Legally in Love Boxed Set 1

by Jennifer Griffith

  “The tabloids? What are you talking about?” Morgan took this, by comparison, in stride. She went back to taking care of dinner. “They’re hardly interested in me or you, poor college students just trying to finish school. What could be the least bit salacious about that?”

  Exactly his point for years—if only it were that easy. “I wish. But remember, I’m a Hyatt.”

  Morgan put all the food on a plate and took it to a beautifully set table that already had lots of different foods on it—salad, fried potatoes, watermelon chunks. “I’m sure that’s significant in some way, but I don’t really see how. Forgive me.”

  The fried potatoes smelled like the fried potatoes his mom used to make—with lots of butter and pepper, and it almost distracted him from the big issue at hand as his mind went time traveling to family dinners when family was fun. They sat down, and he said grace, and she passed him the potatoes. Yep. They were soul food.

  “This is great, Morgan. You’re a good cook.”

  “Thanks. Having every single food on the planet to choose from and every kitchen tool imaginable does help.”

  “You don’t have to cook for me every night, you know.” It wasn’t like he married her to turn her into his personal chef.

  She looked up. “You don’t want me to?”

  “No, no. It’s not that. I love it, seriously. I just don’t want you to feel obligated.”

  “The only obligation I feel is to use up the food in the fridge before it spoils. But otherwise, I love cooking. I never do it because Tory’s always on some diet, and cooking for one is lame. Besides, my fridge generally consists of three Cokes, a bottle of ketchup, and a bag of apples from the tree at my mom’s house.” She took a bite of her hamburger, and some ketchup dripped from it onto her plate.

  “You’re a ketchup person?” he asked, feeling much less guilty about being so spoiled by showing up at home to a hot meal two nights in a row.

  “Sometimes I think of french fries as merely a vehicle for the ketchup.” She had a pool of ketchup soaking down into her potatoes on her plate. She wasn’t lying about her love for the red stuff. It looked like she was the only person he’d ever met who liked it even more than he did.

  “Ketchup. It’s the all-American version of sweet and sour sauce.”

  “I know, right? Vinegar, brown sugar, tomatoes. It’s just spicy heaven.” She took a bite of her potatoes, and Josh followed suit. Were they bonding? Over ketchup? Well, he’d be un-bonding them in two seconds when he told her the awful truth.

  “About the tabloids. There’s a good chance they’ll be bothering us.”

  “I seriously doubt it, Josh. Sorry. We’re just boring students, like I said. I am a blonde with an old truck and a good GPA. Big whoop.”

  “You sell yourself short.” Really, she did. “That’s exactly the kind of thing the tabs go crazy for, but they will twist it.”

  “I love that you live in this fantasy land where I’m suddenly of interest to anyone. What should I wear for my three seconds of fame?”

  Not that sweater, he was thinking. It accentuated her positives way too much. And there were a lot of positives, not all just about her gobsmacking looks. Morgan was pretty on the inside as well, and a hard worker, and smart and funny and could cook and play piano and sing—with him. They did blend pretty well. His mind wandered back to how free he’d felt sitting beside her, just letting the songs roll out of his soul. For the five minutes they sang, he was Dean Martin, and she was Doris Day, and they were in some kind of movie together, a romantic comedy where they lived together but not as man and wife, and all kinds of funny hijinks complicated their world—uh, like now. With the tabloid photographer Paulie Bumgartner being sicced on them.

  Josh crash-landed in reality.

  Man, Morgan really wasn’t understanding how dangerous things were. He was going to have to lay it all out for her with clarity.

  “Look, I know you think I’m overreacting, but there was a time when I had to deal with this on a daily basis. Back before my dad and I got into it over my change of careers, the press was following me a lot. I had to be really careful about everything I did, but if I even went out with a girl, her face was plastered all over the society pages in Portland, and gossipmongers labeled her a gold digger. I lost a lot of sincere girlfriends that way.” He frowned and set down his fork. “Luckily, when I got cut off from the family’s fortune so publicly by Bronco, I also fell out of favor with the tabs. It was the silver lining to the dark cloud of being kicked out of my family.”

