Crazy Old Money: A BWWM Billionaire Romantic Comedy

by Kilby Blades

  “Don’t tease,” he practically pouted, his inner petulant child imploring him to hatch a plan to somehow get them to the Thanksgiving dinner he wished he could enjoy. “You know how I love your mother’s cooking. Why don’t we move our return flights to a day earlier? We’ll go through Boston, and do a stopover in L.A….”

  “Wow, really?” She blinked over at him then. “You’d sell out our mountain getaway for a piece of sweet potato pie?”

  When he pretended to think, she swatted his shoulder. Little did she know that he wouldn’t be changing a single other element of their plans. The proposal could still be salvaged. Thanksgiving or no Thanksgiving in Connecticut, come Saturday, he would ask her to marry him.

  “Oh, so it’s like that?” She crossed her arms.

  “Uh-huh,” he baited. “That’s exactly how it is.”

  Their banter always led to flirting, and their flirting always led to more. If he hadn’t been driving, he’d have leaned over and kissed her. In fact, when they got out of this car, kissing her was exactly what he was going to do.

  Three

  The House

  Jada

  Marsh had that look in his eye—the one he got any time he was thinking about kissing her. Two-and-a-half-hours in the car without stopping was becoming a bit much. They had long-since turned off of main roads and hadn’t seen other houses for at least a mile. She hadn’t remembered Marsh ever saying that where his family lived was so remote.

  When they crested a hill, Marsh’s eyes brightened in a way that made Jada follow his gaze. Looming in the distance, a grand estate stood alone.

  “Is that it?"

  She hadn’t meant to sound so astonished, but…could that really be where Maw Maw lived? Jada had expected something, well…smaller. Like a suburban mini-mansion or a really nice house. Spotlights illuminated what looked like a small castle. Jada was sure they flattered the estate, no matter the season. The golds, greens and reds that lit it up today were clearly in celebration of Christmas.

  Other illuminated buildings orbited the surrounding lands. There looked to be car garages and utility buildings and guest houses and boat houses—you know, because behind the house was a huge lake. And the land beyond the lake and the buildings wasn’t just land—not just dead grass on a frozen plain—it was acres and acres of hundred-year-old forest. Deciduous trees stood leafless and bare, while evergreens closer to the house had been decked out in small white lights. Beyond grand gates, gas light posts lined a more definitive driveway and the space just below each light had been tied with red velvet bows.

  "Nice place," she remarked when he didn’t answer.

  "My grandmother has champagne tastes.”

  But this was no $20 split of house sparkling—it was a nebuchadnezzar of Taittinger. Marsh said nothing more for the moment and Jada had the presence of mind to let it settle. It obviously made him uncomfortable. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

  “Like I said before…this is my family. Not me.”

  Marsh pulled the car to a crunchy stop behind another parked Suburban on the gravel driveway. Jada pulled her hood up and arranged her scarf and earmuffs as he came around to open the door. Temporarily enamored by the weather itself, she was delighted to see her breath freeze in front of her face as he helped her stand in the cold air. After he closed her door, he didn’t wait to pull her into his arms.

  God, he smells good.

  Even after airplanes and rental cars, Marsh still smelled like him. It seemed like ages ago that they’d showered together that morning, having so much fun they’d nearly missed their flight. Marsh brought the sexy times all right, but he always took time for the romance.

  “I can’t wait to get away with you,” he murmured, touching their noses in an Eskimo kiss. “This time tomorrow, we’ll be in Vermont.”

  “You promised me snow,” she quipped softly as he brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

  She liked the way his lips always melted into a smile as his cerulean blue gaze washed over her face, how he got his fill of drinking her in before he leaned in for a kiss. Marsh was a master kisser. A championship kisser. An Olympic gold medalist in kissing. He took his time even then, in the frigid cold, with a brisk wind stinging their faces, to devour her mouth deeply and right.

