House of Payne: Styx

by Stacy Gail

  He kept his eyes on her as if he suspected she might have rabies. “What was I supposed to say?”

  “Are you kidding me?” She hopped to her feet, trying to figure out if she was more horrified or incensed by his callousness. “These people are your family, Styx. They love you, and because of that they have hopes and dreams for you. I’m fine with pretending to be your girlfriend to get you through your brother’s wedding. But kindling those kinds of hopes and dreams in your family is another thing entirely. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone getting hurt when their dreams are dashed. I’ve lived through that, so I could never do that to someone else.”

  “Trey was just talking shit, and he's got weddings on the brain. It doesn't mean anything.”

  “Trust me, when the idea of us and weddings are mentioned in the same sentence, it means something. For God’s sake, we don't even know each other.”

  “That wasn't how it felt before Trey showed up.”

  “See? I told you it would get confusing.” She dragged an agitated hand through her hair before looking around for her purse. “I need to get home for a shower and a change of clothes.” And while she was at it, maybe she could find a way to get her head screwed back on straight.

  “Not so fast.” He held out of staying hand. “You heard Trey. You don't go anywhere without me.”

  “He said don't go anywhere in public alone. Other than crossing the street, I won't be in public, and I promise to be very careful when I cross.”

  “Promise all you want.” He didn’t move out of her path, his expression as hard as granite. That expression, she had already learned, meant that nothing was going to change his mind. “You're still going to be escorted by me. I’ll drop you off at your place,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest. “I've got shit to do before tonight, so I'll be out of your hair. Just do me a favor and don't go anywhere without having someone with you.”

  She released a breath she hadn't known she was holding. “I promise.”

  “Another thing. Try not to be too pissed off at me by this evening, yeah? I recommend yelling at me now and getting it all out of your system.”

  “I'm not mad at you, Styx,” she said as honestly as she knew how. “I just can't stand the thought of inadvertently hurting your family when their dreams of you finding your one true love don't pan out when it comes to me. I won't be a party to hurting good people. I just won't.”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “I really don't think that's going to be a problem, Fun-Size, but I hear you. Give me five minutes, and I'll walk you across to your place.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “There are many paths to blowing it when it comes to dressing for a meet-the-parents event.” Zemi sounded almost scholarly as she dug through Sydney’s closet. “You want to be conservative, but you don’t want to come off as a stodgy wallflower who’s never been touched by a man. But you also don’t want to come off as some club-hopping ho who’s been around every block this city has to offer. Ugh.” Zemi pulled out a high-necked floral shirtwaist dress and turned to Sydney, who sat on the edge of her bed. “Why do you even have this? It looks like curtains.”

  “My mother bought it for me when we were still on speaking terms. Feel free to toss it.”

  “Maybe a skirt and blouse combo would be the ticket.” Rummaging some more, Zemi eventually resurfaced with a load of clothes and dumped the selection on the bed beside Sydney. “I don’t suppose you know what any of the other women are going to wear.”

  “Honestly, I haven’t even given a thought to what I’m wearing. I’ve been too busy freaking out over the fake-girlfriend issue evolving into a fake-fiancée issue.”

  Zemi looked like she’d swallowed a bug. “Whoa, wait. What?”

  “Hopefully things aren’t as bad as that sounds.” Briefly she explained what had happened earlier across the street. As she spoke, she was gratified to see her friend’s expression grow increasingly alarmed. Crazy as it was, it was oddly comforting to know her low-key freak-out wasn’t a total overreaction. “Styx said he understood how important it is to avoid any talk like that this evening, so I've got my fingers crossed.”

  “You'd think it would be important to him to establish that obvious boundary as well, but apparently he’s cool with it.” Her friend shook her head until her braids swayed. “Doesn't that seem weird to you?”

  “Think about what my life has been like this past week, Zem. It's been a veritable cornucopia of weird.” She pawed through the offerings beside her on the bed and held up a rust-colored blouse and pencil skirt. “What about this?”

  “Too businesslike.”

  Sydney sighed. “At this point, I'm going to Sunday dinner naked.”

