Plodding into the kitchen, she unlocked the door and lit the burner beneath the stainless steel teakettle. Leaning her hip against the counter, she folded her arms across her chest, bracing for another long discussion. Mat didn’t argue. He preferred to deliberate, and he was good at it.
He walked in wearing a rueful smile, dressed for work in black slacks, a button down shirt and a white to-go cup in each hand. Mat offered her a cup of tea and leaned against the counter beside her, scrutinizing her mood. “I’m sorry.”
She unconsciously scratched at her upper arm allowing time to pass.
He tilted his head, leaning lower to capture her attention. “I’m sorry, Shayla.”
She peered into his blue eyes for a moment. Doubt carved it’s way into her heart. “I just don’t think—”
“Spend the weekend with me.”
Her insides twisted with uncertainty. “I don’t know, Mat.”
“I was a jerk last night. Let me make it up to you.” A wisp of desperation clung to his promise. “Stay home and spend Thanksgiving with me and my family.”
Sensing the weighted worry in his voice, she let her gaze drift out the window to the ocean, hoping to calm the inner turmoil etching up her throat. “I’m supposed to be going to Colorado. You know that.”
He pulled her into his chest, clumsily patting her back.
She startled at the unusual show of affection.
“I won’t work. It will be the best Thanksgiving, unlike anything you’ve ever had.”
Her heart pounded as he danced gingerly around old wounds from her past. She’d quit looking back years ago on painful holiday memories with her mother and father. Peering out at the waves in the distance, she was uncertain if he’d use her poignant childhood memories to manipulate her decision or if his offer was sincere. She dabbed her fingertip to the corner of her eye.
“Please? Let me make it up to you.”
The idea of spending a traditional holiday as a family had only been a dream. Unfortunately, she grew up experiencing the nightmare of her parents. Fraught with broken emotion, she nodded with a sniffle. “Okay.”
Carrie Ann roared with laughter. “You’re spending the entire day there?”
“Yes, so I need help deciding what to wear.” Shayla cluelessly stared at thirty dresses hanging in her closet. This was the first time she’d attend a formal family gathering at Mat’s family estate. “And what should I take?”
“Whiskey! You’ll need a fifth of whisky to survive, Shay.”
“Huh?” Anxiety turned to alarm as she tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder, flipping through her wardrobe. “It can’t be that bad.”
“Shayla that woman is fierce! Mrs. Huntston is a card-carrying member of the bitch club! With a capital B! If you’re expecting this to be a sweet wholesome Betty-fucking-Crocker gathering, you’d better think again.”
“Mat said—”
“Mat said what? Shayla, whose opinion are you going to trust? Mine or his?” Carrie Ann didn’t bother waiting for a response. “Mat isn’t going to warn you. Hell, he probably thinks you will fit right in. He wears blinders when it comes to his family. That woman preys on his sense of loyalty, and no offense, but Mat doesn’t have the biggest spine. He’s been groomed for years to be the Huntston succession to the political throne. How do you think she got him to take the leadership role of her campaign?”
“But—”
“Trust me on this, Shayla. By the end of the day you’ll need a drink.”
Taking Carrie Ann’s advice, Shayla arrived bearing a high-end bottle of whisky. Mrs. Huntston received them in the grand foyer with a formal greeting. “Hello, Mathew. You know how much I dislike it when you’re late.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Mother. My apologies. Shayla needed a few extra minutes.”
Standing frozen beneath the lavish chandelier, Shayla gripped to the bottle of society whisky for moral support, obviously she wasn’t going to get it from Mat who’d just thrown her under the bus.
“I’m glad you could join my family for Thanksgiving, Shayla.” Pleasant distain seeped from her voice.
“Thank you for having me.”
Mrs. Huntston wore a smile, but Shayla feared piranha teeth hid behind her perfectly applied lipstick, masking the color of her true emotions. Shayla offered the fine amber liquid to Mat’s mother, however she declined.