  The heavy double-doors were three steps up from the circular gravel driveway. Jada was certain that the fountain in the center would be gorgeous in the summer when it was running and all lit up. She and Marsh walked to the doors hand-in-hand. She half-expected some sort of butler to swing them open—if a butler was even what you called the person who opened the door. Houses that looked like this seemed like they should be teeming with footmen and valets and lady’s maids and every other hierarchy of servant she had learned on Downton Abbey.

  Stepping a bit ahead of her, Marsh reached out to grasp the right-most door handle. One firm push and the brisk, refreshing cold was replaced by a wave of fragrant warmth. Marsh’s expression relaxed just as he ushered Jada over the threshold. Her own expression might have relaxed, too, as she breathed in the scent of evergreen sap and mulling spices and ancient, polished wood. He slid his arm into its rightful place around her waist as they walked farther inside.

  A grand staircase in the center of the space drew Jada’s gaze upward. It rose to stop at a mezzanine before splitting into two and spiraling off to a second floor. Downstairs, doors to two rooms flanked the staircase, which themselves were flanked by twin hallways. Antique rugs lined paths to opposite destinations.

  The house didn't exactly seem empty. Instrumental versions of popular holiday music floated from somewhere. Decorations from nature that brought the outdoors in made the entire space look festive. But it unnerved her that she couldn't hear anything. For a house that was supposed to be full of people, it sure seemed like no one was around.

  “Come on,” Marsh prodded, tugging her to the left. “Everyone will be in the big room.”

  Jada was pretty sure that every room in the house qualified as a big room.

  “Maybe we’re the first ones here?” She was still skeptical that any sort of crowd could be here at all.

  He led her down one of the big halls. “We’re probably among the last.” His voice was lower then. “I’m sure they've all been drinking for hours,” he muttered.

  An antique clock that seemed built into the crossroads wall told her that the time was just past five. Marsh had mentioned that dinner was scheduled for seven. Jada tried not to peer with too much interest into this room or that. Her plan not to out herself was foiled when she stopped short at the sight of a lit-up painting, done in oil. She’d halted out of sheer surprise.

  The man’s suit was dated, but the set of his eyes, the curve of his slightly-plump lips, his roman nose…he was a facsimile of Marsh. Letting her eyes fall upon the name plate at the base of the painting, she read the placard out loud: “Marshall Evan Brewster, Jr. - 1920 to 2008.”

  She looked up at Marsh. “Was this your grandfather?”

  He nodded. “Paw Paw.”

  But her eyes were drawn to the painting and she looked again. Paw Paw looked more like Marsh than Marsh looked like his own father. “The resemblance is uncanny,” she breathed.

  When Marsh just shrugged, she was suddenly certain that the same words had been spoken to Marsh a thousand times.

  “I thought you were the only Junior,” she observed. “I didn’t know his name was Marshall, too.”

  Marsh shrugged again, looking more uncomfortable. “My dad’s Marshall III.”

  “Which makes you…”

  “Marshall Evan Brewster IV,” he admitted.

  Jada thought about this for a minute. She didn’t blame him for not broadcasting that little fact. But, when you were a third or a fourth, wasn’t that part of your legal name? And why hadn’t she, of all people, known Marsh’s?

  He held out his hand, which she took, and they continued walking. There was other art on the
wall—many were portraits of other Brewsters, all done in oils. Apart from human portraiture, the ratio of canine portraits was unexpectedly high. Maybe she’d never heard about all of this because he hadn’t grown up in this house. Hadn’t he just insisted that his parents had rebelled? Maybe his grandmother was the only one in the family with fewer paintings of humans than paintings of dogs.

  The sound of a tiny infant rose above the ambient music at the exact moment they approached a perpendicular hall. Marsh had already stepped forward and craned his neck in anticipation, wanting to see who it was, when a woman their age with Marsh’s ash-blond hair and cerulean blue eyes came into view.

  An infant did, indeed, lay with his head prone on the woman’s shoulder, and walking alongside them was a little girl. The girl spotted Marsh before the woman did.

  “Uncle Marsh!” she exclaimed, dropping the woman’s hand. He let his hand fall from Jada’s waist just in time to absorb the shock of the cannonball greeting of the girl.