  “You'd certainly make an impression.” Zemi’s tone was distracted as she watched her rummage through the pile of clothes. “I'm serious, Sydney. I can guarantee that almost all men I’ve dated would have screeched bloody murder if something like marriage and happily ever after had even been joked about in the first week of getting to know each other. They would’ve acted …well, like you did when talk of weddings came up. I think it's very telling that your man—”

  “Again, not my man.”

  “That your for-now man didn’t even bat an eye.”

  “Telling?” Pulling a silky, deep blue wrap dress from the pile, Sydney rose to see how the dress looked in the mirror hanging on her closet door. “What’s it telling you?”

  “I'm not sure. It could be that Styx has been inspired to elevate your fake-girlfriend status all the way up to fake-fiancée status, like you said.”

  “I made it very clear that I won’t go there.”

  “Or, it could be that he's fine with thinking of you as his for-now fiancée.” Again, Zemi shook her head and started putting rejected clothes back in the closet. “At least you're being smart about the situation, and not falling for the illusion of this whole boyfriend-girlfriend business. I know you were looking forward to knocking boots with him, but I don’t know if that’s a good idea at this point. Just think how complicated life would be if you took that route now.”

  Sydney opened her mouth, then closed it again. For the first time in her life, she was speechless.

  Clearly noticing the silence, Zemi looked up from straightening the shoulder seams on a dress. “Sydney? You haven't slept with Styx yet, have you?”

  “Slept with? Yes. Had sex with? No. But the deed would have been done if we hadn't been interrupted earlier this morning. What’s more, I'm still disappointed we didn't have the chance to screw our brains out.”

  “I'm sure that man's a demon in the sack, so the woman in me doesn't blame you,” Zemi said after a moment. “But the friend in me is seeing something altogether different.”

  Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t… “What is it that you see?” Damn it.

  “The friend in me is seeing the water rise all around you, girl, and you don't have a rescue boat in sight. If things get too complicated with Styx and whatever it is he wants from you, I'm worried you're going to drown in his crazy family drama.”

  “Don't worry, I'm the daughter of an Olympic freestylist. I’m a great swimmer,” Sydney promised her.

  Sydney might be a great swimmer, but she wasn’t so sure that would help her by the time Styx pulled into an upper-class neighborhood that overlooked Montrose Harbor and Cricket Hill. Every house was set back from the street and placed behind high fences or walls that were anything but ornamental.

  Tension curled deep in her belly at the exacting standards that usually went hand-in-hand with people who lived in neighborhoods like this, and when Styx pulled through the imposing wrought iron security gate, she nearly groaned out loud.

  It was perfection.

  The kind of perfection her parents would have loved.

  Beyond the property’s high walls lay a well-tended front garden cloaked in brilliant autumnal colors. It was a genteel introduction to a three-story Tudor home that didn’t bother being mini about it
s mansion aspirations. Her parents’ house had been contemporary in style, but it still had that same exacting, manicured gloss on it that gave her the creeps.

  If she accidentally tracked a leaf into the Hardwick home, she’d probably be banished for life.

  “Wow.” Trying not to shake with nerves, she looked out at all the cars parked in the teardrop-shaped white gravel drive. “Your parents’ house is, uh, lovely. Did you grow up here?”

  He nodded. “It might be lovely now, but thirty years ago when they bought it, it was an abandoned crack house where my dad nearly lost his life to a hyped-up junkie swinging a shovel like he thought he was in a gladiator arena.”

  She gaped first at him, then at the polished perfection in front of her. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. While my dad lay there bleeding into the grimy floorboards from a head wound, he noticed how beautiful the sculpted ceilings were, and decided then and there to buy the place. My mother didn’t speak to him for about half a year.”

  “Because he bought a crack house, or because he nearly got himself killed playing gladiators with a crackhead?”

  Styx paused in the task of pocketing the car keys. “You know what, I honestly don't know. Kinda always assumed it was because of the whole crack house angle.”

  “Maybe a bit of both?”

