by S. E. Law
I hope it’s not too fitted, I think self-consciously.
I glance at the time. Oops, 6:15.
Quickly, I cross the hallway to my bathroom and rummage around for my perfume.
I can’t believe that Matt paid for the whole dinner tonight, I muse as I move around old nail polish and sample face washes in my search. That’s so generous of him, but I bet all he had to do was flash that smile and they gave him a major discount. He’s that good-looking. Quickly, I tamp down my thoughts. This is your future father-in-law! I scold myself. Don’t think these things.
Blushing, I find my perfume and start applying it.
Yeah, but Matt Harrison is total eye candy.
I stop mid-spritz. Stop, Cora. Really, just stop.
I shake my head.
Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, physically at least. With piercing, bright blue eyes, jet-black hair, and bodies like lumberjacks, Matt Harrison and his son Marky look more like brothers instead of father and son, except that Marky is slightly shorter and smaller, giving the older Mr. Harrison a strapping, powerful vibe.
Cora, stop! That’s your almost-father-in-law. What is wrong with you? I blush at my unbidden thoughts.
“It’s okay to think he’s attractive,” I murmur to myself out loud. “You’re just getting a glimpse of what Marky is going to look like in twenty years.” I grin at the thought and finish spraying on my perfume.
Then again, at twenty-five, Marky is hot. We went to high school together and while we didn’t really frequent the same circles back then – he was the typical jock while I lived in the library – all the girls knew that the star quarterback was the crush to have.
“And now he gets to be mine!” I say to myself. So why aren’t I more happy? Then, I shoot a glance at the clock. Crap. “6:23. I’m officially going to be late to my own engagement party.”
With a final glance in the mirror, I dash downstairs, grab my keys and peacoat, and climb into my old hatchback. It’s not much, but this car has gotten me from point A to B since high school. Besides, buying a new car is out of the question until things pick up at the bookstore.
My little store, Hearts and Heroes, specializes in promoting and selling romance novels, and I’ve put in a ton of hours to make it a thriving business. And my efforts have been paying off, if a little slowly. We get customers, but so far, most people are browsing instead of buying.
It helps that just a few months ago, I moved in with my mom and dad to save money on rent and bills. It feels a little childish to live at home again at my age. But like the amazing parents they are, they were thrilled to have me, and honestly, I needed to cut corners any place I could to keep my new business afloat.
Getting into the car, I pause. Like the obedient daughter that I am, I send my mom a quick message to let her know I’m headed to the party. Then, I rev the hatchback and pull out onto the street.
It’s not a long drive from my parents’ house to Frankie’s, but it’s a pretty one. Our little town of Blue Mountain is starting to bud with early spring flowers that hang from nesting baskets on the light posts. Nestled as it is in the shadows of the Appalachian Mountains, our town gets a lot of tourists during hiking season and a lot of snow otherwise.
But for now, it’s a warm evening and even in my sleeveless dress and light jacket, I’m cozy and excited at the promise of the approaching warmer months. The soft yellow and pink sunset only reinforces my good mood, and I take its sweetness as an omen for all the good things heading my way, starting with this little celebration tonight.
I pull into Frankie’s and park my car. I’ve always felt slightly out of place at fancy restaurants, but this is my engagement dinner, I remind myself. It should be at a fancy place. I square my shoulders and climb out of the hatchback.
Okay, big breath. Lots of people to greet.
As I walk to the restaurant, the door flies open to reveal my mom, looking matronly in a light pink dress edged in lace.
“There’s my little bride to be!”
“Hi Mom. You look so pretty!” I go to her quickly and hug her tightly. “How’s my dress? I’m afraid I look like a blue whale.” I fiddle with the straps of the deep blue number, unsure how the fitted dress looks against my full curves.
“Sweetie, are you kidding? You look so beautiful.” My mom’s eyes start to mist. “And velvet? What a fun choice.” She kisses me on the cheek and dabs at her eyes.
“Mom, don’t cry!” I laugh at her sappiness.
“You’re just my baby is all and – ” she’s cut off mid-speech by the arrival of the first of my relatives.
