Royally Duched (Duched #2)

by Xavier Neal

  “Thank you.” I nod. “Helping minors find hope when they’ve come to believe all is lost is not a job I take lightly.”

  His wife, Isabella, brushes her black hair off her shoulder as she speaks from beside him. “Your mother was also a strong supporter for helping those in need.”

  “Yes. She was.”

  Her dark brown eyes land on Brie and she sneers, “Are you?”

  “Quite,” Brie replies with kindness covering her tone. “I fully support Kellan’s program and am completely invested in helping enrich the lives of those who find their way through the doors of his shelters.”

  Isabella hums yet Lucas asks, “And how exactly do you do that?”

  I prepare to answer when her hand lands gently on top of mine. “I graduated with a Bachelors in Art Degree, so I am using the information I spent years learning and finding ways to implement it into some of the activities available for the minors.”

  “You’re like a teacher?” Isabella tries not gag. “You spent all that money to become a teacher? And not even an actual educator like at Brinskey or Dyronne, but a volunteer?”

  Before Brie can retort, Lucas joins in the ridicule, “Sounds like you wasted your money or probably your country’s money. I’m sure you got help paying for your education.”

  The side jab balls my free hand in my lap.

  “I actually paid for it all on my own,” she informs. “However, I don’t believe it was a waste. I learned techniques. I learned about some of the greatest well known and less known artists from ancient times to the present. My passion was nursed and the fact I have an opportunity to not only introduce artistic mediums but outlets for minors, is a blessing that makes me feel like every penny I spent to get an education was worth it.”

  Proud of not only her answer, but her poise and elocution, I lean over and plant a soft kiss on her lips. There’s a grumble immediately followed by the sound of chairs being moved. When we pull apart, I keep my eyes planted in hers. “You do know I love you.”

  “You’re only saying that because I basically word splashed champagne in their faces.”

  A light chuckle leaves me as a waiter offers us quiche. Brie declines, but I lean back to allow him to place it down in front of me.

  I reach for the silverware beside me and resist the urge to laugh at her face of disapproval. With the knife and fork in hand I state, “You’re going to have to eat something here, love.”

  “Champagne it is.”

  “You don’t eat champagne. You drink it.”

  “If you chew it, technically you’re eating it.”

  “It’s a liquid.”

  “So is soup and people say they are ‘eating’ it. They don’t say they’re drinking it. By that logic liquids can be eaten and champagne may continue to be my main source of food.”

  The unnecessary argument continues until we’re both abundantly laughing.

  It’s stupid I know, but that’s the true beauty of our minor disagreements. If they’re not turning us on, they’re making us laugh and relieving any tension surrounding us. What’s more amazing than that?

  “One bite,” I say, holding out the last bit of spinach quiche on my fork.

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “We get to make an entire room full of people more uncomfortable by sharing food in what could be construed as a sexual way?”

  Her eyebrows lift in intrigue. “Sweeten the pot.”

  “I’ll devour you in the back seat of our limo on the ride home.”

  My favorite kind of madness flashes in her bright brown eyes. “We rode with your father.”

  “He can ride back with Kristopher…”

  Brie’s bottom lip drops and I slide the bite inside. She chews it quickly, a look of enjoyment appearing to my surprise.

  I push the plate away. “You like?”

  “There’s a really good flavor I don’t recognize. Plus, that’s really fluffier than I’ve ever had before.”

  “That’s probably the Gruyère cheese you’re tasting. Do you want your own?”

  She sheepishly nods and I flag a waiter over.

  We’re not going to tell her they used duck eggs instead of chickens. I’d actually like her to eat something this morning.

  He places down a quiche in front of her at the same time another couple sits down across from us. The waiter offers each of them their own. They each decide to have one and before he exits, he asks if we need anything else.

  Once he’s disappeared, the older gentleman, who from the looks of it is closer to my father’s age, introduces himself with an extended hand. “Bartholomew Choquet.”

  I firmly shake. “Kellan Kenningston.”

  “Kenneth’s youngest, correct?”

  “Correct.” After a small beat, I politely introduce, “This is Brie Sanders. My fiancé.”

  She gives him a respectful smile. “Good morning.”

  “Almost afternoon,” the woman beside him snips.

  He takes Brie’s hand and shakes. “Pleasure to meet you. This is my wife Donna.”

  She dusts off her hand onto the napkin and reaches out to allow me to kiss it. Once I have, I state. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “You as well,” she coos with a hint of flirtation in her voice.

  Did you really just call me a cougar magnet? I was being polite!

  Her eyes cut Brie a short glance. “Nice to meet you too.”

