by Rin Daniels
Nadine had suffered with every overhaul, but the day she turned eighteen, she’d successfully lobbied to leave her own suite out of the redecoration dance. “Let her have her space,” her dad had said. “She won’t live at home forever, you know.”
Whether that was a vote of confidence or a reminder that Nadine was eventually expected to move out, she’d never known. Every time she’d broached the subject of finding her own place, her parents waved it away.
Her heels echoed on the hardwood floor as she made her way through tasteful ocean fantasies to the spacious kitchen. Fortunately, while the decorations had been changed to seagulls, sailboats and—weirdly—stray anchors, the rest was its familiar pale granite and white cabinets.
When they weren’t entertaining, the Sherwoods preferred the kitchen. Nadine had fond memories of the homey breakfast bar and the high stools that occasionally changed in design, but never vanished entirely. As she stepped into the airy kitchen, a surge of nostalgia briefly settled her nerves.
Mary Sherwood stood in the kitchen proper, a frilly pink apron pulled across her flowy Gucci blouse and slim black slacks. Her carefully maintained brown hair had been pulled up into her signature chignon, leaving a fringe of elegant bangs across her forehead. A string of real pearls decorated the apron, switched out for the fake ones that had come with it, and a retro ruffle at the hem gave it a 1950s housewife vibe. The apron had been a Christmas gift years ago, paired with a cocktail shaker. The fact her mom still wore it when she puttered in the kitchen was both embarrassing and heartwarming.
The smell of her mom’s homemade lasagna filled the air.
Nadine took an appreciative breath as she strolled to the countertop. “Smells delicious,” she announced.
Across the counter, settled on one of the bar stools with his tablet in hand, Germaine Sherwood looked up from his usual obsession with stocks and news. His eyes, the same shade as Nadine’s, crinkled as she bent to give his suntanned cheek a kiss. “Hi, Daddy,” she said.
“Hi, pumpkin.” He moved aside his cup of coffee, clearing the space beside him for her. “Have a seat. Your mom’s attempting to burn down the kitchen.”
“Germaine,” Mary protested, giggling like a woman half her own age.
“Don’t worry,” he replied, winking at her. “I’ll save you before I save the lasagna, no matter how good it is.”
Nadine was used to it.
At twelve years his wife’s senior, her dad wore his age more openly—and with enough distinction that more than one of Nadine’s friends had pointed out how handsome he was. She knew. Even the grey at his temples, blended evenly through his blond hair, just conspired to make him look handsome and distinguished. His groomed mustache had been a part of him since as long as she could remember.
They made a striking couple, and everybody who spent at least three seconds with them knew it. Her parents still, and publicly, liked each other—a fact she found routinely embarrassing.
And enviable.
She pulled herself up on the stool, hooking a heel into the rung. “Okay, settle down, lovebirds,” she teased. “There’s kids watching.”
Her mother colored pink, turning away to crack the high-tech oven. The smell of the lasagna made Nadine’s mouth water—and her stomach to cramp in a mix of hunger and anxiety. She wasn’t sure how she’d manage to transport Larry’s Chicken in her car without cracking the window, which would mess up her hair.
Seductress problems.
Her father chuckled, a rich baritone wash of humor, and reached across their stools to ruffle her hair. Nadine ducked, swatting the offending hand away. “No touch the hair,” she warned.
His arm settled across her shoulders instead. “Yeah, yeah.” He sighed like she’d denied him some great pleasure. She wrinkled her nose at him over the rim of the coffee cup she stole from his placemat. Unabashed, he tweaked a lock of her hair anyway. “Did you do anything special today?”
Nadine choked on a mouthful of unsweetened coffee.
Her dad let her go in surprise, thumped on her back gently as she bent over her hands. She coughed and hacked the warm liquid out of her sinuses as her brain spun its wheels. Ohmigod. It was all she could think. Ohmigod, ohmigod.
What did he know? What had he seen? Had he already checked out the credit registry?
Would it show up so fast?
