by Goode, Ella
Dering didn’t respond again after that, but my text did generate a number of question marks and crying emojis. It’s best that my sad social circle clocks where I stand up front.
The gates to Belle Époque open as soon as I arrive. Either they have a long-standing order to let anyone in who has a net worth higher than a certain amount or they’ve been waiting for me. Hopefully it’s the latter.
I don’t live like my mom or sister, and I certainly don’t have a mausoleum like Belle Époque that could have been featured in Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous if Marguerite Abbott was that kind of wealthy woman. She is not, though. She, like my mother, has this belief that if you flaunt your wealth it’s because you just earned it or you have very little of it. The Abbott money goes back far enough that the dirty way it was acquired has been long forgotten.
I curve around the giant water fountain with its dancing nymphs and park in front of the stone steps. A white-gloved valet appears and holds out his hand for the key. “I won’t be long,” I tell him.
I suspect I’ll be kicked out soon after my appearance. The Abbotts don’t hold a lot of love for me. Sticking a fork in a man’s nuts apparently engenders lifelong animosity. Who knew? The doors open easily for me, and the butler intones with a small bow, “Mr. Fréres, the madam awaits you in the parlor.” He gestures toward a blue door behind him.
“Glad to know I’m expected.” I stick out my hand. “The name’s Gant, and you are?”
The butler’s forehead creases with lines as he looks at my outstretched paw with suspicion. “Huntington,” he finally says.
“Huntington. Got it. I suspect I’ll be kicked out as soon as Mr. Abbott figures out who I am, so when you’re throwing me onto the front step, do it gently, will you?” I give him a firm shake before opening the door.
“Mr. Gant Fréres has arrived,” Huntington introduces me.
I feel like I’m in a period set. Paislee is sitting behind a piano while Marguerite stares at her granddaughter with unabashed affection from a sofa that her family probably brought over on the Mayflower. So that’s how the wind lies. Papa Abbott can’t be too happy about this.
“Marguerite, you have a magnificent view here.” I bow over her hand and give it an air kiss.
She giggles girlishly and wags a finger at me. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“I thought of coming earlier but figured it would be rude. You should eat your breakfast in peace.”
“Come sit next to me. I haven’t seen much of you at any of our events. Where have you been hiding?”
“I teach school, ma’am.” I settle onto the sofa. From behind the grand piano, Paislee watches me carefully, like I’m some snake about to poison her. Wonder if she’s had a bad experience with a man before or if her daddy got into her head. It’d be a shame if the woman of my dreams started out hating me because I once stabbed her old man in the gonads. The way he kept her a secret, you’d think she’d be on my side.
“Schoolteachers can’t socialize?” She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “If that’s the case, maybe the school board needs a visit from me.”
Alarmed, I shake my head. “Just me being lazy, ma’am.” Given the Abbott power here, a word from Marguerite might reduce our school days to four days a week. “I promise to attend more of them. Before I didn’t have a reason.”
“Before, hmmm?”
The piano cover closes with a thud. “I told the people at the auction I wasn’t interested in the date.”
Marguerite’s mouth tightens minutely. I jump in. “It’d be a shame if they invalidated the bid because I didn’t deliver on my promise.”
“Can they do that? It’s already been processed on my credit card.”
“And that’s another thing. I didn’t want you to pay for it.”
“I didn’t. It’s Grandma’s money. By all rights, you should go out with her. She won you. Not me.”
“If it’s my purchase, then I have the ability to gift it to you,” Marguerite says.
Paislee’s light green eyes are piercing in the sunlight. I don’t like there’s a big-ass piano between the two of us or that I’m sitting on the sofa with her grandmother. I get the sense that all of this wealth, this newness, isn’t settling in well for Paislee.
I wish we’d met at the yogurt shop or the bookstore because I’m not a man who loves butlers and valets and white-aproned maids moving soundlessly in and out of rooms carrying trays of refreshments. I’m a man who lives in a small two-story brick house with a postage size backyard. I mow my own grass, buy my own groceries, and cook my own dinners. I think Paislee is that type of person, too.
“Then let’s do it this way. Forget about the bid and the auction and the prize. Paislee Abbott, I’d like to take you out for dinner. Will you go?”
“It’s Rhodes.”
Marguerite sucks in her breath.
“What’s that?” I ask in mild confusion.
She rises to her feet and stretches out her arms. “I’m Paislee Rhodes. Do you still want me?”
“You’re an Abbott, my dear,” Marguerite insists.
So it’s that way. I rise and hold out my hand. “And I’m a schoolteacher. Is that okay with you?”
Chapter Ten
Paislee
I stare at Gant’s outstretched hand, not sure if I should take it or not. When it comes to men around here, they tend to be jerks. Except the staff. The butler, Mr. Huntington, is a sweetheart. I’ve started calling him Hunts because he can track anything down in this place. He also has a penchant for gossiping with me. I think he might be sweet on my grandma too.
Gant’s big hand hangs in the air, waiting for me to make my decision. I can’t help but be curious about him. I wonder if he really is a teacher. He felt different from anyone else last night that I met. He seemed more down to earth and funny. Grandma told me not to let any man charm me out of my panties. Obviously, the men that run in these circles are good at that. My dad is a prime example.
