by Nadia Lee
“Ceinlys said we should let Dad pay. She thought it’d be a good idea,” Jane said.
Dane didn’t say anything out loud to Iain, but his look clearly communicated, Idiot.
“Anyway, I put some feelers out, but I want you to know you shouldn’t stress about stuff like this,” Ginger said. “If we can’t find anyone, I’ll be happy to do it for you.”
“Really?” Jane blinked. “But… You’re going to be a guest. I don’t want—.”
Ginger waved her hand. “Oh, come on. If my caterer ditched me at the last minute, I know you wouldn’t sit around and do nothing.”
“Well, of course not, but…”
“She’d be the first one in the kitchen, whipping something up,” Iain said proudly.
“Exactly. So let me do this for you. That’s what family’s for.”
“Exactly,” Hilary echoed. “Don’t stress about this, Jane. Just enjoy your day.”
Sophia raised her glass. “To family.”
* * *
While the women gathered around Ryan, with their coffee and tea and pie, the men sat in front of the TV to watch a football game. Dane found the contest entirely dull. He’d rather have sat next to Sophia. Still, it would be good for her to bond with the other women. They were going to be her relatives—hopefully soon.
“So. What’s the hold up with your engagement?” Shane asked.
Dane made a face, then smoothed it before anyone could notice. His youngest brother never had had any sense. “We’re taking some time to make sure.”
“Don’t take too long,” Mark said. “A woman like Sophia waits for no one.”
Like it’s my choice, Dane snarled inwardly. If it had been up to him, they would’ve eloped a long time ago.
“Even Ryder got engaged within a month of realizing his assistant was it,” Iain said, referring to their horrid playboy actor cousin.
Dane almost snorted. If it hadn’t been for my advice, that idiot would still be floundering, walking around L.A. like a lost puppy.
“At least the ring’s there,” Justin said. “Warns other men off.”
Shane scratched the tip of his nose. “Some men like the challenge of taking a woman who’s not theirs.”
“They can try,” Dane said comfortably. He trusted Sophia one hundred percent—a strangely cheering sensation, since he’d never thought he could do so with anyone, not even his parents.
“Man… If some other guy tried anything with Ginger, I don’t think I’d be able to control myself. She’s mine, all mine.”
“Unfortunately, since we aren’t animals, I can’t just piss on Sophia to mark my territory, can I?”
His brothers and Justin coughed.
Dane suppressed a sigh. Being forced to spend a perfectly fine afternoon with his siblings reminded him why he generally avoided spending time with them. They were mostly inappropriate and too self-absorbed to pay attention to anything because if they’d paid attention, they would know he wanted to make Sophia his in every way. Even Justin Sterling, who had been sensible at one point, was absorbing their bad habits.
The joyous sound of Sophia’s laughter penetrated his dark mood, and he smiled despite himself. That was the only reason he tolerated the congress of his siblings.
He looked at her over his shoulder, longing tightening his gut. He knew why Sophia hesitated to take the final step, and it drove him crazy. Fucking George, he thought viciously. If the justice system didn’t throw him in jail for attacking Sophia, Dane might just run over the son of a bitch for dropping that bombshell about her father’s Huntington’s. He’d even exceed the speed limit, just to ensure the asshole never got back up.
Chapter Fourteen
Over the next three weeks, Salazar sent a car each day to bring Ceinlys by for lunch every day. It would pull up to the mansion exactly at noon, and Salazar would watch from his window as the liveried chauffer got out and held the rear door open for his ex-wife to emerge.
Their time together was illuminating. She knew more about the grove and how it should be restored than he himself did. It was as though she were the heiress born to the family while he was just some guy tagging along. She also told him—at his request—how things were going with Iain and Jane’s wedding. It was crazy how she seemed to care so much about Wes’s feelings and pride. Salazar felt a sharp stab of envy and resentment that she gave a damn about a guy she’d never met while she hadn’t cared at all about him. And he hated the realization that he could be this petty.