From behind the curtain of her hair, she heard her mom say, “Good grief, what happened?”
“Sorry,” she rasped, cheeks burning even as the pit in her stomach turned cold. Her father’s less than helpful thumping eased as Nadine waved him away. “Inhaled my coffee.”
“Inhaled my coffee,” Germaine corrected, amusement replacing worry as he tugged his cup out of her unresisting fingers. “That’s what you get.”
“Yeah.” She cleared her throat, smiled her wan gratitude as her mother placed a glass of water in front of her.
Mary shot her husband a stern glare. “Neither of you should be drinking coffee this late in the day.”
Nadine and her dad shared a guilty look.
Her mom huffed out a sound Nadine had heard all her life. Resignation merged with affection; it meant she knew she’d never win. “But hey, I’m not a doctor,” she added in an age-old debate she didn’t bother having with her husband—and her daughter, once Nadine had been old enough to decide she liked the stuff—anymore. “Nadine, honey, would you set the table?”
Relief that they wouldn’t press her about her afternoon fizzled into guilt about the her evening. “I…” She nudged her glass with a finger. “I may or may not have plans.”
Her dad shot her the kind of inquisitive look he reserved for the subject of dating. “What plans?”
“Better plans than my homemade lasagna?” her mom added, raising elegantly sculpted eyebrows. She leaned against the counter, arms folding across the apron. The pearls bunched as the fabric creased.
Nadine winced. It wouldn’t be hard to lie and say she was headed out with friends. Her parents were used to Nadine’s taste in clothing—she was the type to wear a pencil skirt to a football game, if it suited her. Five inch heels were nothing new.
God knew she’d never mentioned Lucas since the time they grounded her for seeing him. She’d been fifteen, and Rachel Williams had been busted for throwing a party when her folks were out of town. Her parents had informed Nadine’s parents, and Lucas Bourdin’s name had come up, and everybody lost their freaking minds.
She got it. Lucas wasn’t the usual Sulla Valley elite. He didn’t belong on that side of the social line. The only reason he’d gone to her school freshman year was a matter of contested district lines.
But that didn’t mean she liked it.
So she lied. “Remember my friend Kat Harris?”
“The hair stylist,” her mom volunteered. “The one you want me to see.”
“Yeah.” She silently apologized to her friend for using her, and vowed to send her a warning text before she picked up the chicken. “We’re having a GNO.” When both her parents only looked at her blankly, she clarified, “A Girls’ Night Out.”
“Oh, that sounds nice,” Germaine began, and then caught his wife’s raised eyebrow. “But,” he continued, clearing his throat and leaning back on his stool, “your mom’s homemade lasagna only comes around once in a while.”
Great. She knew where this was headed. “But I—”
“Just call your friend and let her know it’s family night,” her mom said, smiling.
Nadine wasn’t fooled. Mary Sherwood might look like a harmless housewife, but that smile hid a will of steel. What Mary wanted, Mary got.
The dark side to true love, Nadine figured. Her parents usually let her do what she wanted, but sometimes, what she wanted was to do her own thing. Which only mattered when her own thing countered her mother’s thing.
Saying so now would only end in a fight, and she didn’t want that.
As the remains of her plans circled around and around, down the drain of fa
milial interference, Nadine slumped. “This is so not fair,” she muttered.
Her dad patted her shoulder. “Life isn’t, pumpkin. And neither are parents.”
“Great role models,” Nadine retorted. She slid off the school. “Let me go let Kat know I won’t make it.”
Her mother’s smile turned outright angelic. “Come back and set the table when you’re done,” she called in Nadine’s wake.
Yeah, she’d do that. After she was done with an epic sulk.
By the time she made it into her bedroom, she couldn’t decide which emotion to tap into—relief that her plan had to be put on hold, or annoyance that she’d been so close. So close!
The automatic lights in the entry flicked on as she strode inside, and she picked up a pillow from a pretty chair to push it against the intercom. Holding it in place, she plucked her phone out of her purse and dialed Lucas's number.
