Purely Relative
Claire Gillian
Published by Claire Gillian
United States of America
Copyright © 2013 Claire Gillian
Cover: Claire Gillian
Cover Photography: © Lev Dolgatsjov - Fotolia.com
Editor: Gabriella West Editing
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of Claire Gillian, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, persons, living or dead, or any other element is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Bonus Read: First Kiss from Jon's POV
Dedication
To all my public accounting comrades-in-arms in Dallas and Albuquerque. Not a single P.U.R.E. nor murderer among you!
RIP Arthur Andersen & Co.
Hey buddy! How's DC? Has Gayle said 'yes' yet?
I paused to wink at Jon. "If he only knew, eh?"
~The P.U.R.E.
11 Months Earlier...
Chapter 1
Most people think meeting your boyfriend’s family is a hallmark of commitment. I’d have rather been committed than go to the Cripps’ for a home-cooked Thanksgiving meal. Oh, I loved a gluttonous turkey feast as much as anyone. The meal wasn’t the problem. Wondering how much Jon’s sister, Jenny, had shared about the night she met me kept me on a steady diet of fingernails and nerves.
Catching me and her little brother going at it in her guest bedroom probably wasn’t the best way for him to announce he’d traded in his longtime family friend/fiancée for some short blonde chick with a fat ass. I didn’t steal him from Thalia. He told me I didn’t. At least I hoped I hadn’t.
Jon assured me Jenny would never share something like that with their parents, but I wasn’t so sure. I could totally see her telling Jon’s mother, “And she had her legs wide open while Jon did his nasty business in my guest bed. My. Guest. Bed! Jon never would have done something like that if he’d still been with Thalia. He had manners until he met that Gayle slut!”
I shuddered and contemplated my lipstick shade. Harlot Red or Porn-Star Pink didn’t seem to be wise choices, nor did going natural.
“Gayle, are you about ready? We don’t wanna be late for the turkey carving.” Jon’s far-too-cheerful voice bled through my bathroom door.
Why was he so unaffected and happy? Didn’t he know they were probably going to hate me? In addition to not being Thalia, I was also responsible for getting him fired from the firm we both used to work for.
“Almost!” I opted for the peachy-pink shade called “’Virgin’s Blush” and had to laugh as I applied the color to my significantly less-than-virginal lips. “Coming! Coming!”
I slipped out of my bathroom and into the living room where Jon sat on my sofa tapping away on his smart phone. Thank goodness I was more interesting than whatever he had loaded. His eyes led a reconnaissance mission up and down my body, lingering at his usual spots of interest—my legs and my boobs. The man’s libido existed in a constant state of revving or fast idling. I had every confidence he’d nab the ass as we walked out the door.
“Okay, so your brother and your sister will be there, and your mom and dad, of course. Who else, did you say?”
He took his time shutting down his phone and stashing it in his back pocket, the hesitation I knew so well on display. He wasn’t sharing everything. “Um, there’s been a last minute addition to the guest list. I’m sorry. I didn’t know until right before I came over here to get you. I don’t want you to freak out any more than you already are.” He handed me my purse and headed to the door.
I froze in place. “Whoa! You can’t just drop that on me, then move on without sharing the rest of it. Who are the other guests?”
The turn he made to face me seemed deliberately slow, like he was plotting how best to word his disclosure. “Uh, my sister’s fiancé.”
I crossed my arms. “Mmm-hmm. And?”
“A couple of old family friends.”
My breath caught in my chest. “What family friends?”
“Sophia and Alex. Friends of my parents. They were supposed to go on a cruise but cancelled at the last minute.” He tugged at the cuffs to his shirt, but wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Sophia and Alex who? Milano?”
His head shot up and he met my gaze. “Uh—”
“Thalia’s parents?” My voice had risen an octave with each successive question. I didn’t have much range left.
“Yes.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Thalia won’t be there, just her parents.”
His Swiss-cheese manner of conversing with me earned him no diplomacy points.
“Her parents. They know you aren’t engaged to their daughter any more?”
“Of course.”
“You aren’t giving me the warm fuzzies here.” And he wasn’t. Being with Jon had always been a lesson in total body communication. His natural inclination was to be stingy with his vocal chords. Fortunately for me, the rest of his body was more talkative. Oh, and how bold parts of him could be at times. Which was what was responsible for my state of angst.
Drawing me into his arms, his chin on the crown on my head, he sighed. “Thalia told them we broke up, and the why of it had nothing to do with you. So don’t worry.”
“But what did Jenny tell them?”
He pulled back, one eyebrow lifted. “Gayle. Jenny would never share anything like that with the Milanos.”
“Not the Milanos! I meant your parents. You’re sure Jenny didn’t happen to mention how she first met me?”
A kiss on the forehead and a soft squeeze of my ass preceded his hasty “sure,” which sounded anything but.
***
I grilled him on the way to his parents’ house—names, dates, preferences, quirks, funny stories about him, anything and everything I could think of to prepare. But it was no use. I knew I was headed into the lion’s den.