Still, he kept on with the lunches because it was enjoyable to listen to her talk about what she was doing with the restoration. They avoided discussing her impending move. She didn’t seem to want to, and he didn’t know what he could say about it without sounding pathetic and needy.
Today she strolled in like a queen, head held high, legs carrying her in a confident strut that would put a runway model to shame. She still kept her hair long, but it was twisted into a fancy updo she favored, and flawless makeup covered her face. The severity of the look was lessened by a brilliant magenta dress that heightened the color in her cheeks and contrasted sharply with her gorgeous blue-green eyes—eyes that had always reminded him of the Aegean Sea on a sunny day. Salazar couldn’t remember the last time she’d had on something so colorful…
No, not true, he thought. She’d worn bright colors until their engagement. Then things had changed.
Ceinlys dropped her Lady Dior purse and sat across from him at the round table in the breakfast room, her legs crossed. If she noticed the lunch, she didn’t show it. He’d had the chef prepare double cheeseburgers with extra bacon and cheese, plus fat French fries. She’d liked them once upon a time, although she’d stopped eating them after their marriage. Probably to maintain her figure. But she was divorced now and should regain the weight she’d lost.
“Progress so far is good,” she said without the usual preamble that polite society required. She no longer seemed to care about all those rules. Surprising, since she’d always been such a stickler for etiquette. “You should see the place soon, to make sure it’s as you want it.”
“I trust you. Besides, I’ve looked over the photos.”
She raised an eyebrow, but he ignored the skepticism in her gaze. He did trust her with the grove. She would do a better job than Dane, actually.
“Having trouble getting Osiria roses?” he asked. There hadn’t been any replantings in the pictures.
She didn’t answer, but the tightening of her mouth was enough.
“Here.” He got up and poured scotch for both of them.
She eyed the amber liquid like it was poison. “I don’t drink this early, and certainly not hard liquor.”
“What, is that some kind of rule? Live a little. What’s the worst that can happen? You getting drunk and trying to take advantage of my pert and nubile body?”
She gave him a withering look. “As if. More like you trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me.”
“I don’t believe alcohol was ever necessary for that.”
Her cheeks flushed. The sight fascinated him. They were too old to blush, weren’t they?
“Well,” he continued, “if you don’t think you can handle it, you don’t have to have any…” He shrugged, then emptied his glass in one violent motion, not giving a damn that he was swilling a four-thousand-dollar scotch like it was some cheap beer. He poured another.
Holding his gaze in insolent challenge, she picked up her glass and drank it all. Her nose wrinkled as the heat of the liquor hit her, and her eyes watered, but she didn’t blink. She swallowed, then three heartbeats later, lowered the glass back to the table. “Not bad,” she rasped.
He grinned, his mood inexplicably light. “Now you see why men drink so much of this stuff?”
She nodded.
“I can send you a bottle.”
“That would be…nice,” she said primly.
He poured herself another. “Here.” He leaned back in his seat. “You’ve never had it be
fore, have you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Ladies do not drink scotch.”
It was his turn to snort. “Even Elizabeth drinks this.”
“She drinks vodka.”
“What’s the difference? They’re both hard liquors.”
“The difference is that Shirley approved of vodka.”
“Ah, yes. My dearly departed mother. She groomed Elizabeth herself.” Salazar didn’t know the details, but somehow Shirley had started to meddle in Elizabeth’s life, and the girl had meekly let Shirley mold her into whatever the matriarch of the family felt was appropriate. The only reason she hadn’t been turned into another Dane was that Shirley had gotten hold of her a little too late.
Seventeen wasn’t as malleable as five.
“But why would that matter?” he asked. “It’s not like my mother’s approval ever meant anything to you.”
“She cared about the family,” Ceinlys said. Then she took a small, dainty bite of burger and closed her eyes in bliss.
“It’s the first time the chef prepared these,” he said, baldly lying. “Tell me what you think.”
* * *
What did she think…
Ceinlys thought it tasted divine. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a burger with real bacon and cheese and… Good god.