“I don’t drink whiskey. You can leave it in the kitchen with—”
“Hello dear. I’ll take that. Come join me, will you?” An impeccably dressed elderly woman snatched the bottle from her hands.
“Shayla, this is my grandmother, Alice.”
“Finally, someone with good taste.” Alice inspected the bottle with appreciation. She crooked her finger, gesturing Shayla to follow. “Come with me dear. I’ll get some glasses.”
Shayla politely declined the first offer to join her in a tottie, but after an hour of introductions to Mat’s stately extended family, she gladly accepted hoping to calm her nerves. Every interaction with his mother felt daunting.
Over the last ten years, Shayla had spent a significant amount of time around people with means, but the Huntston family was an entirely new breed of wealth. Everything about The Estate reeked of grandeur. Opulent historical furnishings filled the home. Merely sitting on the extravagant antique sofa became a chore. The cream and gold toned paisley textile felt more like a tapestry than fabric.
She began analyzing her every movement. Do I sit back? Should I cross my legs traditionally or at the ankles? Should I set my crystal glass on the cherry wood coffee table? She opted to sit forward, cross at the ankles and cling to her glass.
If the simple act of sitting on the sofa wasn’t enough strain on her brain, she had to endure formal introductions and affluent conversations driven around politics.
Mat remained by her side, guiding her through greetings and discussions. However, he also repeated and reworded her sentences several times so she sounded scholarly and more acceptable to his vastly cultured family.
Mat pushed her too far when his brother asked, “Shayla would you care for an hors d’oeuvre?”
Shayla replied, “Sure, thanks.”
Mat corrected her, saying, “Yes, thank you.”
She openly cringed, ignoring the correction defiantly.
By the time chef announced dinner was served, Shayla’s nerves were so frazzled, panic swelled at the mere thought of silverware and china place settings.
Mrs. Huntston graced the head of the Victorian table lined with twenty-four chairs. Mat sat on one side her, his younger brother on the other. She stood. “We all have so much to be thankful for. Let’s each take the time to share what wonderful blessings have occurred in our lives this year.”
Good old-fashioned fun left the building, and present day anxiety landed in her lap. Shayla gripped Mat’s thigh beneath the table, digging her nails into him. “You should’ve warned me about this.”
“Mathew, let’s start with you.” Mrs. Huntston gave a slow measured nod toward her oldest son. Scrutinizing Shayla’s distress, she proposed in a cold and steady tone, “Or would you prefer for your brother to begin?”
“Thank you. Actually, I would prefer to go first.” Mat patted her hand, releasing her death grip from his thigh. He scooted his chair away from the table. Placing his palm to his chest, he bowed slightly toward his mother. “This year marks a new beginning for the Huntston family, that of which I am born into,”—he turned toward Shalya, scooping up her hand in his—“and that of which I hope to begin.”
Anxiety warbled her complete attention. She’d heard a varied version of this speech so many times. She smiled politely, somewhat tuning out his monotone language, until he bent and dropped to one knee.
“Shayla Clemmins—”
“What are you doing?” Her breathing instantly turned fast and shallow. Shayla’s eyes darted cagily around the table and back to Mat before dropping to an open box revealing an engagement ring.
&
nbsp; “Shayla,” he repeated, drawing her focus to his face.
Over his shoulder, she caught a glimpse of his mother’s furious face turning ashen white before her eyes. Overcome with the sudden urge to run, she squirmed in her seat.
Mat squeezed her fingers and smiled joyfully into her eyes. “Will you marry me?”
Time stood still.
Air trapped in her lungs.
Finally, she released a long deep exhale.
“Mat,” she whispered with one tiny shake of her head, barely enough for anyone else to notice.
Grandma Alice snarked with a hic-up, “Married? I always thought that boy was gay.”
“Mother!” Mrs. Huntston barked with a snap of her fingers.
“I thought—” Mat suddenly lost his power of speech.
