ll come in, but I don’t know why you can’t look for a lemon on your own. It’s your kitchen.”

  “Yet I’m not the one who needs it,” I tell her, knowing full well I don’t have any lemons. I’m bringing her in under false pretenses.

  “Are you always so hard to get along with?” she demands.

  “Are you?” I’m not trying to be combative; I genuinely want to know.

  Claire doesn’t seem to know quite how to answer my question. Her body language suggests she’s contemplating a direct attack, but then her face crumples and before I know it, she starts crying.

  Not entirely sure what to do, I tentatively reach out to pat her back. “Are you okay?” I ask with real concern. In a spectacularly shocking turn of events, Claire throws her arms around me and really comes unglued. She practically soaks the collar of my shirt.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says after several moments of hanging onto me like I’m rescuing her from the Titanic. “I seem to have gone straight from anger to depression. I’ve skipped bargaining entirely.”

  I haven’t a clue what she’s grieving for, but I know the stages of grief. “I don’t think you need bargaining unless you’ve lost something you’re hoping to get back.”

  She looks up at me through teary sapphire-blue eyes and whispers, “I don’t want him back.”

  Ah, so her sadness is man-related. Interesting. I lead her into the living room and pull her down on the couch next to me. “I’m not going to say I’m sorry for your loss. If the guy isn’t worth bargaining for, then I’m guessing he isn’t worth much at all. But I am sorry for your sadness.”

  When Claire finally answers, she says, “I’m sorry for acting like such a fool in front of you. I normally have much better control over my emotions.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “In my experience there are times in life where we just need to feel what we need to feel and holding it in isn’t possible.”

  “Thank you, Geoffrey. And I’m sorry I’ve been so prickly around you. I guess I’m looking at all men like they’re the enemy. That isn’t fair.”

  “It’s not, but it’s understandable, especially if your breakup was recent.”

  I offer her the bowl of buttered popcorn and the bottle of beer I have sitting next to it. She digs in like she has no other place to be and the pursuit of the lemon is all but forgotten.

  Chapter Nine

  Sharon

  “Everything is in quite a state right now.” Sharon lets out a tired sigh as she points out the obvious to Ruby. Boxes are piled all over her daughter’s living room. “But at least the movers got everything in the right rooms. Unpacking should be pretty easy from here.”

  “I like the look of modern furniture in an old house,” Ruby says while letting her eyes roam around Claire’s living space. “The juxtaposition is very eye-catching.”

  Sharon pours two glasses of wine and offers one to her guest. “Claire is renting, so I’m pretty sure she won’t be buying any major pieces for this house. Her place in LA was mission-style.”

  “I’m sure you’re sorry to see her move away,” Ruby says.

  “Not at all. I never felt like LA was a good fit for Claire. She needs to live someplace where she feels like the queen of her own life. At home she’ll always be my daughter, Tooty’s niece, or Romaine’s sister. Nobody should feel like they’re living in someone else’s shadow.”

  “That must be hard,” Ruby comments before adding, “I met Romaine when he was here a few months ago. He seemed nice.”

  Sharon releases a bark of laughter. “My son is nice, but I’m fully aware of what a piece of work he is. I blame it on fame, but what are you going to do?”

  Before Ruby can answer, she adds, “I wonder why it’s taking Claire such a long time to ask for a lemon. Maybe I can bounce my idea off you before she gets back.” Sharon leads her guest over to the sleek, white linen sofa.

  “I’m curious what’s on your mind,” Ruby says. “Because I have something I want to talk to you about, as well.”

  Not bothering to ease into the conversation, Sharon blurts out, “Your chef, Geoffrey, is a lovely man. I think he and my daughter might be a good fit.”

  “Great minds,” Ruby laughs. When Sharon’s eyebrows raise in question, she explains, “I’ve been hoping Geoffrey would find himself a nice girl and settle down. As soon as I met Claire, I started to think she might be the one for him.”

  “Really?” Sharon leans back and puts her feet up onto the coffee table. “Great minds, indeed. Maybe you can talk up Geoffrey when that daughter of mine finally gets back. She bristles every time I say his name.”

  “If she comes back …” When Sharon tilts her head in question, Ruby explains, “The neighbor I sent her to get a lemon from is Geoffrey. I’m hoping they get sidetracked.”

  “No!”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re a sneak, Ruby Cavanaugh,” Sharon says in a way that sounds like a compliment.

  “I do my best.”

  “I only wish we had a lemon so we could start eating our dinner. I wonder if the neighbors on the other side have one.”