“Marcia, Cora, hi!” my great aunt screeches from across the parking lot while getting out of her luxury sedan.
“She’s eighty-five years old, so why on earth is she still driving?” my mom mutters to me. “Okay, Cora, brace yourself,” she winks at me. “Hi Aunt Sue, let me come help you.”
With my mom occupied, I slip inside the building to look for Marky and to see the room before it becomes packed with my guests.
“Miss Morrissey,” the hostess greets me. “We have your private event set up in the back. Please, right this way.”
I follow the hostess into the deeper recesses of the restaurant. Frankie’s is a place I’ve always wanted to try, but I was always either too young for its elegance or too broke to afford it. It’s the kind of establishment that screams decadence and fancy food, and I still can’t believe I get to have my engagement party here.
Thank you, Matt Harrison.
While at first, I had felt awkward about Marky’s dad paying for the dinner, now, staring at the elegantly decorated room made up just for my engagement party, I’m giddy.
Several long, oak tables run the length of the room. At each table, wooden benches serve as the seating, padded with white cushions. Overhead, fairy lights drip from the ceiling, providing enough lighting to see but keeping an allure of mystery and romanticism about the room. In the middle of each table, short, squat vases are filled with peonies, each tied with twine and soft gold bows.
Through the paned glass windows, the sunset is casting an almost rosy gold hue on the room. A fireplace crackles and delicate heaters make the room feel like a perfect spring night.
I’m completely taken aback – the whole setup is like something out of a dream.
Who on earth did all of this?
Almost as if in response, Matt Harrison strolls into the room, looking extremely handsome in his fitted blue suit. He’s huge as always, and his black hair is damp and brushed off his high forehead. I melt a bit, but then try to control my reaction.
“Cora, hi.” He greets me with a light hug and kiss on my cheek.
“Hi Mr. Harrison.” He smells like the woods on a rainy day.
He grins.
“Please, you need to start calling me Matt. We’re going to be family, after all.” Matt gestures around the room. “Well, what do you think?”
“Wait, you did all of this?”
He smirks a bit.
“I did. Well, I asked the restaurant to decorate the place as befits an engagement dinner. It’s time for romance, after all,” Matt says.
“I don’t know what to say. I love it.” Gratefully, I put my hand on his strong shoulder. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”
Matt looks at me intensely, as if he has more to say, his blue eyes flashing. My heart pounds and the air goes electric. But then, our moment is interrupted by the arrival of guests starting to pour into the room.
“How about I grab us each a drink? You might be needing it,” Matt says when people start coming over. With that, he’s gone and all I see is a flash of his dark blue blazer in the crowd. Multiple people surround me, and I’m suddenly inundated with questions, comments, and compliments.
“Cora, you look stunning!”
“Wow, look at the lights, how pretty.”
“Good to see you sweetheart. Where’s the bar?”
“Happy engagement!”
�
�Where’s the groom?”
“Did you see your aunt?”
“Let’s see that ring!”
“Any special seating?”
At some point in the chaotic meet and greet, Matt returns and slips an icy cold glass of champagne into my hand. I smile at him gratefully and just as quickly am pulled the other way by even more relatives bombarding me with questions.
Finally, my best friend, Hadley, bounces into the room and hugs me tightly, nearly spilling my drink. “
“Hi, my lovely bride-to-be! It’s your maid of honor reporting for duty. Oh my gosh look at you! Oh my gosh, look at those flowers! Oh my gosh look at Matt Harrison! HOT! Ooooh, are those crab cakes?” She grabs an hors d’oeuvre and stuffs it into her mouth.
I laugh at Hadley’s enthusiasm. We’ve known each other since first grade and the bubbly, petite blonde is a constant source of entertainment.
“Hi Hads.” I look behind her. “No date?” I raise my eyebrows at her, teasing.
She grimaces.
“Ugh, no. I was going to bring that guy I met online the other week, but then he started talking about how much he loves his cat and I was like no thank you and also figured like all of Marky’s hot friends are going to be here plus his dad is super fine so I mean, really.” Hadley shrugs at the end of her dizzying speech. “Where is Marky, anyways?”