“I’m just so…surprised.” Shame tangled with the words, strangling her throat. She didn’t want to hurt him, but their relationship had been riddled with uncertainty lately. She laid her hand on his forearm and he tensed beneath her touch. “I just need some time to think about it. That’s all.”
The room fell silent, hanging on the edge of awkward impatience.
She watched as his poignant, humiliated gaze swept around the table. Shayla fought the urge to bolt under the watchful stares of his family and shocking gasps adding to her increasing discomfort. If looks could kill, Shayla would be road kill. She shivered as fear coiled in the pit of her stomach.
“Of course.” Mat rose to his feet in a state of confusion. “Excuse me.”
Silently, Shayla followed, rushing down the hall to a library. Heartbreaking tears rolled down her face and dripped off her jaw, falling to the marble floor.
He closed the door partially behind them.
“I don’t know what to say,” she answered sincerely, burying her face in her hands. “I’m not saying no. It’s just…”
She turned toward him, wanting to hold and comfort him, but he sat rigid against the edge of a desk with his arms folded and fists stuffed under his arms.
“Well you are sure as hell not saying yes either.” A new angry edge clung to his tone. He took a ragged breath.
Blood pounded in her temples. She went to him, tucking her fingers in the folds of his arms. “You caught me off guard and…and we’ve been arguing a lot. I never get to see you.”
“I know I screwed up at the gala. I want to prove to you that you mean more than anything to me. I thought—”
A knock sounded at the door.
Mrs. Huntston marched across the threshold. Her blade thin lips stretched tight and anger darted from her stare. She stood chest to chest with Mat, throwing her finger in his face. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Mother, this is—”
“And you!” She turned, lurching toward Shayla, animosity humming between them. “Who do you think you are? How dare you embarrass me like that? As if posing nude wasn’t bad enough! Now you have the audacity to say I just need time to think about it!”
A flicker of shame crawled over her flesh. “I’m just being honest.”
“Now you decide to have morals?”
“I apologize if I embarrassed either one of you, but I need to be certain.” Gaining her wits, Shayla raised her chin indignantly. Her arms fell stiff at her side holding her hands in tight fists. “And I have morals. I posed nude to raise money and much needed awareness to heart disease.”
“You took your clothes off for the entire world to see. Did you bother to consider for one second the backlash your attention-whore antics cost me?” A vein near Mrs. Huntston’s left eye bulged as her face turned red.
Anger splintered and flashed like a warning beacon. “You have no right to judge me, Mrs. Huntston. None.”
Mat interceded. “Shayla, can you give my mother and I a few minutes?”
“Gladly.”
Raised voices spilled into the hallway as she searched for a bathroom to retreat. Her hands trembled as she turned on the faucet. She splashed cool water on her face, washing away streaks of dark mascara. Her head was a mess and she needed time, time to think. Her hands lay flat on the counter as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. What was he thinking? Snatching a tissue from the box, she blew her nose and tossed it into the toilet before closing the lid and sitting on it. You can’t fix everything with a gift, Mat. That is much more than a bracelet or pair of earrings.
Staring up at the ceiling, she dragged her fingertips unconsciously over her neck. She would never hurt him, but she couldn’t give Mat the answer he was looking for, not yet anyway. When Mat asked her out on their first date, she felt like the luckiest girl in the world thinking, How could a man like Mat Huntston be remotely interested in dating a girl like me? Their backgrounds couldn’t be any more contradictory, but at this point…
After a brief mental struggle of guilt verses rationality, she returned to the library.
Angry whispers escalated loud enough for her hear from behind the door. “It takes more than a beautiful girl in a bikini strapped to a surfboard to marry into this family, Mathew! You are a Huntston. Stop thinking with your penis. You’re acting just like your father.”
Mat said nothing, but Shayla envisioned the anger and hurt plastered to his face.
“We are making history. Is that what you want to contribute to your lineage? Your family heritage? The daughter of a drunk…an abuser? You’re willing to dirty up our good name, leaving smudge marks on your future children?”
“I’m pretty sure my father already dirtied up our good name.”