“It’s very greasy,” she said finally. It was messily juicy, just the way a hamburger should be. She’d always loved them, but…
Shirley and Geraldine were sipping tea from dainty china as Ceinlys walked into the dining room. Her gaze darted around, looking for her fiancé. Salazar was nowhere to be seen, but then he was a busy man. Just because they were engaged didn’t mean he could abandon his duties and spend all his time with her. Besides, it was a good thing that his mother and sister wanted to know more about her, right?
But the tension gathering in her nape and shoulders didn’t ease.
“Lunch, dear?” Shirley said. “The chef can prepare anything you want.”
“Um. Sure. A burger, if that’s possible. If not…anything you’re having is fine.”
Shirley’s face betrayed nothing, although Geraldine looked at Ceinlys with a small condescending smile.
They chatted. To be more precise: Shirley questioned, Ceinlys answered. She sensed that what she was saying wasn’t to Shirley’s liking. Actually she wasn’t sure she’d ever said anything to the older woman’s liking. Shirley’s mouth didn’t smile, not even once, and her eyes remained oh so cool.
Despite the comfortable temperature in the room, sweat misted on Ceinlys’s back and hands.
She almost slumped with relief when the maid started serving lunch. Shirley’s meal consisted of lobster bisque and a garden salad, while Geraldine got sandwiches, no crust. Ceinlys eyed her burger and fries, suddenly feeling a bit awkward.
“Bon appétit,” Shirley said then started eating.
Geraldine picked up the sandwich with her delicate fingers and nibbled at it. Since Ceinlys was starving for food—as well as something else that didn’t involve talking to Shirley or Geraldine—she took a big bite and almost moaned. It was the best-tasting burger she’d ever had.
“Ceinlys!”
Ceinlys started, almost dropping her burger. Her shoulders tightened, traveling up toward her ears. The bite she’d taken seemed to be stuck somewhere between her throat and stomach, and she suddenly couldn’t draw in enough air.
“Hasn’t anyone taught you anything?” Shirley said, her face set into an implacable mask. “It is both vulgar and unladylike to stuff so much food into one’s mouth. If you must indulge, do it in private where nobody can see you. But there are expectations that will need to be met as Salazar’s wife.”
Ceinlys stared at the incredibly intimidating older woman, listening to the precise diction that cut like a razor.
“Becoming a Pryce means more than spending our money. Ceinlys Pryce isn’t just a name, my dear. You will become a key member of the family. And you will not embarrass my son, do you understand?”
Ceinlys nodded, barely.
“Good. Now, shall we continue with our meal?”
Ceinlys hadn’t been able to eat a single bite afterward.
“Greasy, huh?” Salazar’s droll tone dragged her back to the present. His mouth quirked, then he took a big bite.
She swallowed, then washed it down with the scotch. “And very good. But I know this isn’t the first time he’s made a hamburger.”
“You’re right.” He grinned, totally unrepentant. “I lied. I just wanted to see you enjoy one again.”
Her brows pulled together. “Why would you…?”
“You quit eating them after we got married, and nothing says Cuisine Americana like a bacon cheeseburger and fries. Even if Shirley objected.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ve been eating ’em all along.”
It was amusing to imagine Shirley’s horror at her son’s culinary slumming. She’d had definite ideas about what the head of the family deserved and how his wife ought to behave. Since Ceinlys hadn’t been bred correctly, she was supposed to learn to act properly.
When Salazar poured another scotch, she realized she’d already finished her second drink. Languid warmth flooded her. She hadn’t been this relaxed in…ages.
Her gaze fell on her ex-husband. He seemed…chill, as their children might say. Then she narrowed her eyes. “Are you gaining weight?” she said, then put a hand over her mouth in horror. She’d never blurted out whatever came first in her head. Not since she’d married Salazar. Shirley had managed to kill that habit by then.
“Are you calling me fat?” He grinned. “Doesn’t matter. I look good at any weight.”
