Lena and Chris scatter — the traitors — and I’m left alone as the dragon approaches.
“This is so…”
I cringe and bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. Do not be rude to her, Han. She pushed your husband out of her vagina, so you have to be nice.
“Thank you, Hannah. You’ve made my son very happy.”
It’s so surprising I feel my mouth flapping as I search for words. This is a first. I’d assumed I’d only get a compliment after the first four or five grandbabies.
Looks like I can stop praying for the state of my vagina.
“Thank you, Patricia. You were a great help and…I want you to know that I understand why you hate me, it’s just—”
“I don’t hate you, dear,” she says quietly, stopping my speech with a hand at my wrist.
I feel bubbly for all of five seconds before she hits me with a roundhouse.
“I just don’t like you. Now, be a good hostess and make sure the caterers are doing their jobs.”
With that parting shot I’m left alone to see her perfect head bobbing along through the crowd after the birthday boy.
“Well, that wasn’t the most terrible thing she could have said.”
I turn and roll my eyes at Flick and Flack as they melt out from behind the corner.
“Tell that to my ego,” I snort. “Where’s Nana? Greg will want to say hi.”
“She went on a date with one of those guys from the last home she was in, a Mr Licks, I believe she called him. Don’t worry, Josey’s chaperoning. And don’t get all twisted up, she said she’s not into ‘young people parties.’”
I stopped listening the minute she said “Licks,” and it takes me two glasses of wine and a canapé to stop speculating about the name. And the wrinkled old man who comes along with it.
Ew.
Two hours later the party is really going strong. I’m already exhausted just running around after the caterer and her staff, and I can’t imagine another two hours of this.
Thank God tomorrow’s Saturday.
“Well hello there, darlin’, care to dance?” I hear.
I turn with a smile to see Greg strolling toward me where I’m sitting in a small alcove off the patio, just trying to catch my breath and rest my aching feet.
We’re both still dressed for work, and my shoes are killing me.
“Not a chance, birthday boy, my feet feel like minced meat. How about sharing that glass of water you’re drinking?”
He sits at the opposite end of the bench and hands me the glass, pulling my bare feet up and onto his lap. When he starts rubbing, I know exactly why I married the man. He’s perfect.
“God, that feels wonderful. Remind me never to wear heels to a party where other people are getting wasted. It’s like putting your feet on a train track and inviting the bastard to have a go.”
“You’re a sneaky woman, Mrs Lucas,” he murmurs, and I crack an eyelid to give him a smug smile.
“You made it really hard, Greg. It’s been almost impossible to plan and get everyone on board with you dogging me so closely lately. I thought for sure you busted me the other night when Chris and Lena called. Thank God you’re a man and you think with your penis, or I would have been so busted.”
His hand tenses around my abused foot, and I squeak out a protest.
“Easy on the merchandise, buddy.”
“That was…you were on the phone with Chris and Lena?”
“Yeah, of course. Who else—”
The end of that conversation comes back to me, and I narrow my eyes and try to pull my feet back, which of course he won’t allow.
“Who exactly did you think I was talking to?” I ask in a deadly tone.
He has the grace to look sheepish, and I harden my heart against the little boy pout.
“Han, I—”
“How can you even..?” I rip my feet back and make to stand, feeling so much fury I can hardly breathe. “We’re married! God, what do you take me for? You must think so little of me!”
I’m furious, raging as I lean down to grab my shoes, only to find myself smashed up against his chest, his face so close I can smell the champagne on his breath.
“Goddammit, darlin’, calm the heck down.”
“No! You think I’m some kind of whore? How can you even think I would do that to you?”
“Because I’d deserve it!” he yells.
A few passers-by stop and stare long enough that he grabs my hand and tows me inside and up the back stairs. When we reach our bedroom he slams and locks the door, still keeping me pinned to his chest.
“You even stopped telling me you love me. I’m a lousy husband to you, and I know it. For Christ’s sake, I spent ninety percent of our honeymoon avoiding you.”
I stop struggling and push back to see his face, all the fight leaving me at that quiet admission. So he was avoiding me.
“Why? I mean, you’re so into sex, and…a honeymoon is a free for all sex marathon. I thought you’d jump at the chance to nail me on every surface at any time.”
Gosh, I’d been looking forward to that.
He finally sets me down, and I sigh in frustration when he starts pacing.
“I…I wanted to prove to you that I don’t just want you for sex,” he mutters, and it takes me a minute to process that statement before a laugh bubbles out.
“On our honeymoon?”
I’m doing my utmost not to laugh so hard I snort, but it’s almost impossible when he stops pacing and glares at me in that oh so familiar way.
“Possibly a miscalculation,” he concedes before throwing me a dirty look. “You didn’t exactly help either. I almost lost an eye when you walked out of the bathroom completely naked.”
“Ah, so you did notice.”
He curses and mutters, giving me a sardonic look.
“Of course I did. I had to walk to another cabin with a hard on that took an hour to subside. An old lady and her husband caught me. And winked. It was the most embarrassing situation I’ve ever been in.”
“I bet that gave them something big to talk about,” I snort.
“Very big.”