  “Maybe.” He gave her an appraising glance before opening his car door and fetching the flowers and wine Sydney had bought. “Once my folks started fixing the place up, my uncle and cousins moved in across the street. After that, the neighborhood got returned to the people who lived here, and my mom finally got around to forgiving my dad. By the way, did I mention my uncle and cousins might drop by later? Because they might drop by later.”

  “I really wish you'd filled out your questionnaire,” she moaned, all the while wondering if anyone had ever actually died of meet-the-parents nerves.

  “There they are, the guests of honor have arrived.” Before they made it to the heavy, wide door with a cheerful “Welcome” wreath hanging on it, it suddenly swung open. A pretty blue-eyed brunette who was obviously pregnant stepped out onto the welcome mat, all smiles. “I’ve literally been checking the security cams every few seconds to see if you guys had driven up, to the point where even Mom yelled at me to sit the hell down, but I had to be the first person to welcome Sydney, and I did it. I’m the first. Yay, me! Welcome, Sydney, we’re going to be best friends, I can already tell.”

  “Annnnnnnd, this is why we call my sister Babs,” Styx murmured close to Sydney’s ear while the nervous knot in her stomach loosened in the face of such obvious friendliness. “This is Tina, the one who babbles. Tina, meet Sydney.”

  “Nice to meet you, Tina.” Sydney smiled and held up the wine she’d brought for the occasion. “I’m now realizing, too late, that I should have brought something nonalcoholic.”

  “Syd also brought along flowers, though, so that should make up for it.” Ushering them both into a white plaster and exposed-beam entryway, Styx didn’t stop until they’d moved into a round foyer dominated by a curved mahogany stairway and a large brass chandelier. “And you know they come from Sydney, because I never think to bring shit like flowers or wine to dinner. I just show up to make a pig of myself every Sunday.”

  “She’s going to train you on how to be a proper dinner guest.” Tina shot him a little-sister, neener-neener smile. “That’s basically how we women roll, teaching manners to grown men who should already know how to act like decent human beings. My husband, Rick, is a work in progress,” she added, turning her attention back to Sydney. “Thankfully he doesn’t belch like a dyspeptic moose in public anymore. Though now that I’ve said that, just watch—he’ll let one fly right at the dinner table tonight, mark my words. It’s his singular talent.”

  “I’ll be polite and pretend not to notice.” Sydney laughed, then turned her head at the sound of approaching footsteps on the glossy, undoubtedly original wooden floors. Arthur, Trey and another young woman with inky black hair, gray eyes in a flouncy violet-colored dress made their way through a wide archway opposite the stairs.

  “There they are,” Arthur boomed, all smiles as he approached. To Sydney’s surprise, he came right up to her to sweep her into a bearhug before clapping his son on the shoulder. “How are ya, Syd? Welcome to Hardwick HQ. Hope you’re hungry, because we’ve got Beef Wellington on the menu tonight.”

  “Oh, perfect. I brought a nice merlot that should go well with that. That is, if you like wine.” Damn, she probably should have asked.

  “Love the stuff. This is perfect, Syd, thanks. We need to invite you over more often.” Arthur’s face lit up as he took the bottle and read the label before giving Styx a glance. Then he did a double take when he saw what his son was holding. “What the hell, kid. You win a beauty pageant or something?”

  Tina smirked. “Syd is teaching Styx manners. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “You all suck.” Styx sighed and gave the bouquet of flowers to Tina. “Do something with those.”

  Tina gave them right back. “You’re supposed to give those to your hostess, dummy. She’s slaving over a hot stove as we speak.”

  The black-haired woman stifled a laugh before elbowing Trey. “See? Bringing your hostess a simple gift of wine, flowers or candy is an expected and normal type of behavior, and it isn’t at all weird.”

  “She’s not my hostess, she’s my mom. That makes it weird.” Looking disgruntled and rubbing the place where he got elbowed, Trey glanced at Sydney. “Syd, this is Maeve, my fiancée and the lady who made me bring flowers tonight. Maeve, Sydney, Styx’s woman.”

  Styx’s woman. She wondered if anyone else had the breath leave their lungs at that. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maeve.”