That was true enough. Ceinlys had never seen him look bad, ever. She’d originally assumed it was a family trait, but then she’d witnessed some of the other Pryce men at low points and been forced to revise her opinion. Mark, for example, when he’d thought he’d lost Hilary, had been an absolute wreck. Salazar had never had a reason to fall like that.
The notion sent a tiny pang through her.
Then her eyes fell on the fresh roses in the vase behind him, and they reminded her… “You mentioned the Osirias. Yes, as it happens, I’m having trouble replacing them.”
“Thought so.”
“Is it possible for you to get some? I would like them back in the grove.”
“I can try, but they’re pretty rare. Nearly impossible to import.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Surely you jest. I know you can get anything you set your mind to.”
A shadow crossed his eyes. “Not quite everything.” He tapped the table for a moment. “But I do know a nursery that might have them. We could make a trip there after Thanksgiving.”
“I’m sure you can handle it by yourself.” She didn’t want to go unless there was no choice. Just having lunch with Salazar put her on edge and produced an odd sense of regret…like how maybe they could’ve been happy if things had been different.
If she just hadn’t told Olivia she’d married for money…
If she’d fought harder somehow… If she’d been more honest.
“What is going on here?” came a familiar, contemptuous voice. “Good god. Drinking at this hour?” Her gaze swept over the table, then settled accusingly on Ceinlys. “Scotch?”
“Hello, Geraldine.” Salazar’s mouth smiled. “Why are you here already? I thought you were staying in Italy with your friend.”
From the way he purred “friend,” Ceinlys knew exactly what kind of friend this was.
“I didn’t want to spend Thanksgiving in Rome. Far too cold.” Geraldine was in a tasteful navy wrap dress, her hair swept into a swirl on top of her head. “For pity’s sake, Salazar, what are you doing with this…woman?”
Ceinlys’s jaw clenched as the muscles around her shoulders and back knotted. It was always the same with Geraldine—derision layered thickly over a condescension that said you were never good enough to be in the
same room as her.
His expression turned frosty. “Watch it. She is the mother of my children.”
“And one that wasn’t yours. I really can’t underst—”
“Enough.” The word cut her off like an ax falling on balsa wood. “If you don’t start behaving, I’ll have Al remove you.”
A flush slowly crept up her neck. “Are you seriously implying that you would choose her over me?”
“I’m not implying, I’m telling you flat out.”
“She’s a nobody. Not even your wife anymore,” Geraldine spat. “Her driver’s license now says Ceinlys Glazier, not Ceinlys Pryce. Unlike her, I’m forever a Pryce. Remember that.”
Then it suddenly hit Ceinlys. I’m not a Pryce anymore. She was free of the heavy expectations that came with the name. Shirley’s endless rules and disapproval no longer had any meaning because she wasn’t Salazar’s wife anymore. She could do anything she wanted, without worrying about her actions reflecting poorly on someone.
The idea was heady and freeing, like a yoke she’d worn for more than half her life had been lifted.
“How could Salazar not remember?” Ceinlys murmured, finally saying the thing she’d wanted to voice for decades. “You never let him forget that you’re a real Pryce and that he should always put you and the other blood relatives over me.”
Geraldine slowly turned. “Excuse me?”
“No wonder Julian didn’t stay with you…despite three children. It must’ve been hell for him to live up to your lofty expectations of what the husband of a Pryce woman should be.”
And Ceinlys knew it was the truth without having to see it. She doubted somebody like Shirley would’ve let Julian forget how poorly Geraldine had married—how beneath her he was. The Pryce family was old wealth, tended and cultivated over generations, while Geraldine’s ex-husband was nouveau riche. And Geraldine was just like her mother.
Salazar’s mouth parted, and Geraldine glared at Ceinlys like she was the root of all evil. “How dare you! You…you…” Geraldine couldn’t even continue.
Actually Salazar’s sister probably couldn’t bring herself to say what she really wanted to say because of what Shirley had taught her. The woman had been formidable, and even after her death three years ago, Ceinlys had felt the suffocating influence.