  “Hey, Jillybean…” His deep voice was a stark contrast to her juvenile one. “You’re bigger than the last time I saw you. Are you six?”

  “No…” she stretched it out into about three syllables in a way that only little girls could.

  “Five?” he scratched his chin. She shook her head again. When she held out four fingers, he narrowed his eyes. “No, that can’t be right. You’re too much of a big girl to be four.”

  When she giggled again, Marsh let her down gently before turning them toward his girlfriend and introducing Jada to the suddenly-shy girl. By the time Jill waved a tentative hello, the woman and infant who’d been on the approach finally caught up to the group.

  “Suze.” Marsh said warmly, capturing his cousin in a one-armed hug before reaching out to stroke the sleepy-looking baby’s cheek. The baby seemed utterly disinterested in Jada, but perked up when he laid eyes on Marsh. Jada had rarely seen Marsh around kids, except for her own nieces and nephews. Seeing what a natural he was always made her think of what a great dad he would be to their children someday.

  “Jada! I’m Susie.” The woman quickly moved on from Marsh, stepping forward to engulf Jada in half of a very warm hug. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!” she gushed in a not-at-all-fake way. “Marsh talks about you all the time.”

  Jada smiled graciously and returned the hug. “Susie. It’s so nice to meet you, too.”

  It wasn’t disingenuous, but it was a bit awkward. The first time Jada had heard of Susie was on the plane. Susie’s grandfather, Peter, was Marsh’s great uncle and Maw Maw’s brother-in-law. Susie was two years younger, but she and Marsh had spent summers with Maw Maw when they were little.

  Even if Marsh hadn’t identified Susie as “one of the sane ones”, Jada caught a good vibe and got the feeling they would get along just fine. Susie had an edgy haircut, colorful tattoos down to the wrist of one arm, and her baby wore the tiniest pair of black-and-white-checker Vans that Jada had ever seen.

  “We’re on a walk,” little Jillian informed Marsh.

  “Uh-oh…” Marsh’s glance at Susie was a question.

  “Minnie and Steven are at it already.”

  “What is it this time?” he asked.

  Jada had also heard about Uncle Steven and Aunt Minnie on the plane.

  “Liz checked herself out. Minnie gave her money.”

  Jada suddenly realized why they were talking in code. Liz was Marsh’s cousin who was supposed to be in rehab. Whatever they were talking about, they didn’t want to decode in front of Jill.

  Marsh swept his hand over his face and shook his head. “For real?”

  Susie shook her head and made an equally disapproving sound as she threw Marsh a knowing look. “I know. And the rest of her trust fund? Gone.”

  Trust fund?

  If trust funds and inheritances were floating around, and this was how Maw Maw lived, Marsh’s family was filthy rich.

  Some of them, Jada self-corrected gently, reminding herself again that his parents had gotten out of the family business. Marshall Senior was a hotelier, though it occurred now to Jada that maybe he wasn’t self-made. Marsh’s mother, Kate, fancied herself to be fairly bohemian, though her lifestyle wasn’t without frills. To hear Marshall Senior tell it, Kate had more than a few frills, courtesy of the alimony he paid. Marsh did fine as an attorney, and Jada herself did five times as well as Marsh did, as a VC, but this…this was in a completely different league.

  “She sold her shares a while back.” Susie lowered her voice, as if the walls themselves were listening.

  Fire lit Marsh’s eyes and he hissed, “To who?”

  Susie pressed her hands over her daughter’s ears long enough to utter a single syllable. “Biff.”

  Marsh had made his cousin, Biff, sound like a colossal jerk. Jada mainly knew that he was Liz’s brother and worked full-time in the family business. He was jockeying for the CEO position after Maw Maw passed. According to Marsh, the saving grace that kept things going were Maw Maw’s instincts and her iron constitution. Everyone thought she would live to be at least a hundred.

  “Do I wanna know how much?”

  Susie shook her head. “A lot less than they were worth. And lot more than any addict should have.”