He smiles as he says it, and I giggle, feeling relieved and lightheaded at once. Relieved because, well, hearing that my body is banging hot enough to get that sort of reaction is great. Lightheaded because now I kinda don’t need him to say it anymore.
Even if he doesn’t love me, that’s as close as it gets, and that’s more than okay.
“I love you, Gregory Lucas,” I whisper, choking up a little. “Even though you tortured me on our honeymoon and made me miserable the first week of our marriage.”
I tack that on because, while I’m feeling charitable, I’m not dumb. He still has a lot of making up to do, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it.
His face lights up and he grabs me, kissing me so thoroughly my toes curl.
“Say it again. Please.”
“I love you. Love you. Love you,” I whisper against his lips, peppering him with soft kisses that promise so much more. “Wait. I haven’t given you your gift yet.”
I push away and dart to the closet, coming back with a nervous skip. He frowns and takes my offering, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“You already gave me what I wanted, darlin’.”
He’s so solemn and cute I can’t resist another kiss before urging him to open it. I’m so excited and jittery I have to fight the urge not to open it myself.
It’s worth the agitation, though, when he carefully pulls back the wrapping to reveal the small rectangular box. A laugh bubbles up, and I grin, knowing that look.
He thinks I’ve bought him man jewelry — as if — and his trepidation about opening it is hurting my feelings.
“Darlin’—”
“Oh shut up and open it already. I’m dying here.”
When he does finally swallow and lift the lid, I’m actually jumping up and down and clapping like a five-year-old. What I’ve gotten him is a very rare ba
seball card that I practically had to sell my soul for, it’s so rare.
Let’s just say I’m super grateful I don’t actually need my paycheck, because it’s gone.
“Where? How?” he breathes, running reverent fingers over the thin card.
“Your mom told me. I found this collector, and, well, let’s just say I made him an offer his wife couldn’t refuse. Your mom went and got it for me, seeing as Mr Suspicious wouldn’t let me out of his sight,” I mutter pointedly.
He blushes and pulls me close, burying his face in my chest.
“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Nope. Now come on, birthday boy, your guests await.”
It’s hard to say, and even harder to pull back when his tongue peeks out and licks at the valley between my breasts.
“Make them go away. I want to stay here, with you.”
I laugh all the way downstairs, and as he blows out his candles.
Chapter Thirty Five
They say bad luck comes in threes, so I figure I deserve a good threesome in the “good things come to those who wait” department. But thinking is not reality, and I realize that when my now slightly tipsy husband presses a plate of birthday cake into my hand and informs me that his parents will be spending the night.
Yay.
The party finally winds down by one in the morning, and I close the door with a groan and kick my shoes off in two different directions. God, what I wouldn’t give for a foot transplant right now.
“A true lady would disrobe in the privacy of her own bedroom, Hannah. But then, I don’t suppose you know any better,” I hear, and I come away from the door with a grunt of annoyance.
Just what I need, another lecture from the world’s biggest lemon.
“That’s enough, Mother.”
My lips curl upward at the sound of Greg’s voice, and I make my way to him with a moan.
“Come on, hot stuff, let’s go to bed.”
I’m not looking for an argument with his saintly mother, and I’ve had such a good night I just want to fall asleep still feeling happy.
“No, we’re not going anywhere till Mother apologizes to you.”
Okay, maybe I can consider this a good thing. And expect one more happy moment. Threes, right?
“Never mind, Greg. Let’s just—”
“No,” he says harshly, shutting me up. “She just insulted you for no good reason, and I can’t accept that.”
My arms are pulled down from around his neck, and he turns me, pulling my back to his front, and forces me to face Patricia. Her mouth is even tighter than usual, if that’s possible, and I can see her light brown eyes glazing with what can only be shocked anger.
I’m shocked too, and a mite hesitant, and while he’s slightly buzzed and loose of limb, I can feel the tension and his own anger radiating out of him.
“Mom.”
His voice is a low bark of command that makes me cringe.
“This really isn’t necessary,” I mumble, wanting it all to end so I can go back to my own happy buzz.
“It is,” he insists, and I see her nostrils flare minutely before she pins me with a scorn-filled gaze.
“I apologize, Hannah.”
I can hear and see how grudgingly she offers it and fight a giggle, not wanting to piss anyone off more than is necessary.
“Han is my wife, Mom, and she will be the mother of your grandchildren. If you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head, please don’t bother coming to our home.”
I literally hear car brakes screeching in my head for a second as a what-the-F moment hits me like a ton of bricks. I do not like Patricia Lucas, and odds are I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to avoid her and anything to do with her — Greg not included — but she’s his mom, and I understand the power of family.
When you’ve lost both parents and three of four grandparents, and your only sibling is an A-hole, you develop an appreciation for family. I can’t — no, I won’t allow him to alienate his family because of one silly comment I haven’t taken to heart.
“No,” I say, turning to face him and then Patricia. “That is not an acceptable option. Your family will always be welcome here, and that’s non-negotiable. Patricia, stop being so stuck up and nasty to me and we won’t have any problems. If you don’t like me, that’s fine, just keep it to yourself and we’ll get along great. Greg, you owe your mom an apology for being so disrespectful.”