He has to be telling the truth about being a teacher. The second a lie would have rolled off his tongue, Grandma would have called him on it. I glance over at my grandma, who has an unreadable expression on her face. She was smirking moments ago.
I don’t know if that faded because of something Gant said or because of the correction of my last name. It’s petty to keep correcting people. My grandma has been nothing but sweet and loving since she found out about me, but I’m a Rhodes. My mom gave me that last name, and I am proud of it.
Gant stares at me, waiting for an answer. “That is more than okay with me.” He clears the last few feet between us, engulfing my hand with his. I think he is going to only shake it, but he leans down and kisses the top of my hand. I feel myself flush for some silly reason. He only kissed my hand. My thoughts race thinking about what it would feel like for him to kiss me in other places.
“I taught pre-K back home at a daycare. I was only a semester away from my B.A. in Education before...” I trail off, thinking about my mom. Gant pulls me into him. He still has a hold on my hand that he’d kissed. I rest my hands on his chest, staring up at him. My body leans into him on its own. He feels nice. There is something about being in his arms that instantly comforts me.
His hand comes up to caress my cheek.
“Life can be cut too damn short. From the look in your eyes you know that better than most.” I give a small shake of my head. “Have dinner with me?”
“Yes,” I agree. A slow smile spreads across his face. One dimple pops out in his cheek, and he almost looks a little boyish. Nothing like the other men I met last night. I think my grandma approves of him too.
“Oh, no. Look there. However did the staff miss that when they put away all the Christmas stuff?” We both turn to look at her. Her eyes are above our heads. I tilt my head back to see what she is talking about. There hanging from the ceiling is a mistletoe. There are actually a few, and they are oddly placed around. Interesting that I never noticed them before toda
y.
My face starts to flush all over again. “It’s after the holiday. I don’t think…”
“Why chance it?” Gant's voice comes out gruff and sexy. Before I can respond, his mouth is coming down toward mine. He moves slowly, giving me time to rebuff him, but my body has no plans to do such a thing.
My eyes fall closed as I dig my fingers into his shirt. His breath tingles against my lips before he brushes his against mine. I let out a small moan. His tongue slides along the seam of my mouth. I part my lips for him as he deepens the kiss.
I hold onto him tighter, my body melting into his as he takes over the kiss. I get lost in the feeling of need coming from him. A loud growl leaves him and rolls through my body, making my nipples tighten more than they already are. I can feel the hard outline of his cock pressing into me.
“I take it that I’m not tossing him out on his ass?” I hear Hunts say dryly. I try and jump back, but it’s then I realize my feet are not on the floor. When I open my eyes, they meet Gant’s. If I’m eye level with him, that means I’m at least a foot off the ground.
I lick my bottom lip still tasting him there. “Everyone is looking at us.” I wiggle in his arms, but he still doesn't put me down.
“I’m afraid it might be something we have to get used to.” He places me back on my feet before taking a step back. Grandma is back to smiling. More heat rushes to my face at the thought that everyone got a front row seat to Gant and me kissing. A kiss that I want to do over again.
“Are you finished here?” Hunts gives Gant a look of boredom.
“I think I’m far from finished.” He shoots me a wink. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t let them fill your head with lies. I only stab people that deserve it.”
“What?” I asked, confused. Did he say stab someone? He doesn't answer me. Instead he drops a kiss on my mouth before turning to leave.
“He’s trouble,” Hunts informs us before following Gant to make sure he in fact does leave.
“Sometimes trouble is fun.” Grandma wiggles her eyebrows.
“Trouble can also mean heartbreak,” I say as I walk over to sit down next to her. “What was the stab comment about?”
“I don’t think he and your dad like each other much.” She says it as though it’s no big deal. I think the last thing my father and I need is more problems. It would be nice to stick it to him, but love isn't a place to be petty.
“Are you saying that in the hope that I fall madly in love with this man?”
“A spring wedding would be nice. As you know, a wedding dress wouldn't be a problem in such a short time.” I let out a small laugh. She is getting way ahead of herself.
“There is no need to rush anything.” I need to remind myself of the same thing. I could see myself falling fast for Gant. That kiss made me forget everything else in the world but him. I wasn’t an Abbott or a Rhodes in that moment with him. I was merely myself.
“We’ll see.” She takes another sip of her tea. Why does it feel like my grandma is pushing the idea of me getting married all the time? I shake off the thought. That’s normal grandma stuff. That’s what I’ve heard anyway. I’ve never had a grandma in my life before this, so I guess we’ll navigate this together.
Chapter Eleven
Gant
Paislee is beautiful and charming, and it’s very difficult to focus on my food when she is appearing like the most edible morsel in the restaurant. She’s wearing a fuzzy pink sweater with a pair of simple jeans and looks hot and elegant at the same time. After the kiss, I wanted nothing more than to carry her off to my small lair, strip her naked, and show her the kind of delights that fairy tales only hint at. But I left the house empty-handed, consoling myself with the knowledge I would see her later that night.