This time, he picked up after four rings. “You’re late.” Two syllables, rough with masculine intensity, and he may as well slipped two fingers against red lace.
She closed her eyes. “I know,” she groaned. “I’m sorry. My folks want family night.”
He was silent for a second. The classic rock he liked to listen to scudded across the line. When he took a breath, the sound of it scored all the way to her toes—God, she had it bad. “It’s fine,” he told her. “Have dinner with your parents.”
Nothing about his voice changed, nothing she could put a finger on, but Nadine frowned at the dusky pink pillow she held against the intercom anyway. “You’re upset.” What did it say about her that her heart fluttered at the realization?
“I’m not,” he replied. “Just busy.”
Ugh. That again. “Rain check?” she asked, and held her breath when he didn’t reply right away.
Something clinked in the background. He probably set a wrench down or something. “It’s your car, Nadine. If you think there’s a problem, bring it in.” He hesitated. Then, “Look, I’ve got things to do. See you later.”
The line went dead before she could say anything. Nadine lowered her phone, stared at the contact data filling the screen. She bit her lip.
Was he really upset?
Fragile hope, achingly sweet, sprouted in her chest.
Was it possible he’d been looking forward to her visit?
The intercom chimed. She jumped, dropped her phone, and just in time, tugged the pillow away. “Honey, don’t change,” her mom chirped on the intercom. “You look adorable.”
Nadine flattened a hand over the butterflies that surged to life in her stomach. “Okay,” she replied, grimacing down at herself. “I’m on my way down.”
“Great. Germaine, can you get the wine?” her mom asked, voice fading as she walked away from the sensitive intercom. “We need another glass…” Nadine waited in silence, counting to ten before the light on her system flicked off.
This was not her night.
At least she had her mom’s lasagna to look forward to.
As she made her way back to the kitchen, her heels clicking with every step, her dad’s voice murmured from the dining room. Surprised, Nadine changed trajectory. Her mom must have decided on fancy family night instead of cozy family night.
“Kat sends her regards,” she began, swallowing down any shred of guilt at the cover. Any good salesman knew to drive a lie home with innocuous support, and Kat would forgive her.
After all, Kat Harris came from a family of con artists.
Three sets of eyes looked up at her arrival. One more than when she’d left.
As the man she didn’t recognize smiled, Nadine wondered if even Kat might learn a thing or two from her parents.
While her dad had the grace to look mildly embarrassed, her mom brightened. “There you are. Jeffrey,” she said to the third man in the tones of formal introduction, “this is our daughter, Nadine. This is Jeffrey Getty. He a client of your father’s,” she added like it explained everything.
It didn’t. Not at first. Jeffery Getty was a nice-enough looking man with light brown hair and inquisitive green eyes. He was taller than her, but not by much, with a decent build under a navy blue Hugo Boss suit. His thin lips lifted as he circled the table to offer his right hand. It was small, she thought. Or maybe she was just used to larger, rougher hands.
The kind with engine grease caught under the nails.
A glass of wine occupied his left hand—red wine, Nadine noted as she accepted his soft and brief handshake. The bottle on the wine bar beside her dad said they’d broken into their good stock. They didn’t have enough time to go all the way down into the cellar for it, so it must have already been up here.
Because they knew about the guest. Who didn’t ring the doorbell.
Because it was pre-arranged.
Nadine’s accusing gaze slid to her mom.
She found no help there. Mary waved her towards the table, her smile wide and utterly sublime.
“Very nice to meet you,” Jeffery said. He stepped back, letting her go with a practiced caress down her palm that lifted the hairs on the back of her neck. Ew. Did that work for him? Like, ever?
He pulled out her chair with a gentlemanly courtesy that had her dad tipping his head in approval.
Nadine’s eyes widened.
“Well, then,” her mom said cheerfully. “Who’s hungry?”
As Nadine sat, Jeffery’s eyes traveled to the polkadots stretched across her full chest. “Starved,” he replied, somehow managing enthusiasm and salacious all at once.