“She grew up in single wide trailer for Christ’s sake.” Mrs. Huntston paused. “We discussed this. I thought you were going to gain my campaign some Hollywood heavy hitters. Not get engaged to the niece of one it’s biggest playboys!”
“With any luck you’ll get both. I told you, I’ll have his niece and his vote.”
Every morsel of Shayla’s trust crumbled like a sandcastle with the incoming tide as she lurked outside the door.
“I love her, Mother.”
“You do what you have to do, but don’t you dare fuck up my campaign.”
The door opened and Mrs. Huntston glared at her with dark narrow eyes, not uttering a word.
A hot wave of resentment and rage replaced her shame and mortification. As if the proposal wasn’t a big enough shock for her to consider, now she had to decide if Mat had dated her for the perks of campaign contribution or because he loved her.
Shayla entered the room, leaning her shoulder against the door jam. Her heart and cheeks burned with her rising fury. “Now I’m a vote? Or more importantly, should I say, my uncle’s vote? How could you?”
Mat hung his head, scrubbing his hands over his face. “No, Shayla. You are not a vote and this has nothing to do with Tommy. That’s my mother talking, not me.”
“She said enough for both of you.” The dark walls of the library felt like a cage. “I gotta get out of here. Take me home.”
They didn’t offer goodbyes or Happy Thanksgivings, simply walked out the door. After a brief silence, Mat apologized repeatedly for the searing words of his mother, swearing that had never been his intent.
Mat gazed out the windshield. “I won’t lie, Shayla. I did calculate it’d be a win-win situation, you, the wedding and the campaign. It just seemed like the perfect solution.”
Numbness from reality swirled around her kept her speechless for most of the drive. The forty-minute car ride felt like four hours. Judging by the pain and anguish in his eyes, she believed him. His mind worked analytically and she didn’t doubt his intention aimed for a perfect solution. Unfortunately, there would be no easy systematic answer for what just happened. Being a mere piece of the puzzle would never be enough.
Pulling into the driveway, he reached for her hand with an imploring and hopeful half-smile. “I want to fix this. Can I come in?”
“You can’t fix every mistake with a gift, Mat. I need some space. I need to think.”
“I’ll give you the space you
need, but I want you to wear this.” He retrieved the brilliant engagement ring from his jacket pocket.
She shook her head, rejecting the offer, but he slipped it on her right hand instead of the left, making certain she had a symbolic, tangible token of his affection. “I do love you, Shayla. I thought—”
“It’s not that I don’t love you, Mat. I just need to take a break for a while and decide what the right choice is for me.”
“Take the time you need, Shayla.”
Mat was a good man and he’d make a good husband, but Shayla couldn’t help but think he might not be the one for her.
Chapter Four
Winter arrived the day after Thanksgiving, dampening her spirits further. Refusing to submit to the dreary cold weather, she managed to get a few good swells in along with a handful of the regular board junkies on the beach.
After an anxiety-filled phone call full of confessions, Carrie Ann rushed over.
“I don’t know if I want to marry Mat.” Shayla shed no tears, but a deep frown remained tattooed to her forehead. “And his family…I don’t fit in, especially now. His mother is so conniving. His proposal quickly turned into an all-about-her agenda. You should’ve seen the hatred in her eyes when I couldn’t answer. And she slammed me for posing nude. She was livid.”
“That woman is never going to accept you. If you say yes and marry him then she will deal with you, but she is never going to like you. It has nothing to do with you. That’s her flaw, Shay. Not yours. And believe me, that bitch would approve if you posed naked for the benefit of her campaign.”
“He’s perfect in so many ways. He’s smart, responsible, rational, generous—”
“Those are all great qualities, but how about what he doesn’t give you? Sometimes the traits a man is missing can be just as crucial as the qualities he holds.” They sat cross-legged at each end of the couch facing each other. Carrie Ann leaned forward, patting Shayla’s knee, their bond more like sisters than best friends. “The fact you don’t have an answer might be answer enough.”
What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 9) Page 35