Even though we’ve barely dug into our meal of fried chicken, coleslaw and mashed potatoes, I know I want to keep her forever. She’s easy to talk to. Her earlier frostiness has not made a reappearance, so either she heard about the fork story and doesn’t care or the Abbotts have decided to keep Papa Abbott’s ignominy to themselves. The subject she likes the best appears to be her mother and animals. She does not have a pet and neither do I—a situation that will need to be remedied immediately. I know exactly the next date we’ll have.
“Mom had the worst allergies,” she explains, licking one finger and then wiping it with a napkin. Who knew you could be envious of a paper product, but it got to touch her before I did. “She once said an ancestor must’ve been cursed by a druid because the tree pollen got to her every year. She’d start sneezing, and her eyes would itch anytime we got near a park. I would be the worst kind of daughter to insist on having a pet.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t gotten one now.”
She gives me a wry look. “The Abbott mansion doesn’t seem pet friendly.”
“That place is so big you could have a whole menagerie, and no one would know about it.”
“Maybe. My room is really large.”
“Marguerite looks like she’d hand over the world to you. I think a pet would be a non-issue.” The old woman stared at Paislee like she was the greatest thing in the world and would likely buy her the moon if she could.
“Getting a pet hadn’t really occurred to me. This is all”—she twirls her hand around—“real new for me. But what’s your excuse for not having a pet?”
“To be honest, Paislee, I have trouble keeping track of myself, let alone another person. I would need help taking care of a pet. Perhaps you know someone who might be interested in coownership of a small pup?” I leave it out there.
A gorgeous flush stains the base of her neck. “I don’t think that’s part of the auction package.”
“You refused it. How would you know? It could contain a dog, a pretty dress, a necklace, maybe even a new car.”
“Oh, please. I do not want a new car.”
“Noted. The rest is okay?”
“No. No.” She laughs. “Dinner is enough.”
“Hmmm.” I won’t commit to that. There’s something about Paislee’s smile that makes me want to keep seeing it, and if giving gifts draws it out, I can see showering her with a new package every day. “What all is exactly new here? No bachelor charity auctions back home?”
“I thought those were made up things for CW shows,” she admits. “We lived a quiet life back in Englewood.”
“Englewood? I don’t think I know of that place.”
“It’s small.” She smooths her hand along the napkin, trying to press out the wrinkles with her fingers. “I don’t know why Mom picked that place now that I’ve seen where she originally came from. It only has two stoplights in the entire town. We used to have a grocery store but when I was about ten, a Wal-Mart opened in the county, and that was the end of most of the stores around the town square. Mom said that it was a blessing, though, because we had more choices even if we had to drive a little farther for our staples.”
The light in her eyes dims slightly, and I remember belatedly the article mentioning her mother’s death.
“If it bothers you to talk about your mother, please let me know.”
“No. I think it would be worse to not talk about her, to forget her. That would be like losing her all over again.”
“Is that why you prefer to be called Paislee Rhodes?”
She bobs her head lightly. “Yes. That’s the name my mom gave me.”
“You two were very close.”
“Very. I miss her every day.”
I’ll have to ask my own mother about Paislee’s mother. “Tell me more about her.”
“She was beautiful and kind and really awesome at styling hair, but most of all she had a beautiful voice. She moved to Memphis to chase her dream of being a singer, but it didn’t pan out. She got pregnant with me and moved home.” Paislee pushes her potatoes around with a fork for a long, silent moment.
I clear my throat. “I’d love to hear a song of hers someday. Maybe you’ll share it with me?”
&nb
sp; Paislee murmurs some kind of socially agreeable consent—the kind of sound you make when you don’t want to argue but you don’t want to agree either. I turn the conversation to what kind of pets I could own, throwing out increasingly ridiculous suggestions to lighten the mood.
“I heard some people keep chickens. I’ve got some space to put up a chicken coop and then every morning I could go and harvest the eggs.”
“No.” She wrinkles her nose. “You cannot be eating the children of your pet. That’s wrong.”
“But I’m not eating the chickens, and the eggs are meant to be consumed. They don’t grow into chicks. They just rot and die.”
“Can we not talk about chickens as pets while we’re eating fried chicken?” she wails.
“Good point.” That was a dumb suggestion by me. “How about fish? I think I could keep a fish alive.”
“Would you eat sushi in front of them?”
“I think animals are a bad idea. Maybe a rock? I could find a nice piece of granite and rub its stone nose every morning,” I suggest.
“You’re that forgetful?”
“No, but I do like a variety of foods.” Although I might not finish the chicken tonight. I push the platter aside. “How about dessert? I know of a place that serves great beignets.”
“I should get home.” She looks at the darkening sky. “Grandma is probably wondering where I am.”
“You have at least three more hours left on your date meter,” I inform her. I’m not ready to let her go. Not just yet.
Chapter 12
Paislee
I like him. Heck, I think I more than like him. I should be more excited about that. Why is it freaking me out so much? When my mom came up, I felt myself start to shut down. I was laughing and having a good time. The thought of her being gone and never doing those things again had saddened me.