Oh, God. This was not happening.
Nadine wanted to crawl under the table, but her mother would never let her get away with it. Instead, she reached for the glass of wine beside her plate and drank half of it in one fortifying swallow.
To think she’d blown her red-as-sin lace lingerie on this.
* * *
“No way,” Kat Harris said into the line, her voice all but vibrating to keep from laughing. “Tell me it wasn’t a blind date.”
“Worse,” Nadine groaned. “It was a marriage date.”
“What?” The word shrieked.
She dragged a king-size pillow over her head, angling her face to trap the phone between her mattress and her cheek, muffling everything she said. After the painfully formal and awkwardly nice dinner had ended, and she’d politely escorted their guest to the front door at her mother’s request, Nadine had claimed too much wine and fled to her suite.
The first thing she’d done was drop that pillow over the intercom. The second thing she’d done was strip out of the red lace, cringing as the memory of Jeffery “I’m so rich, I have staff to help my staff” Getty’s wandering eyes filled her memory.
So not fair. She’d wanted to associate the expensive lace with Lucas, not with the worst night of her adult life.
“He’s a client of my dad’s,” she admitted into the trapped phone. “Super huge investment portfolio. He’s twelve years older than me, and my mom calls him a ‘great opportunity’. He’s, like, old school oil money from way back.”
“So…” He friend hesitated. “Does this mean you’re engaged or something?”
“Ohmigod, shut your face,” Nadine hissed, clapping the pillow harder over her head. It sealed out all the light from her bedside lamp, but did nothing for the memories jammed into her head. “They do this every so often. I’ll come home and find some friend or employee or something hanging out with my folks. It’s embarrassing.”
“Aw, honey,” Kat crooned, genuine sympathy. “It’s like your parents think you’re a medieval princess.”
“They mean well.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “He’s well-off and classy, mostly. Well-bred,” she intoned, drawing it out with thorough distinction. Then dropped the nasal tone to sigh. “Like a horse. Probably not even hung like one,” she added bitterly.
Kat snickered. “Probably not.”
“He had these tiny hands, Kat. Like, itty bitty little fish paws.”
Her friend dissolved int
o horrified laughter.
Nadine wanted to cry. As much out of frustration as awkwardness. “It’s not that I’m opposed to marriage,” she said when her friend paused for breath, “but I kind of figured I’d have some time before someone collected me for their trophy shelf.”
Kat snorted, a hmph of dismissal. “Girl. Who says you have to be a trophy wife?”
“Everyone.”
“I don’t.”
“Rich people,” Nadine added.
“I’m dating a rich person,” Kat countered, “and he doesn’t think you should be a trophy wife, either.” On cue, a low, masculine murmur drew her friend’s attention. Nadine heard her cover the mouthpiece, which muffled her reply. “Correction,” Kat added after a moment, removing her hand. “My rich person says that you should be the trophy wife to some extremely wealthy sex god who only wants to make you happy.”
To her horror, tears sprang to Nadine’s eyes. “Awww. You have the sweetest rich person ever.”
“Want him?”
“How much?”
Kat hummed. “Twenty dollars and a quarter of your closet. Act now and I’ll throw in—Hey!” The line fuzzed as Nadine imagined Kat and her boyfriend scrabbling for the phone.
Her friend’s voice muffled as a warm tenor filled the line. “Hey, Nadine. If you need a date, I know the perfect guy. He’s older, but he’s comfortably well off and nice.”
She couldn’t help herself. She laughed, shoving the pillow off her head and sitting up. “Oh, yeah?” she asked, drawing her knees up to her chest. “Is he hung like a horse?”
Adam paused. “You know, on second thought, you might be too much for him. Seriously, forget that Getty guy,” he added. “He’s a jerk, and I know jerks—Hey. I’m being helpful.”
“Stop.” The phone clattered as Kat wrested control away from him again. “Sorry,” she said breathlessly, “ignore the billionaire behind the curtain. He’s trying to set you up with his assistant.”