  Ruby stands up and crosses the room to the entryway where she left her purse. When she comes back, she opens it up and pulls out a plastic baggie full of lemon wedges. “Well, look at that, I guess I didn’t forget the lemon after all.”

  The moms share a look of conspiratorial enthusiasm before digging into their meal.

  Claire

  I can’t believe I’m sitting on Geoffrey’s couch blubbering away about my troubles. I don’t even like the guy. At least, that’s what I keep trying to tell myself. It’s obviously not working because I follow up those reminders with thoughts like, I like being in Geoffrey’s arms, he smells wonderful and I wonder what he wears to bed?

  “How about some supper?” Geoffrey asks after I finally stop talking. “I was going to make myself a frittata.”

  I jump to my feet so fast I nearly fall over the coffee table. “I’m supposed to be getting a lemon for supper! I bet the fish is cold by now.”

  Geoffrey offers me a truly knee-buckling grin—like, I’m seriously forcing my knees to lock so I don’t cru
mble to the ground. The gold flecks in his eyes dance around in such a way I could drown in his gaze. His mouth curls up in a smile, and when I finally gather my wits enough to find my voice, I ask, “What?”

  “Ruby sent you over here without telling you who lived here.”

  “So?”

  “I think our boss is trying to play matchmaker.”

  “Does she know where you live?” Fingers of dread crawl up the back of my neck.

  Geoffrey nods his head and picks up his phone. He types something before pulling me back onto the couch.

  “Who did you text?”

  He hands me his phone.

  Geoffrey: Do you still need a lemon?

  The three-dotted ellipses flash away for several moments before the response comes.

  Ruby: No. I found them. Tell Claire she doesn’t need to hurry.

  Of all the nerve! I hand Geoffrey his phone back and conclude, “I think you’re right.”

  “How about that frittata?” he asks again.

  “Geoffrey, I’m not interested in being set up.”

  He doesn’t look the least bit offended. Instead, he announces, “Neither am I.”

  “Oh.” I hope he doesn’t hear the dejected tone in my voice.

  “It’s not that you aren’t a beautiful woman. You are. I’m just not … available.”

  “You’re dating someone?” Why did I ask that? He obviously is if he isn’t in the market for a girlfriend.

  “Not exactly,” he answers after a long stretch of silence that starts to make me uncomfortable.

  I don’t know why I can’t leave well enough alone, but I have to know, “Then what’s making you unavailable?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say. But look, Claire, even though neither of us is looking for love, I think we should be friends. We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other at work and I’d like for us to be on good terms.”

  Oh. My. God. Is this man “let’s just be friends-ing” me before we’ve gone on a date? Not that I want to date him, but that line is right up there with “it’s not you, it’s me.” Nobody wants to hear it. Ever.

  In fact, if I were given the option of having one of those lines directed at me or being hit on the head with a frying pan, I’d say, “Use a cast iron one to make sure you do a good job of it.”

  Geoffrey breaks into my thoughts by saying, “It’ll make things easier at work if we form an alliance. I’m not sure you’ve noticed, but I think Tara is having ideas about us as well.”

  “I noticed,” I tell him. I think back to breakfast when my friend announced my single status like she was talking about the weather—you know, like it was everyone’s business. “An alliance like on that TV show Survivor?” I ask.

  He nods his head.

  “That might be a good idea.” Although if this is a true Survivor kind of alliance, I know it can change on a dime. After a few moments, I thrust out my hand and announce, “Okay, let’s be friends.”

  When he takes my palm in his, my traitorous body jolts in reaction. I have an almost electric response to him. “Well, friend,” I finally say, “I’d better get back home, or Ruby is going to think she’s succeeding in getting us together.”

  Geoffrey shakes his head. “I think you should stay. Let’s toy with her a little bit.”

  “You don’t think that’ll make her pushier?” The truth is, I’d love to stay and spend more time with Geoffrey, but suddenly I’m afraid my intentions might not be as platonic as his. I don’t know if it’s real interest or curiosity spurred on by his not being available—we women can be so pathetic at times.

  “As long as we don’t play into Ruby’s hand and keep acting like we’re just friends, she’ll eventually take the hint.”

  “That’s diabolic,” I tell him with a smile. “I like it. But no frittata. I had eggs for breakfast. What else can you make me?”

  “How about grilled cheese?” he asks.

  “What kind of chef makes grilled cheese for dinner?” I tease.

  “The kind who uses smoked gouda and crisp applewood bacon on homemade sourdough bread,” he says with a wink.

  “I’m in.” My mouth has already started watering. Following him into his kitchen I say, “So, friend, I’ve told you all about my troubles. You have anything you want to share?” Like why you can’t get involved with anyone.

