And that in itself was enough to make me want him.
I smiled, looking up at him, done doubting myself. “Rome now,” I said, wanting that picture in my head when I went to talk to my dad. “Tell me what we’ll do in Rome.”
***
We spent all day at the lake before finally making our way back to my dad’s house. There was a party later in the evening that we were debating attending. A few of the younger guys from my dad’s shop had invited Rick and, by extension, me. I was hesitant—I knew there would be people there from my old school, people I hadn’t deigned to talk to in years. People who thought, with very good reason, that I had turned into an insufferable snob.
“I want to meet your friends,” Rick said as he signaled to turn onto my dad’s street. “We’ve been together for three months, and I haven’t met a single one of them.”
“My friends won’t be there.” I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable. I had told Rick the bare minimum about Emma and her circle. I wasn’t sure why, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t approve. My casual brush-offs had done little to dissuade his curiosity when my dad mentioned to him that this was the first time I’d been home for the summer in four years.
“None of them?” he asked. “Come on, they can’t all be vacationing in the Hamptons.”
He was right—Elizabeth’s family spent the summer in Vale while Mary and her family were touring the French Riviera. I looked out the window at the slowly darkening street. A far cry from my summer in Hazel Park, one of the more run down suburbs of Detroit. Besides, even if they had been home, there was no way any of Emma’s gang—I still thought of them as Emma’s gang, even after all these years—would be caught dead at a party here. Only Emma had ever braved my neighborhood to visit me at my dad’s. But since I was rarely at my dad’s, even she had only been here a handful of times.
“I told you, my friends from school don’t live around here.”
“And you didn’t keep any of your old friends? From before boarding school?”
I shrugged, knowing he was watching me out of the corner of his eye. I bet he had that I-feel-so-sorry-for-you expression on his face, too.
“That’s fine,” he finally said, his voice a shade too breezy, as if he was trying to cheer me up. “Maybe you’ll make some new friends at the party.”
I didn’t bother telling him how unlikely that was. To say that the people from my old neighborhood now considered me a snob would be a vast understatement.
“Doesn’t matter.” I was trying to call up that vision of Rome. “We’ll be on the road soon. I don’t really need to make new friends I’m going to turn around and leave behind.”
I turned to look at him. “But I’ll go to the party, anyhow, if you want to. I think it will be…fun.”
He laughed. “It really sounds like you think it will be fun.”
I reached over and took his hand. “I’ll be with you.”
He maneuvered the car into my dad’s driveway, and I couldn’t help but be impressed at his ability to do so one-handed—on the wrong side of the street, no less—while simultaneously kissing my knuckles. “That’s all a bloke can ask for.”
As he turned off the engine, I noticed there was a car parked in front of my dad’s house. A car that looked entirely out of place on the street filled with Fords and Chevys in varying states of breakdown and rust. Unlike the others, this car was shiny and sleek. And foreign.
I felt suddenly cold, despite the oppressive August heat. No one in this neighborhood, this suburb of the motor city, would be caught driving a car like that, even if they could afford it. And no one here could afford it.
“Looks like someone’s here,” Rick said, squinting up to the porch. The light needed to be replaced—it was flickering on and off, but he was right; there was a figure there, sitting on the steps. Waiting.
Shit, shit, shit.
“Maybe we should meet up later,” I said quickly. “I could use a shower if we’re going to that party.”
Rick waggled his eyebrows at me. “I could come in with you. Doesn’t look like your dad is here.” His gaze flickered back to the porch. “Unless…you were expecting someone?”
I shook my head. “No. No, of course…” my eyes flicked to the porch, too. The figure was now standing, peering down the drive at us. “I think that might be one of the neighbors. I’ll, uh, see what they want. And call you later?”
I felt sweat dripping down my back. I had to get Rick out of there—I had to. If the figure on the porch was who I thought it was, he couldn’t be anywhere near here when she confronted me.
“You’re being strange,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Who is that?”
“It’s no one. I mean—” I laughed shrilly. “Probably no one. How would I know?”
“I’m walking you in.” He unbuckled his seat belt, and I resisted the urge to slap his hand away and bolt for the door. He would just follow me, of course, and that would be so bad.
“Annabelle?” she called from the porch, and I cursed. Rick’s head snapped to me.
“Who is that?”
Shit, shit, shit. There was just no way to get out of this. I took a deep breath and turned to him. “I think it’s Emma.”
His face brightened. “Emma, your best friend? Brilliant! Now I’ll get to meet her. I thought she wouldn’t be home until the end of the summer?”
I shrugged weakly. She must have come home early, though God knew why.
“Annabelle?” she called again.
“Well, are you going to introduce me or not?” Rick asked, laughing. The sound constricted my heart. He was so eager, so confident. He had no idea that she would be sizing him up, judging him within seconds of us climbing out of this car.
Give her some credit, I told myself, opening the door. She’s not a snob.
No, not a snob, the voice in my head said. It was starting to get really annoying, that voice. Just a girl with unrealistically high expectations of everyone she deems worthy of being in her life. Worthy of being in my life.