  Morgan’s eyes had grown wide, and a sheen glossed them where the tears welled, making them a deeper blue than ever, like the sea off the Amalfi Coast, where he’d spent a summer as a kid. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all that. I can’t imagine having my family be in shards like that.”

  Shards. That was an apt description, actually, but she’d be seeing it for herself on Friday, if possible.

  “Uh, speaking of my family. I know I haven’t painted a rosy picture of them, but if you don’t have plans for Friday night…”

  “I’m free.” Maybe he was mistaken, but she looked almost happy to answer this way.

  “Great. My dad dropped by and invited us to dinner.” Josh omitted the police threat about stealing the ring, hoping but not trusting it was the empty blustering of the blowhard. “What time is your last class? Bronco Hyatt demands that dinner is served promptly at six.” They’d have to drive to Portland, over an hour trip.

  “I’m done by noon.”

  “It’s a date.” Josh let these words fall casually from his mouth, but then they hung resonating in the air between them for a long moment until Morgan finally picked up her forkful of ketchuped potatoes and he could breathe again.

  ∞∞∞

  “So, what you’re saying is you’re going on your first official date with your husband.” Tory bent down and picked up a rock and dropped it into her sand bucket, while Morgan tried again to concentrate on seeing the agates among the pebbles on the shore of Cannon Bay Beach. “And it’s to meet his family. He must be serious about you. Love at first sight.”

  The weight of Tory’s assessment of tonight’s plans settled on Morgan heavily. One, she loved that he’d asked her go with him, and when the words it’s a date came from his mouth, they pierced her. Should he have had any idea how close they struck her heart, he might have taken them back. For the whole day, after the idiotic incident with that she-beast redhead, Morgan had been feeling stupid—sure, she had Josh’s name, but she by no means had his heart, hadn’t even been asked on a date by him at that point. So, when he threw it out there at dinner, she’d had to use all her restraint not to throw her arms around him and kiss his face in her excitement. That’d scare the guy off like nothing else.

  “Love at first sight. Obviously.” She found an agate, a clear stone with a baby blue hue. “Oh, look. I found one.”

  “Lucky.” Tory came over and examined it. She took her key-chain flashlight out even though it was morning and shone it through the stone so they could see its translucence. “Nice one. Those are rare. Not as rare as the pink ones, but all I found is white.”

  “White are everywhere.”

  “What are you going to wear to this big Meet the Hyatts affair? Is it black tie and dinner gowns? Or jeans and sweaters?”

  The question made Morgan jolt. She had no idea, and suddenly she realized how out of her depth she was going to be at this thing. The wealthy lived very differently from how she and Tory had been raised, with apples from their own tree and new clothing being something other people bought so she and Tory could get it second-hand later on.

  “Josh didn’t say. I guess I’ll see what he’s wearing and go from there.”

  “Dangerous. What if you’re not prepared? Do you even have a nice dress?”

  “Uh, sort of.” Not really. She’d been asked to the Homecoming dance last year by that guy with the gap in his front teeth, who she could not for the life of her hold a conversatio
n with, and she’d worn a heavy satin gown she borrowed from Gina, a classmate. Gina graduated last year, but Morgan might still have her number.

  “No. You don’t. Let me tell you—I went through your closet when we were packing to fake-move you into Josh’s apartment before the cameras came to Estrella Court. You’ve got zilch.”

  “So what am I supposed to do?”

  Tory stood up straight and shook the pebbles in her bucket, making them rattle in triumph. “Costume closet at the theater. I’ll snag you something.”

  “What? They let you do that? No, that could get you in trouble.”

  “Nah. I’ll just sign it out. I’m doing alterations for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern anyway.”

  “They’re dead, you know.”

  “I know. And England is just a conspiracy of cartographers.” Tory was a theater girl, and could quote old stage plays by the hour. “Look, let me see what I can bring you.”