“Here we are,” Jon announced as we turned into the gated driveway of a two-story mansion. Entry required an electronic passcard or someone on the other side of the intercom willing to admit the visitor.
“You said they weren’t filthy rich.” I crossed my arms and pouted.
“They aren’t. They bathe every day,” he said, snorting a laugh.
“Ha-ha. Your subterfuge is not appreciated.” Though my family could be called intellectuals, we were barely a notch above blue-collar, financially speaking. I knew which forks to use at the dinner table, but growing up we rarely dined out anywhere that used a full place setting. Albuquerque wasn’t known for its haute cuisine, though I’d choose a good blue-corn chicken enchilada smothered in green chiles over a filet mignon any day. And give me a margarita on the rocks instead of a rare red wine any time.
“Oh, Gayle. What’s
the big deal? They’re just people. People who will love you because I love you.” He shot me a smile that curled up on one side and melted me. How could I be mad at him?
“Fine. I’ll deal.” Deep breath in, slow release out. Repeat.
“You will, because that’s what you do. You’re amazing. They’ll be smothering you with adoration in no time.” He turned off the engine of the car he’d dubbed Christine and moved to open my door for me.
“What do you think, Christine?” I asked Jon’s possibly sentient Porsche that had an uncanny ability to sense my moods and react accordingly. My door locked right as Jon began to open it. Uh-oh.
I huffed as I pulled up the lock and got out of the car, difficult because of my tight dress and very high heels.
Jon held my hand to steady my tottering on my five-inch heels with a one-inch platform toe bed. They killed my feet, but were so worth the agony for what they offered in the height department.
We walked in without announcing our arrival, Jon needing no invitation to enter his boyhood home. The living room greeted us first, a soaring room of pristine white—white carpet, white sofa, white chairs, and a massive portrait of the family all dressed in, of course, white. Jon didn’t look much younger than he was currently.
A white piano commanded one corner of the room. On top sat an array of photos, like a Stonehenge of a family monument that did not include me. I spied several shots of Jon and Thalia. Such an encouraging start to my visit, what with the smiling mugs of my boyfriend and his ex-fiancée taunting me.
Jon must have followed my gaze because he moved swiftly to the piano and removed no less than six photos of the love that predated me. His arms full, he said, “Sorry about this. I’ll just,” he turned and scanned the room, “put them under the coffee table. Nobody notices them anymore.”
“It’s okay, Jon. Really not a big deal.” But it still sucks. I couldn’t be upset with Jon. He was trying, but he had no sway over what his parents chose to display in their own home. I had no right to expect them to sweep a lifelong family friendship under the rug—or coffee table—at a moment’s notice.
We moved toward the back of the house. As we left the living room en route to the dining room, voices wafted in from the adjoining kitchen.
“…let him get her out of his system and all will end well,” came a heavily accented woman’s voice.
I glanced at Jon, who flushed up his neck and onto his cheeks. He gave a loud cough then yelled, “Hello, we’re here!”
“Oh, finally!” The speaker, a tall elegant woman with dark hair that defied even a single gray hair to sneak by, met us in the narrow butler’s pantry. “Johnny! We were wondering what kept you.” Her eyes darted to me, then back to Jon, then back to me. She reached out and took my hands. “You must be Gayle, yes?”
My smile strained at the seams, not disingenuous but not as enthusiastic as I pretended. “I am. It’s very nice to meet you. You have a lovely home, Mrs. Cripps.”
The woman, slender as a reed and decked out in fine jewelry, burst out laughing. Her dark brown eyes cast a glance over her shoulder to speak to someone behind her. “Did you hear that? You’ve been replaced, Giuliana!”
Jon spoke up and said, “Gayle, this is Sophia Milano. Tia Sophia, this is Gayle Lindley.”
“Well, of course she is!” She reached out and pinched Jon’s cheek. “I didn’t think you’d have moved on to yet another new woman that fast, Johnny.”
The mortified expression on Jon’s face was oddly reassuring. Knowing she was Thalia’s mother allowed me to better place her face, an older version of her daughter’s, and thank the heavens she wasn’t Jon’s mother.
As I studied Mrs. Milano, Jon drew a much smaller woman under his arm and toward me. I had her in the height department by about … five inches. Without my shoes, we’d be nose to nose. I snuck a peek at her feet and the flat, sensible shoes she wore. The face was so much like that of the man I loved—the same milk chocolate eyes, espresso brown hair, and slight cleft in the chin that looked a lot better on Jon I’d have to admit, if compelled, though I hoped I never would be. Even their mouths were similarly shaped. Despite being a munchkin like me, this woman could be none other than Jon’s mother. My flush had to be more profound than Jon’s.
“So nice to finally meet the mystery woman Jon’s been so tight-lipped about for months,” Jon’s mother said.
What does that mean? “Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Cripps, and thank you for inviting me to your Thanksgiving dinner.” Should I hug her, kiss her on both cheeks, shake her hand, do nothing? Eek!
She reached for my hands with both of hers and pulled me closer. “Please call me Julie.” She continued to hold my hands, wondering what, I didn’t know.