“Darlin’—”
“No!” I yell, rounding on them both.
I can see where Greg gets his stubbornness from, and it pulls at my lips when I see her eyes narrow in just the way I see on a daily basis from my husband. They’re both so…impossible, and yet it tickles me pink to see Greg come up against a brick wall I know he can’t topple without me.
“You will apologize to each other right now, and then we’ll all get over it and start planning Thanksgiving and Christmas and all the holidays family is supposed to spend together.”
I can actually feel my skin shrinking as I say it, but I’m gratified when she breaks eye contact with Greg and looks over at me, her surprise clear.
“Don’t get so worked up, Hannah dear. They’re both of them stubborn as mules and impossible to manage. Ask me, I’ve lived with it for years.”
I titter quietly as Bryce Lucas wends his way downstairs and pulls his wife into a soft hug.
“Patty, darlin’, why don’t you say sorry to little Han and stop pretending you’re so full of piss and vinegar. The girl’s perfect for him, and you know it. Not to mention, she’s sturdy enough to actually give us some decent grandbabies.”
My eyes narrow at the “sturdy” remark, and I revise my opinion of the old cuss.
“Dad!”
“Bryce! Calling a woman ‘sturdy’ is the height of insult,” Patricia gasps, slapping softly at his arm.
“I didn’t mean—”
“God help me, I don’t know how I found you charming enough to marry. Honestly, Hannah, I thought I had him house trained better than this. Come along, dear, let’s go have a nightcap.”
“What?”
Am I in fact drunker than I’d assumed? Maybe I’d had more than the two glasses of wine, and I’m now hallucinating. I don’t know, I just feel like I’m suddenly in the twilight zone.
“Mom. Han’s tired.”
“Nonsense. We Lucas woman are never too tired. We’re made of sterner stuff. Now come along, dear. I want to know everything about dearest Nana’s condition, and I think I know someone who would be perfect for your friend Christina.”
She’s got my arm through hers and is towing me along so fast I’m speechless, and apparently so are the men. I look back at Greg pleadingly, and he just shrugs and smiles as he lets his mother pull me towards the messy living room and the drinks bar.
“I don’t understand.”
“Welcome to the Lucas clan. God help you.”
Chapter Thirty Six
Things go from bad to worse after that. I’ve managed to win over the dragon of the Lucas clan, my husband has morphed into the world’s most caring male, and Nana has the very beginning stages of Alzheimer’s.
So yeah, I’d had my three good things. Now it’s time to pay the piper and gird my loins for three humdingers of bad luck.
“I can’t go on a date with Fletcher Pennington!”
We’re sitting at a table close to the window of a new little café just down the street from the Lucas building, and Chris has hardly touched her lunch for the complaints and outright whining she’s decided to subject me to.
“Why not? I met him last weekend when we flew Nana down to Virginia. He’s good looking, he has enough money to buy a small country, and he’s the nicest guy I’ve ever met. What’s not to like?” I ask, chewing delicately at the crust of my sandwich.
My stomach’s been off since last weekend, and if I didn’t take the pill every morning at the exact right time — yeah, I’m still anal — I’d be afraid I’m baking a baby so
mewhere in there.
Chris huffs loudly and flops back in her chair, her shoulders slumping in defeat when an answer doesn’t immediately come to her. I grin and let her off the hook, choosing to be the better person here. She’s my best friend, one I’d lied to continuously about my relationship before coming clean, and I think she deserves a little help, even if she is a big fat liar.
“I know who you really are, so you can cut the crap and just explain to me why you’re being so super cagey.”
Her surprise makes the three hours I’d spent Googling shit well worth Greg’s annoyance the other night. When the man wants some sex time, he gets huffy when I’m engrossed in the art of spying on my best friend.
He’d soon gotten into the spirit of things when I’d confessed my purposes, and he’d even helped me find a lot of stuff through some private detective he knows.
Yeah, I’m not even going to think about why the guy has a private detective on his payroll. It gives me the creeps.
“You know?”
“Yup. I’ve always wondered how that shade of red could be natural. And why you hid in the kitchen on Greg’s birthday.”
“Han, I…”
I stop her with a hand over hers and shake my head. I can see how hard this is for her, and I don’t want to make it harder, but as her friend I think it’s my duty to convince her that hiding from life and pretending to be someone else is the worst possible mistake she can make. I love her enough to give her words right back to her, no matter how annoying those words are.
“You’re running from your problems, Natalia.”
My use of her real name makes her flinch, and I bite my lips against the instinctive need to soothe her. She doesn’t need softly spoken words and understanding now; she needs a swift kick up the ass and a push.
“Tell me why you left your old life behind and why the thought of dating a man who’s damned near perfect, in my opinion, makes you so afraid.”
“Han, I can’t do this here,” she whispers, and I see her eyes go glossy with tears.
“Stop running and spill it, Natalia Atkins. I want the story here and now, and I won’t stop till you give it to me. Anyway, I gave Fletch your number, and he’s a very determined man.”
LAWSON (A Standalone Billionaire Romance Novel) Page 54