  Rather than make a rude comeback, my fiancé shoves a bite into her mouth to help keep her composure.

  Bartholomew strikes up an easy conversation about the band playing. The topic of music takes both Brie and me off guard. While we welcome the subject matter with open arms, his wife takes every opportunity she can to belittle Brie’s opinion. Her husband doesn’t seem to notice or care. He simply continues recalling some of his favorite songs, timeless classics, and even American favorites.

  “I can’t believe you’re a Lynyrd Skynyrd fan,” Brie giggles at Bartholomew as she leans into my embrace. “My dad is a huge fan too.”

  “Best American Rock band of all time,” he declares.

  “I don’t know about of all time,” I argue on a chuckle.

  “Name one better! I dare you!”

  “Can we please talk about something more civilized?” Donna questions, hands folded neatly in her lap.

  With genuine confusion, Brie states, “It’s music. How is it uncivilized?”

  “That type is. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand that.”

  Well we all knew the laughs wouldn’t last long.

  She swallows whatever clever comeback she has and suggests, “We could talk about classical music or something like the Shoreline Symphony if you would prefer.”

  Donna rolls her eyes. “As if someone like you would have any idea about music of that nature. There’s not slang or heavy bass for you to shake your ‘stuff’ too.”

  Before I can cut the conversation off and potentially salvage whatever remains, Brie loses her tongue. “Well, I am all about the bass. No treble.”

  The joke causes me to press my fist to my lips to prevent the laughter from escaping.

  And now that damn catchy song is going to be stuck in my head. Yours too?

  She scoffs at the absurd comment and commands, “I want to go somewhere else, Bartholomew. Now.”

  He offers us both a sympathetic grin. “Yes, dear. Why don’t we go speak with the Knights? I’m sure they’d adore our company.”

  We watch the couple abandon our table. As soon as it’s just the two of us, Brie meekly apologizes, “Sorry…”

  My thumb strokes her bare shoulder. “It’s quite alright, love.”

  “It’s not,” she sighs deeply. “Your father asked us to hold our tongues and tempers and I can’t even completely do that.” Her face angles itself towards me. “I know this shit shouldn’t bother me, Kellan, but it’s like enough is enough already. They’re using me as a punching bag and I’m not sure how many more hits I can take. What if I�
�m just…what if I’m not cut out for this? What if I can’t cut it in your lifestyle? In your…family?”

  My chest aches instantly from the remark.

  “Then you’re not the woman I thought you were,” my father invades, sitting in the seat on the other side of her.

  That’s his encouragement!?! He should never wonder why we don’t seek his advice.

  An indignant expression immediately appears on my face. However, there isn’t time to express disapproval of my father’s response thanks to another pair having a seat at our table.

  “Oliver Nobles,” my father says kindly. “Good to see again.”

  “Kenneth.” He states while they shake hands. “Actually a bit surprised to see you here.”

  My father shrugs innocently. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”

  The man’s blue eyes steal a glimpse of me and Brie.

  Instead of answering, his wife coos, “Always lovely to see you Kenneth.”

  “You as well Charlotte.” His hand gestures our direction. “You remember my son, Kellan.”

  “How could we forget?” The woman’s blue eyes land on Brie with disdain. “He dated our Claire.”

  I bite my tongue.

  Dated is the wrong word. Finger banging her in the bathroom while her father gave a mind-numbing speech on the importance of preserving some tulip garden hardly even registers as one of my one offs. Definitely didn’t date her.

  After choking down the truth, I force a wide grin. “Hope she’s well.”

  “She could be a bit better,” Charlotte says, eyes giving Brie a challenging look.

  You know that phrase, the best has yet to come? I’d like to call bullshit and say the best has chosen to sit this one out for me.

  “This is my fiancé, Brie Sanders.”

  Her thin eyebrows arch. “Pleasure…”

  Doubt she’s had any of that in her life in ages.

  The couple skips the formality of shaking hands and kissing them. He decides to only give Brie a curt nod while his wife barely musters up that. My father directs the conversation towards his interest in gardening, which brings a smile to both their faces. As the dreadfully boring topic continues, requiring very little input from me or Brie, the waiters offer another dish.

  Grateful to have something else to look at besides Charlotte’s obnoxiously large nose that’s stuck in the air, I lower my attention to the bruschetta, wrapped in bacon, with an over easy egg sitting on top.

  “That looks amazing,” Oliver announces as the waiter places one in front of him.

  “It does,” his wife agrees.

  I smirk at Brie’s refusal to agree.

  “Too bad, I can’t eat like that anymore. Sticks to all the wrong places,” she announces. My father denies the dish at the same time she says to Brie, “But you don’t have that type of problem. That’s just your natural body type. You can’t do anything about those genetics.”