  She’d whispered it now that they were closing in on the others. Jada could finally hear party chatter and make out the silhouettes of several people through the double doors of the open room at the end of the hall. She did smell food now, though she couldn’t tell whether it was food for the sit-down dinner, or things that had been set out as hors d’oeuvres. Susie and Jill stepped into the enormous room in front of them. Marsh still looked troubled when he slipped his arm around Jada. Instead of following closely behind his cousin, he stopped.

  “Maybe we should find my dad—you know—say hello and let him know we’re here. I don’t see him inside.”

  Before Jada could react to her own strong suspicion that Marsh might actually be stalling, Susie turned back toward the door with a smile and a welcoming motion.

  “Come on, Jada. We’ll introduce you around.”

  The space seemed less of a library than it did a sitting room. Inlaid bookshelves covered two of the walls. Antique sofas and chairs were arranged around a grand piano. A long, narrow serving table sat between two windows on one of the unshelved walls. The table was laden with cheeses and canapés. A roaring fire burned in a shoulder-high fireplace and a punch bowl of egg nog sat on a separate table—egg nog that Jada sincerely hoped was spiked.

  Six or seven adults, some of who looked like Marsh, were scattered throughout the room. Conversation slowed as their arrival was noted with interest. Marsh squeezed Jada’s waist a little and softened his expression into a reassuring smile. But suddenly, Jada wasn’t feeling so confident, despite her words in the car.

  For hours—maybe for years—Jada had anticipated meeting the rest of his family. But nothing was as she’d believed. This was no regular Thanksgiving dinner. This was an episode of Dynasty. And it seemed the other person she’d be meeting for the first time today was Marsh.

  Four

  The Hors d'Oeuvres

  Marsh

  Chewing miserably on a mushroom stuffed with he-honestly-couldn’t-tell-what, Marsh let himself mourn what he was missing. Compared to the down-home deliciousness Jada’s family would be enjoying three-thousand miles away, everything here tasted bland. Not that it wasn’t beautiful—tiered silver platters held colorful canapés and crystal bowls held finger snacks and nuts. The sapphire-blue table runner that the serving dishes sat upon was woven so finely with contrasting filament that it looked fit for a royal court. If only it tasted as good as it looked, Marsh thought wistfully, scanning first for any hors d’oeuvre he could positively identify before settling on a handful of truffled almonds.

  While his own family’s habits skewed toward everyone drinking—and saying—too much, Jada's family traditions were ones he'd come to love. Right then, they'd all be at her parents' house in Encinit
as, the kids in the rec room downstairs and the adults watching football on TV. Uncle Lou would have passed out drinks and made Brandy Alexanders. Jada's far-more-rational grandmother, Nana, would be sipping hers slowly and laughing whenever the kids tore through the room. The sideboard on the wall would be teeming with everything from hot crab dip, to jalapeño artichoke spread, to spicy salmon pate. Her family’s flavors always came with a bit of a bite.

  Seated dinner was potluck style, and nobody cheated with store-bought dishes. Jada's parents did the turkey and her siblings brought everything else: Eric made a mean cornbread stuffing; Kara killed the sweet potato pie every year; Jada herself made an incredible cranberry chutney, which Marsh had always told her was his favorite. But his real favorite was her father’s gravy.

  No, Marsh thought longingly. The Jones household had never seen a chef-prepared holiday meal like the one they would eat tonight—the ones that Marsh had eaten as a child. Thanksgiving in Jada’s family was the way God had always intended it to be: with family actually thankful to be together. At Jada's house, the only screaming and yelling came whenever the Rams fumbled the ball.

  "She speaks so well!"

  Krista cornered Marsh in his moment of hors d’oeuvre table disappointment. He bristled at what she intended as praise. He was wound up just enough from all the stress that her impressed tone alone might have set him off. But calming the fuck down was his talent, and his chewing gave him time to think twice about schooling her with a retort.

  I’ll say something to her later, he promised himself. She didn’t need another public dressing-down. Biff was already giving her shit about nothing. Marsh pitied Krista for the way she put up with his jackass cousin, and Marsh had always liked her, despite that. He’d give her a break for now.