I felt a sudden surge of protectiveness as Rick came around the car to take my hand. I squeezed his, hard. It wasn’t that I was embarrassed of Rick. Not at all. But I knew what it felt like to be the subject of judgment, and I didn’t want that for him.
Even more than that was my deep fear that the mere presence of Emma would erase every bit of my resolve.
Stop it, I ordered myself as Rick and I approached the porch and the waiting figure of my best friend. You’re not fourteen anymore.
“Annabelle!” she shouted, launching herself at me. I was almost reluctant to let go of Rick’s hand to hug her back, as if releasing him would be akin to releasing an anchor tethering me to us, to our plans.
“Em.” I allowed her to pull me into a tight hug as I took in the familiar scent of her perfume. Other girls went through scents like they went through clothes, trying out new styles, looking for the best fit. Not Emma. The smell of Chanel no. 5 had been a constant part of her makeup ever since eighth grade, as much a part of her as her perfectly straight, white teeth and the thick, dark lashes that framed her blue eyes.
“I missed you!”
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “I wasn’t expecting you for weeks yet.”
She pulled back, rolling her eyes. “It was a nightmare, Anna. Mother decided the guesthouse needed redoing. And you know how she is.”
I smiled wryly. “Let me guess—she ended up redecorating the entire house instead.”
She pointed at me. “Bingo. Daddy couldn’t take it anymore, said it was like living in a war zone. So we decided to come back early.”
Her eyes flicked over to Rick, widening slightly.
Well, I thought, steeling myself. No time like the present.
“Em, this is Rick. Rick, Emma.”
“Hello,” he said. And with his sexy English voice came the brief hope that she might be won over, after all—he sounded posh, didn’t he? To an American at least?
“Hi, Rick.”
She batted her eyelashes prettily, the way I’d seen her do a thousand times before. She had put on what mother referred to as her company face—the polite, smooth veneer she wore while sizing someone up. “Is that a British accent I hear?”
“Indeed, it is.”
“Rick is from London,” I told her. “He’s touring the States this summer.”
Emma’s eyebrows went up. “Touring the States? How exciting. What have you seen so far?”
Rick cleared his throat. “Not much, yet, to be honest. I suppose I got a little waylaid here in Detroit.”
So subtly, I’m sure Rick didn’t even notice, Emma’s eyes widened, as if fully taking in the two of us for the first time. Her gaze went from him to me, where it rested for the longest second of my life. “I suppose Annabelle has that effect on men.”
Rich laughed and loped a lazy arm around my waist. “You could definitely say that.”
“Annabelle, you sly thing,” Emma said, her voice velvety soft. “You’ve gone and gotten yourself a boyfriend, and you never said a word.”
I could feel Rick’s hurt gaze on the side of my face, and I mentally cursed my old friend. That had been intentional; I knew it. Her subtle way of letting him know where he ranked.
It pissed me off.
I slipped my arm under his, wrapping it around his middle protectively. “Gosh, have I really been that remiss?” I said, trying my best to sound contrite, and hoping Rick couldn’t hear any tension in my voice. “I guess we’ve just been so wrapped up in each other…”
And there was the famous eyebrow arch. I held my ground, determined not to quail under her gaze.
“My, my,” she murmured. “This sounds quite serious.”
“I’m so glad to get the chance to meet you,” Rick said, the sincerity clear in his voice. “When Annabelle told me that you wouldn’t be home until the end of summer, I thought I might miss you.”
I was so thankful that he didn’t say “We might miss you” that I could have kissed him right there. I knew I would have to tell her eventually. I just had hoped to be on the other side of the ocean first.
“Yes, it looks like it worked out to all of our advantage,” Emma said. She looked between Rick and me again, and I could just see her brain whirring. “I should leave the two of you to your evening. Annabelle, I just came over to tell you that Mary is back in town, as well, and we’re throwing a party tomorrow to celebrate being free from our parents.” She laughed her twinkly little laugh. “I hope you both will join us.”
“Oh,” I said, taken aback. I had fully expected her to insist on speaking to me alone before she let me out of her sight. “I’m not sure what our plans are…”
She held my gaze for a long moment. She would never show it, but I could tell she was pissed. Pissed I kept the secret from her. Pissed that I wasn’t falling all over myself to welcome her home. “Well, I hope you can come,” she finally said before turning to Rick. “Very nice to meet you, Rick.”
“You, too,” he said, glancing between the two of us. It was clear from his face that he could sense the underlying tension. “Welcome home.”
She graced him with a last smile before slipping down the walkway to her car. Rick and I stood in silence, watching as she got in, fluffed out her hair, and drove off into the night.
“Well,” he finally said, his voice uncertain. “She seemed…nice.”
I sighed, squeezing his middle again. We both knew she hadn’t been particularly nice. “Should we get ready for the party?” I asked.
He pulled me a little closer. “Let’s just hang out,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “If I have to share you tomorrow, I want you all to myself tonight.”