  Yes…She actually did just say that.

  Brie struggles not to turn a sallow color.

  Casually, I pick up a new set of silverware, and state, “Personally, I find her genetics quite pleasing, particularly in the areas some have to pay to feel adequate in.”

  Charlotte purses her lips at the stab I’ve taken her direction as much as her daughters.

  You knew those weren’t real the minute you laid eyes on them.

  My father clears his throat in hopes of ending the conversation, but she chooses to push. “I’m sure there are plenty of women at this party who also have pleasing genetics they didn’t choose to enhance. If only they had had the chance to capture your attention maybe you would realize just how many better options there are for you than the one you’ve chosen.”

  I swallow the small bite I had managed to take. “Pardon me?”

  “I’m just saying,” she continues with a nonchalant wave of her hand. “Maybe if you’d attended more of these brunches with your father you might’ve found better genetics that could easily be more pleasing than the one you had to go the bottom of the barrel for.”

  Brie shifts in her seat beside me, face completely wan.

  “Women like her are clearly only interested in what you can provide for them unlike the women at these types of events who are interested in how they can help support you and your position. Women like her have spent their entire lives expecting or taking handouts, from food to education. Why on earth would you want to waste your time or your funds with someone who will never earn her keep let alone anyone’s respect?” Charlotte bites.

  The viciousness in her tone destroys the tiny bit of self-restraint I had left.

  That does it! I’ve fucking had enough!

  “You’re out of line, Charlotte,” my father unexpectedly defends.

  “Excuse me?” She squeaks.

  “What did you just say to my wife?” Oliver questions, placing down his fork.

  “I said she was out line,” he repeats louder. “You do not know Brie any more than you know my son. Brie was raised by a decent family and taught to value herself as well as everything she has been given. Not only was she raised to be respectful in even the least respectful conditions, such as these, she was also brought up to be hard working. She put herself through school. Worked hard for everything she’s had and has managed to make a fine young woman out of herself that I will be fortunate enough to call family. She’s earned my respect and both of my son’s, which is more than you ever have. And if you ever blatantly disrespect my son or his wife to be again, you will tremble in fear from the Kenningston name.”

  Holy hell…I did not see that coming…Is this actually my father or did I slip into some dreamlike state from all the stress?

  She gasps and Oliver questions, “Are you threatening my family?”

  “I am defending mine.”

  The two men exchange challenging expressions. Uncertain of what to expect, I tug Brie closer to me in case champagne glasses actually do become airborne.

  Finally, Oliver humphs, throws his napkin down on the table, and stands. “Consider this our last conversation, Kenneth.”

  My father growls out. “With. Pleasure.”

  “Come along, Charlotte.” He says, turning his back to us. “Let’s enjoy the company of a family with better manners.”

  Cautiously, Brie and I turn to face my father who is tugging at the collar of his shirt. Rather than explain himself, he stands as well, and announces his dismissal. “I need something stronger than champagne. If you two will excuse me.”

  “Of course,” I answer for the both of us.

  He makes it two steps away from our table before he leans down to speak to the woman who overheard the entire unpleasant conversation. With a firm voice he commands, “When you put this in the Tenntinal, you better quote my response accurately and state that I merely was defending my family after being viciously provoked or I will have your job.”

  The lanky brunette, I recognize as Nancy Therland nods her understanding.

  In silence, Brie and I watch him disappear from our sight. Afterward our eyes lock and she whispers, “Alien abduction?”

  I shrug. “That’s the only explanation I’ve come up with.”

  She tries to tug her smile upward.

  With my father’s breaking point having been reached, I take a moment to reflect.

  For months, all I’ve done is bend over backwards for these people? Beg to keep their funds. Bite my tongue as not to soil my family’s reputation. It feels like all I’ve done since I stepped off the jet was tip toe on egg shells and hold my hands out for scraps. I don’t want to live like this. I’ve never wanted to live like this. No matter the cost. Most importantly? Brie doesn’t deserve this. She deserves a life of laughter and love. I’m done. And from the way my father finished the last conversation, I think it might be safe to assume, so is he.

  I offer her a smile. “What do you say we cut brunch short on that high note?”

  Her eyes widen. “Really?”

  “Really.” I sta
nd. “Let’s get out of here. Perhaps we can grab a cheeseburger and then catch an art exhibit. Or we can visit the zoo. It’s quite nice actually. The animals there are much friendly than the ones here.”

  Brie giggles at the twisted joke and stands. “You sure we should just go? Your father wanted us here to present a united front. What’s it going to look like if we just bail because he almost punched someone in the face?”