  “Nothing too fancy. I mean, what if I dress posh, and it turns out to be an Oregon Ducks sweatshirts and flip-flop sandals event?” Morgan could end up being completely embarrassed. Meeting Josh’s family, whether she was up for long-term approval or not, had her petrified. What if they hated her? What if she lapsed irretrievably deep into the Conversation Coma and they thought she was a huge loser or, worse, pitied Josh for his choice? Sure, she was the nervous type around men in her dating range, but she was in untested waters when it came to meeting a guy’s family. Josh’s rich, famous family’s faces seemed a thousand times more intimidating than any potential date. She’d said something to Josh about it last night before he left for work, but he told her not to worry. Their opinion of her didn’t matter.

  He was right of course—she wasn’t there for the long game, so why would it matter what they thought of her?

  But she cared.

  “Right. Not too posh, not too beachy. Something from the Goldilocks zone.” Tory bent over and picked up a pebble. “Look how clear this one is. Oh! And it looks like there’s water inside, with a little bubble! This might be our lucky day.”

  Or it might end up being Morgan’s unluckiest night.

  ∞∞∞

  “Wow. You look really nice.” Josh couldn’t take his eyes off Morgan. Blouse, skirt, curves everywhere, right down to how great her legs stemmed down to the high heels that made her nearly his height. But her eyes were the star, set off by the top in the same color of blue as she’d been wearing the other night. “I, uh, think that’s your color.”

  Did she blush? She did, and it made her even prettier for the seconds that it lasted. He wasn’t going to have any excuses to make to the family about his wife. They’d take one look at her and no questions would be asked about his decision.

  “So you think it’s all right? You’re in a suit, so this works?” Morgan seemed unsure of herself. In all the times he’d been around her, she’d been a reservoir of calm, even when things were obviously not going their way.

  “You’ll blow them away.”

  “But they’re not going to be wearing formal gowns and tuxedos or anything, right?”

  “With Bronco Hyatt? Hardly.” Josh had to laugh at that thought. “He thinks tuxes are for frauds and Euro-trash wannabes, or so he says. Suit and tie at most over there.” And his dad would wear a bolo tie.

  Morgan relaxed against the seat of the Explorer, and they headed into the mountains toward Portland from the coast. It had been a while since he’d seen any of the family besides Chip and Heather, and a lot longer since he’d had any good interactions with them. He was throwing Morgan into the tiger cage, and he knew it.

  “Look, Morgan. I don’t want to scare you, but these people are unpredictable. Do me a favor and take everything they say with a grain of salt.” He glanced over and saw she was wringing her hands. He reached out and took one in his, just to calm her. It was icy cold. “It’s going to be fine, I promise. You’re not on trial. They are by how they treat you.”

  He kept hold of her hand, caressing it, warming it up as they ascended the canyon, and he congratulated himself when it came up to a good temperature and Morgan’s tension seemed to subside as the miles passed. It was the least he could do for her considering the mess he was throwing her into tonight. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it.

  “Stick beside me all night, and things will be fine,” Josh said as he helped her from the car in the circular drive in front of Hyatt Place, with its Greek pillars and its towering double front doors. She grabbed something from the trunk, and they went inside, into the belly of the beast.

  Before they got ten steps down the hall, a ping sounded from the general direction of the dining room: Bronco Hyatt tapping his dinner goblet with his spoon for attention.

  “Come on. We’re late!” He took the stuff out of Morgan’s arms and hurried her down the hall. “What’s in the box?”

  “My mother said never go empty handed to a dinner party. But if it’s gross, I hope no one notices it’s even on the table.”

  Oh, they’d notice, all right. Something home-cooked would be so out of place at any recent Hyatt event that it would be the sore thumb of all sore thumbs. But Morgan could cook—so maybe it would be okay. Good, even, to show them what they and their catered dinners were missing out on. Still, he was nervous that she’d feel out of place by bringing something unusual. He’d hate for her to feel any more uncomfortable than absolutely necessary. And it would be necessary. Tremors of the most awkward dinner ever loomed.