  Geoffrey’s shoulders square off as his posture assumes a ramrod-straight alignment. He doesn’t answer my question though.

  “Geoffrey?” I ask. “Have you got something on your mind?”

  “No, I’m good.” Liar, liar pants on fire. There is something going on in that head of his. I don’t push it though. I just sit down on a bar chair behind his counter and watch as he makes our dinner.

  Part of me seriously wishes I weren’t on the heels of a breakup. While I claim I’m not in the market for a new man, I’m starting to think I might be lying to myself.

  Chapter Ten

  Ruby

  “I’d better get going.” Ruby stands up after eating her supper and part of Claire’s. She’s been eating more and more lately and has nearly gained back all the weight she lost after Tom died. Grief has a way of filling you up so even food doesn’t fit into your body.

  “It is getting kind of late,” Sharon comments. “I wonder what’s keeping that daughter of mine?”

  “Maybe she and Geoffrey can’t keep their hands off of each other and things have gotten interesting over there.” Ruby waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

  “No way. Claire is a prude. She once told me she won’t kiss a man until the third date because she wants to make sure there’s more to him than just his looks.”

  “That’s dangerous,” Ruby decides. “If there’s physical chemistry and you purposely try to ignore it, you’re only going to make it stronger by denying yourself.”

  “That’s probably what happened with her ex, Jack. The man positively oozed sex appeal. It’s like if Elvis and Josh Turner had a baby.”

  “Yikes. What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “He cheated on her. The man knows he’s a chick magnet and he’s cocky as all get-out about it.”

  “How long were they together?” Ruby asks.

  “Two years. Claire is coming to terms with the fact that the gal she caught him with probably wasn’t the first. She’s peeling back layers of mad like she’s skinning an onion.”

  “Maybe it’s too soon for her and Geoffrey,” Ruby says with more than a hint of disappointment.

  “My mama always said the best way to get over one man was to get under another.” When Ruby practically spits out her wine, she adds, “While Claire isn’t likely to do that, I cross my fingers she’ll at least snuggle up to a new man.”

  Ruby raises her wine glass in a toast. “Here’s hoping.”

  Geoffrey

  While we eat our sandwiches, Claire tells me about her last job in LA. “I love movies, which made working for the studio a perfect job for me.”

  “You should have been an actress. You’re certainly pretty enough,” I tell her in what I’m hoping is a non-lecherous way. Fingers crossed. I’m discovering I’m not immune to Claire’s charms.

  “I don’t like being the center of attention like that,” she explains. “That’s probably hard to believe coming from a family that’s always fighting for the limelight.”

  “No, I get it,” I tell her. “Sometimes you just want to live your life for you and not for everyone else.” If I had my own coat of arms, that’s what I’d use for my motto.

  “I’m so sick of people asking me about Tooty and Romaine, I could spit. Everyone is looking for a way into the business in La La Land and I just want to be liked for myself.”

  “I understand that.” I don’t explain how, but I definitely do. Why else would I have skipped out of royal life the very second I could and created a false image for myself? I want people to know the real me before they’re blinded
by the title.

  It’s nearly ten o’clock by the time Claire stands up to leave. I’m surprised and delighted by what a nice evening we’ve had. She’s personable and warm, and not the frigid snow queen she’d been acting like before.

  I can’t, for the life of me, imagine a guy stupid enough to cheat on her, but there are a lot of idiots out there.

  At the front door, Claire thrusts her hand out and says, “Thanks for dinner, friend. I’ll see you at work on Thursday.”

  “Why don’t you come back over tomorrow night and we can watch some of that show Ruby wants to base her dating events on?” We got totally sidetracked talking and I never got to check it out.

  “I would, but my mom is still here. I don’t want her to think I’m bailing on her.”

  “Bring her along,” I say. I’d like to hear more about Sharon’s visit to Malquar. I left my country willingly, but I still love it and would enjoy hearing what other people think about it.

  “I’m sure she’d like that,” Claire says. “My mom is turning into a big fan of yours. Be warned though, she might have the same ideas about our future that Ruby does.”

  “The more they see us acting like friends, the quicker they’ll let those thoughts go,” I tell her. For the first time in a long time, I wish I were free to start up a real relationship. Claire Choate has made quite an impression on me tonight.

  After she’s gone, I lock the door and turn off all the lights before climbing the stairs to my bedroom. Once there, I rifle through a box in the closet and pull out a copy of the agreement the prime minister required my parents and me to sign. The paper is a thick parchment bearing the royal coat of arms in deep red and gold leaf.