I look around the nearly full room. No fiancé to be found.
“I’m not sure. He said he had to work late, but I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” I tell Hadley, not wanting to admit my growing annoyance over his absence.
“But his dad’s here.” Hadley gestures across the room to Matt, who is talking to a particularly curvy redhead. Who is that woman? I frown at them, unsure why I feel a twinge of jealousy. “Doesn’t Marky work for his dad?”
“Yeah but Mr. Harrison owns the company. Marky, child genius he may be, is merely a junior architect.”
Suddenly, Matt looks up to see Hadley and I looking at him. He raises his glass at us, and I respond in kind and smile at the handsome man, but just as quickly turn away.
Who is that woman? The thought bugs me, and I shake my head with annoyance.
“Well, it’s just as well because I want to see that rock again,” Hadley coos as she grasps my left hand in hers and examines my engagement ring intently. “Oh gosh, Cora. This ring is to die for.” She fakes fainting and I can’t help but laugh at her antics.
“It is lovely.” I sigh with delight while I gaze at the pretty heirloom. It’s been in Marky’s family for generations and it’s single-handedly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn. The ring is an antique, 18-karat gold band set with real pearls and delicate diamonds. All of which centers on a flawless 1.5-carat center diamond. Given its age, perfect condition, and giant gemstone, the ring probably costs more than my car. I love wearing it but I’m also terrified to be entrusted with something so precious.
“Lovely is an understatement.” Hadley shakes her head. “Marky must really love you.”
Suddenly, we’re interrupted.
“Oh the ring! I would love to get a closer look, Cora,” comes a high-pitched wheezy voice. My Great-Aunt Sue ambles over, always eager for the latest gossip to snag and immediately share.
“Hi Auntie. Thanks for coming.” I kiss her withered old cheek and hold my hand out to her.
“Cora, this ring something special. What’s the story?”
“Well, it’s been in Marky’s family for several generations now, on his dad’s side.”
Auntie Sue nods, looking at the ring thoughtfully.
“It looks like it’s expensive. I wonder how much…?” She regards me inquisitively but I just laugh. “Fine, keep your secrets, Little Miss. And mind you take good care of it,” Aunt Sue lectures me.
“I will. I’m really blessed to have such a beautiful and treasured ring. I know it means a lot to the family.” I smile at my relative, sincere in my words. I’m so lucky to have a ring from Matt Harrison.
“Well, you look as pretty as a picture.” The older woman pinches my cheek and walks toward the bar. “Take care sweetie pie. I’m going to get myself another cocktail. Those Aperol spritzes are good!”
As my aunt ambles away, my best friend giggles a bit.
“Wonder how many drinks she’s had,” Hadley teases.
“She is a character.” I roll my eyes.
“But she’s right, you do look so beautiful.” Hadley squeezes my hand.
I beam at her and look down again at my stunning engagement ring. Tonight, set against my creamy skin and blue velvet dress, the ring sparkles especially bright, a visual representation of my mood.
Well, almost.
Where the heck is Marky?
Across the room, Matt shoots me a glance, even though he’s still talking to the redhead. Who is that woman? I think to myself for the third time. I smile slightly, and turn away from him, not entirely sure why I suddenly feel both embarrassed and thrilled to catch him looking at me.
For the next several minutes, I make the rounds and continue to greet my guests, sneaking in quick calls to Marky that range from worry about him to demanding to know where he is. I’m growing more and more frustrated that my fiancé still hasn’t made an appearance when, finally, after my fifth phone call, Marky picks up.
“Hey, I’ve been trying to reach you. Where are you?” I try to control my exasperation, relieved that he has finally answered.
“Sorry, I know. Look I can’t talk but I’ll be on my way soon,” he says in a slightly breathless voice. Has he been working out? Why would he sound like that?
Marky hangs up abruptly before I can ask, and I stand there for a moment, wondering what is going on and why I’m alone at my own engagement party.