  “The pleasure’s mine, believe me.” The glimmer of relief in the bright smile Maeve gave her didn’t make sense. Before Sydney could find a polite way to question her about it, however, a woman’s aggravated voice yelling from deep within the house brought all heads swiveling in that direction.

  “If I don’t get someone in here besides all-thumbs Rick to help get things on the table, we’re not going to eat tonight.”

  “You heard her, troops.” Arthur shooed everyone toward the archway. “Get in there and make yourselves useful.”

  A whirl of happy chaos ensued, and Sydney drank it all in with what she suspected was a dazed smile. The Hardwick family was so different from her own, it wasn't even funny. They razzed each other every chance they got. They laughed at both themselves and each other, but never with malice or even a hint of judgment.

  That was what stood out for her the most—the laughter. It was downright shocking to see family enjoying being together.

  In her experience, that never happened. Ever.

  She could definitely get used to the Hardwick way of doing things.

  Emily Hardwick was clearly the heart and soul of everything that went on in the house. Though she was only in her mid-fifties, her short hair was a gorgeous, pure white. With an oversized apron emblazoned with the Chicago Cubs insignia covering a burgundy dress, she waved an oven mitt at Sydney the moment she entered the kitchen.

  “Hey there, new face,” she called out over the bustle of everyone entering the large country-style kitchen. “How are you at setting tables? My darling son-in-law Rick just broke a plate in what I believe is a passive-aggressive bid to escape Sunday dinner duties, so I’m looking for new recruits.”

  The young man in question, sporting a military-style high-and-tight haircut and a scar going through an eyebrow, gave his mother-in-law a mournful look. “It was an accident, Em. I said I was sorry.”

  “Hard to believe you were trained by the Army for explosive ordinance disposal,” Arthur remarked with a shake of his head before turning to Sydney. “Hope you know your way around a kitchen, Syd. Sunday dinner means all hands on deck, as long as you know what you’re doing.”

  “Sydney’s got a minor in Culinary Arts from the Sorbon
ne in Paris, or so she says,” Styx drawled, going over to kiss his mother’s cheek before handing her the bouquet of autumnal flowers. “Syd’s never actually cooked for me, so I have no idea what she can really do in the kitchen.”

  “Keep going at that rate, and you’re never going to,” Sydney shot back with a sweet smile, causing Emily to cackle out loud.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the score stands at Sydney, one. Terrance, zero.” Even as Sydney struggled not to snort at Styx being called by his given name, his mother reached up and patted his cheek. “Caught yourself a live one, didn’t you, hon?”

  “I’m still in the process of reeling her in.” Styx shot Sydney a quick wink that did such crazy things to her pulse she had to press a hand against her heart to calm it. “Let’s not spook her until I’ve hooked her good and proper, yeah?”

  “If you didn’t want to spook her, you probably shouldn’t have landed her in the middle of our madhouse, but it’s too late now. There’s no escape, Sydney,” Emily added, beaming at her while her sharp eyes took in the telltale hand at her chest. “After helping with the table, you can show us what you’ve got in the kitchen. I was just about to make the mushroom sauce for the main course, so you can help me with that. Ooh, Arthur, is that wine? Tell me that’s wine and that you’re pouring me a glass.”

  That decided it for Sydney. Emily Hardwick was a freaking rock star.

  With Rick shamed out of doing any more “helping,” Sydney, Maeve and Tina got the table set in record time before Sydney scooted back into the kitchen and became the official stirrer of the mushroom sauce. After chatting about the tricky ins and outs of making the perfect Beef Wellington, Emily insisted Sydney also had to make the red wine sauce she usually served with that particular dish.

  For a heartbeat, Sydney blanked. Unbidden in her mind, all the evaluations she’d had to endure throughout her growing-up years bubbled up to the surface and nearly drowned her. Then, just as her panic was on the verge of giving her an out-of-body experience, she remembered that Emily wasn’t her mother. This wasn’t a cold evaluation of her worth, and there was nothing but warmth and friendship in the older woman’s eyes. With that in mind, Sydney set about the task of whipping up the red wine concoction, all the while reveling in the freedom of not being judged.