  “So glad you could join us, Joshua.” Bronco didn’t look glad. It was still ten minutes before six, so what was up with the time shift here? Leave it to Bronco to create a situation where Josh would be embarrassed. “So this is the Clarendon College woman you are using to get revenge on me by taking a handout from Siggy Seagram.” He looked Morgan up and down, and Josh stepped in front of her to protect her from the ogling, not only from Bronco, but from all dozen pairs of eyes of those seated at the long formal table.

  “This is my wife, Morgan.” It came out through clenched teeth. Josh would like to clench Bronco by the throat for his comment, but he had to keep things neutral, at least until dinner was over. This was Heather’s birthday, and he refused to ruin her day.

  Morgan lifted a hand and waved just her fingers. She smiled a little, but not much, and he could tell she was not used to being around such toads as the Hyatt family were.

  Bronco went on, now addressing the group. “Just so you know, Josh is officially living on someone else’s dime. He’s a kept man.” He turned to Josh and said, “What all are you going to owe, loyalty-wise to Seagram when this is over? Your firstborn son?”

  Then he laughed raucously, but alone. No one else thought he was funny. He must have already insulted all of them earlier.

  “You’re working it, Dad. Where would you like us to sit?” Josh tried to slide them through the gauntlet without further incident, but Bronco wasn’t having any of it. As Josh and Morgan found places at the table, Bronco re-launched.

  “Everyone here knows you’ve been a horrendous disappointment in the past years, starting with that ridiculous freckled thing you dragged home out of the gutter and claimed she’d changed your life and you wanted to be an international man of mystery all of a sudden. At least you dumped her where she belonged. Heh, heh. We none of us miss her one iota.”

  Josh bristled, but what could he say? He’d done nothing of the sort, and he didn’t like the love of his life being insulted, but the last thing he could do was tip these people off to the scheme he and Morgan were up to. They’d probably be the first to throw him to the wolves of the IRS and the college funding grant police.

  “But now you upgraded to some gorgeous supermodel, and what? Didn’t she know you’d been cut off financially? Did you turn into one of those loud talking empty-suits who claims he’s got something big in the works, and if she just waits long enough he’ll come through? Because we all know full well that’s not you, Joshua. You’re nothing but a garbage-stirring hack who cou
nts bacteria in human waste for a living.”

  “Dad, you’re charming us to death here.”

  “Charm is not my ambition. Success is—for me and for my children. And if you think that digging in trash in Starry Point, Oregon, is the key to success, you’re up a flipping tree.”

  “The U.S. Patent Office begs to differ.”

  “Oh, you and your patents. That’s never coming through, and you know it.”

  Josh looked around at the faces of his siblings and their spouses, all eyes apologetic, as he stood there, begging one of them to defend him and his research passion and his choice of women and his career path. No one breathed a word. In fact, they all looked sort of sick, but not courageous. Rocky the doctor, Wyatt the CPA, their wives—all yellow-bellied cowards, kowtowing to the noise of Bronco. What was their big fear of him? Josh couldn’t take it for another second—he was exploding with it all, and lashed out.

  “You all are so scared of Bronco and losing his favor and his money that none of you will step up to defend yourselves, let alone your little brother’s decisions. Shame on you all. You’re ridiculous. All of you.” Josh’s cheeks stung as he accused them, anger pricking his skin. “Mom would be appalled.”

  The air, by rights, should have gone out of the room, and everyone should have reacted with shame, but not this family. This was their usual form of communication. They just eyed him for a moment and then looked back down at their plates of catered, cardboard food, saying nothing in his defense. Well, at least they weren’t heckling him, or Morgan. Morgan was a nice girl. She shouldn’t be subjected to this crap. Brielle would have handled it differently, giving back to Bronco just as good as he dished out—which was probably the reason Bronco hated her with such venom.

  “Sit down, Joshua. You’re already holding up the meal. And go put your things in the bedroom upstairs. Don’t come traipsing into the dining room with luggage.”

  “This isn’t luggage.” They’d agreed to drive back that night, rather than stay at Hyatt mansion and go through the whole bed-sharing stress that would inevitably ensue. “It’s our contribution to dinner.” He slid the dish out of its protective container and set it on the table. Everyone eyed it. “Morgan is a good cook.”