Sighing, I sip on my almost empty glass of champagne and observe the joy around me. Where is my handsome fiancé? And why hasn’t he made an appearance yet?
To be continued …
My Fiance’s Dad is now LIVE! Pick up your copy here.
Sneak Peek: Trailer Park Daddy
Kaylee
Kaylee’s a maid at Millbrook Manor, and she catches the boss in a compromising position.
My knees are killing me.
You’d think after doing this job for two years, I’d be used to kneeling on the floor, but I’m not. If anything, it hurts more now than it did when I started at sixteen. A couple more years of this, and I might need knee replacements.
Not that I can afford them. Health insurance isn’t exactly a priority in my household. We’re still focused on putting a roof over our heads and food on the table.
I lean back and blow my hair out of my face. The office is cool, but I’m still sweating, which is what happens when you have to scrub hard on the hardwood floor.
When was the last time the homeowner had his place cleaned? This floor is awful. I’ve been going over the same spot for a while, and it just doesn’t want to get clean.
I adjust myself so that I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor. My manager, Rebecca, allows us to take breaks periodically. She’s not the worst boss in the world, I don’t think. At least, that’s what my coworkers tell me. Rebecca is the only boss I’ve had, so I wouldn’t know.
I look around the office. It’s three times the size of my entire trailer. I could easily live in this room alone.
Sometimes I think about that. Houses like this, with a ridiculous number of rooms, would be so easy to occupy without the owners even knowing. I guarantee there are rooms in this house the Millbrook family has never seen. All I have to do is find one of them and make it my own. They would never even know that I’m here.
I chuckle to myself. It’s a ridiculous thought. Almost as ridiculous as the idea of me going to college one day.
This office isn’t one of the unused rooms in the house, though. Despite the dust on the floor, it’s clearly occupied. There are papers scattered across the huge, wooden desk. I wonder if I’m supposed to tidy them up or clean around them? I’ll have to leave
the desk for last and check in with Rebecca because often, clients don’t like it when we shuffle their papers around without permission.
The large window to the left of the desk has a gorgeous view of the gardens out back. It’s a wonder anyone gets work done here with a view like that because I’d be distracted all day. In fact, I’ve kept my back to the window to keep myself from daydreaming. It’s just a little trick I have to keep myself on task so that I can get out of here sooner rather than later.
But the weirdest thing about the office is the armor. The guy must collect it because I’ve seen suits of this stuff all over the house. There are four suits of armor stationed in the corners of the office, and all of them are in attack positions. One holds a sword, another a scimitar, the one in the far corner has a mace, and the last one has a morning star gripped in its fist, if I’m not mistaken. They’re all hugely scary, and they look expensive.
Most rich people have their quirks. I’d much rather be staring at armor than creepy porcelain dolls, and believe me, I’ve seen a lot of creepy porcelain dolls in my life. It seems to be a hobby of the wealthy. Rich people love their creepy dolls, apparently.
Lowering myself back to my hands and knees, I start scrubbing again. Despite the slow-going in the office, I’m way ahead of schedule. The bathroom didn’t take me nearly as long as I expected it would, and I think it’s because of the industrial-strength bleach we have on hand.
Then again, I’m an expert at cleaning bathrooms. That’s why Rebecca always assigns them to me. When you grow up with a mom like mine, who is likely to come home drunk and throw up all over the bathroom, you learn early on how to clean the tile properly. It’s a skill I’m proud of.
I press a little harder with my sponge. Finally, the difficult spot comes out. I think it was newspaper that had gotten wet and adhered itself to the floor. Rich people are terrible about taking care of hardwood, and it’s a damn shame. I’d give anything for a floor like this. The trailer I live in has peel-and-stick tiles, and most are barely holding on.
I sit back up and sigh, pushing my hair out of my face. The hair is sticking to my skin, and of course, I feel clammy. But with so many girls working today, I might get to go home early after I finish the office. There are a lot of rooms in the house, but we weren’t hired to clean all of them. At least, not today. I think the owner is testing us. He’s probably going to do an inspection after we leave, and then decide whether to invite Sparkle Maids back.