“The boys always love the blondes, don’t they, Giuliana?” Sophia said. Her tinkling laughter provided flimsy cover for the fangs in her remark. “Or so we’ve heard.” The snicker that followed implied she’d heard a lot more, too.
Chapter 2
My smile fell and I blinked hard several times. Please God, do not let Jenny have been gossiping about me.
Jon's mother hadn’t said another word, but had continued to scrutinize me like a roast in a butcher shop. I was so doomed. Jon cleared his throat and took me by the arm.
Julie released my hands and smiled. “Why don’t we all go where there’s more room. Everything is nearly ready to go, we just need to let the turkey have another five minutes or so.” Though she had broken off her assessment, she shared none of her conclusions.
Jon led me back the way we came and into a soaring two-story family room. Waiting for us there was his sister, Jenny. She had her back turned and was talking to two large men. I assumed they were Jon’s father and her fiancé of five years from their likenesses to the photos I had seen in her home.
“You’re here!” Julie rushed past Jon and me to hug her much taller daughter and kiss her future son-in-law.
“Scott didn’t like the wine I chose so we had to make a quick stop to buy another. You haven’t started yet, have you?” Jenny handed a bottle to her mother. Her eyes immediately landed on me. “Oh! Jon and Gayle are here!” A few steps and she stood in front of me, all six feet of her in heels. I felt like a fern amongst sequoias. She extended her hand, saying, “I’m Jenny,” and then winked at me. “So nice to finally meet you, Gayle.”
A loud release of breath surprised me. I hadn’t realized I had trapped that much anticipatory angst inside. I shook the hand she extended. “Very nice to meet you, too, Jenny.”
Maybe the evening wouldn’t be too bad.
Jenny excused herself and followed her mother into the kitchen, leaving us with Jenny’s fiancé, Scott, and Jon’s father.
Jon shook hands with Scott. “Good to see you again. Last one work out for you?”
Scott wrinkled his brow. “Context brother. Need some.”
Jon rolled his eyes. “The alternator belt.”
“Oh! Yes, yes, perfect,” Scott said. He drifted my way and I caught a brief flicker of appreciation as his perusal covered me from head to toe with a second glance at my chest. Crap! He knew. Of course he knew.
Jon stepped closer to me and draped his arm over my shoulder, possessive and protective. “This is Scott, Jenny’s fiancé. Scott, Gayle.”
Scott took my hand and shook it. Staring me in the eye he said, “I’ve heard a lot about you.” No wink like Jenny but he knew, no doubt about it. “It was like pulling teeth at first. It always is with Jon.”
“He’s not so bad once you get the secret decoder ring.” I smiled and gazed up at Jon, who looked so handsome it almost hurt. Why was he with me anyway?
“Yeah, yeah. Scott is a private pilot for one of the bigwig companies in the Las Colinas area.” Jon’s hold did not loosen but remained fast on my shoulders. Odd.
“Hey, it pays the bills,” Scott said with a smirk.
“I’ll bet.” Ugh, brilliant conversation. I so did not want to talk about employment and earning a living, s
ince I wasn’t and had regular nightmares about living in my car and using the bathroom sinks in McDonalds to take birdbaths.
“Are you from Dallas, Gayle?” Again his eyes dipped to my breasts. They took their sweet time crawling back up to my face before dropping to my mouth. My skeeve radar pinged.
“No, New Mexico. Albuquerque, actually, but here by way of UT Austin.”
Scott held up his hand, his index finger and pinky pointed up, “Hook ’em horns!”
I did the same and the conversation continued to limp along until Jenny rejoined us. As soon as she did, Scott’s visual licking ceased, and Jon’s arm fell off my shoulders. Amazing how all the body language changed accents with her arrival.
“Babe, could you get me another beer, please?” Scott wiggled his empty bottle in front of Jenny.
She relieved his burden but did not trot off to fetch him a new drink. Instead she turned to me. “I’m glad you could make our Thanksgiving feast, Gayle. Has Jon warned you about how our dinner conversations usually go?’
I shot a narrow-eyed, W-T-F glance at Jon, who wore a mask of innocence.
“No, he hasn’t. Should I be worried?” I asked.
Jon’s arm retook its station on my shoulders. Uh-oh. “Don’t tell her stuff like that. She’s already nervous enough.”
Not helping.
Jenny flipped her hand at Jon. “It’s not that bad other than be prepared to blush. Once the wine starts flowing, the tongues loosen up, and Fifty Questions begins. Warm-up question for you to ponder: Have you started looking for a new job yet? Why not, if you haven’t. That’s an easy one. Here’s a harder one: tell us your opinion on birth control, but remember at least two at the table were raised devout Catholics.”
I groaned audibly.
“They won’t ask her those sorts of questions, not on her first visit,” Jon said.
Jenny and Scott turned to each other and laughed. Scott stopped first, however, and pointed at the empty bottle in Jenny’s hands. “Babe? Did you forget something?”
Purely Relative (The P.U.R.E.) Page 1