I nodded, feeling a lump come to my throat. I had a feeling things were about to get a lot more complicated.
Chapter Two
I spent much of the next day trying to convince Rick that we should skip Emma’s party. I had several opportunities to discuss it with him, being as how we were both working our summer jobs in my dad’s shop.
Rick had gotten the position through his old friend, John Croft, a former Rhodes Scholar whom he’d met at Oxford. Living abroad had proved too much of an excitement for John, however, and he eventually realized he could no longer maintain decent grades while getting hammered on British ale in the pub every night. He’d moved back home to Michigan and gotten a job in my dad’s shop to earn enough money to put himself through school here in the States. When he found out Rick was coming to town, he had offered him both a couch to sleep on and a recommendation to my dad, who was looking for a new shop hand to clean, pick up parts, and help with an assortment of other jobs too basic for the skilled, union mechanics.
My path to working in my dad’s shop was slightly more dramatic and definitely unexpected. Ever since I entered boarding school, I had been spending less and less time at home. Even on school breaks, I was more likely to join the Russells on one of their expensive trips rather than spend more than a few days in Hazel Park. This summer, as usual, I had been asked to join them in the Hamptons for most of the duration of our break, and I’d had every intention of going.
Until the week before the trip, the single week I had intended to stay home to visit with my dad. It wasn’t until then, back in town for the first time since Thanksgiving (I’d even missed Christmas this year, spending it instead with the Russells in Vale), that I realized how close he was to disaster.
My father was a skilled mechanic, excellent with his hands, able to diagnose the cause of any rumble or tremble with barely a glance under the hood. But he was, I came to find, a terrible, terrible businessman.
I never would have found out, either, if I hadn’t happened to answer the phone when a prospective buyer called him at home. A prospective buyer! He was considering selling the shop he worked his entire life to buy, and he hadn’t told me. I immediately drove over and confronted him. When he admitted, with a too-bright smile and an aw-shucks shrug, that he was losing money at an alarming rate, I had stared at him in horror. “It’s the nature of the business,” he told me, seeing the look on my face. “Ups and downs—these things happen, honey. I’ll be fine—there are lots of shops out there looking for good mechanics, don’t you worry. I’ll find a job.”
“I want to see your books,” I managed through gritted teeth, my voice shaking. I was furious with him, furious he was being so nonchalant about it all, furious that he hadn’t told me. And furious that he could possibly be in so much trouble when I could see with my own eyes that his shop was full of work. How could he be losing money?
A quick glance through the books showed me exactly how. They were a mess. He apparently was in the habit of offering work to many of his friends, either for free or some casual barter system. Even strangers were getting away with not paying their bills as he had several outstanding accounts that had not been sent to collections. All of this was written in haphazard, incomplete records. Invoices unaccounted for, checks cashed but not recorded. Within the space of an hour’s study, I went from wondering how it could be possible for him to be in trouble to wondering how on earth he’d managed to keep the place going for more than a few months.
I knew immediately that there would be no Hamptons for me that summer. My degree was in finance, for God’s sake. If anyone could sort out this mess, it would be me. So I called up Emma and made up some excuse about my dad losing his bookkeeper (a position he had never actually bothered to fill after the last one retired four years ago) and needing some help. “It will be really good, some first-hand experience,” I had said brightly, trying not to think about the long days of sunbathing I was giving up. She had merely laughed, told me I was way too serious about school, and then changed the subject to the massive amount of shopping she would need to complete before boarding her father’s private jet for New York.
I had spent the rest of the week trying not to be disappointed. It wasn’t like I had never been to the Hamptons before—the Russells had a gargantuan beach house there, and I
had stayed in one of the numerous guest rooms more times that I could count. It wouldn’t hurt me to stay home for a summer. Besides, I rarely saw my dad, and working in the office of his shop would give us a chance to catch up. My life was about to get even busier than usual—I would be finishing college in less than a year and had plans for law school after. Who knew where I would be living in a year or two?
My disappointment vanished entirely on a Tuesday morning near the end of May. That was the day I walked into the break room to get a coffee and came face to face with Rick. We’d actually bumped into each other, his strong hands coming up to clutch my shoulders in support. It was a moment I would remember for the rest of my life—looking into those dark eyes, hearing that rumble of his elegant accent, the feel of his hands holding me up.
Who the hell needed the Hamptons?
We spent that coffee break together, and lunch later in the day. It had gone on like that for two weeks—me making every excuse I could think of to be in that break room when he was. He would tell me later that he was doing the same thing, arranging his deliveries and pickups around what he thought to be my schedule. We’d had our first “date,” that tour of old crumbling buildings, after just two weeks. And I had never looked back once, never doubted my feelings, never questioned our plans. I was head-over-heels in love, in love for the very first time in my life. And nothing could change that.
Until, of course, Emma Russell came home early.
Don’t think like that, I ordered myself, as I walked to the break room for lunch. You are a grown-up, capable of making your own decisions.
So why did I have such a bad feeling about this party?
Persuaded Page 2
