“I won’t let you make those sorts of decisions for me. I’m a grown man, dammit. Just because my brothers—”
“Your brothers know when it’s time to stand their ground and time to take a step back and let cooler heads prevail. Last I checked, neither of them is unhappy.”
Mr. Cleary’s voice isn’t the bright, jovial, laughter-infused voice I remember hearing at the ball. He’s stern now, strident, maybe even a little cold. Whatever the two of them are arguing about, he’s fed up with his son and his opinions.
“You can keep meddling in their lives, but I won’t let you meddle in mine. I do as I please. And that’s the last I want to hear about it.”
When Paxton marches out of the barn, I hurry out of sight. He practically jumps on Star’s back and rides off in a cloud of dust. I watch him until he’s not much more than a speck on the horizon.
When I turn my gaze back toward the barn, I find Mr. Cleary watching me from just inside. Most people would flinch or back away if they were caught staring at somebody.
Not this man. He might as well be staring through me.
My stomach drops.
What should I do? Does he know I overheard part of the argument? If so, would he be angry, assuming I eavesdropped on purpose? Should I apologize in advance? What do I have to apologize for?
That would only make me look guilty, and I don’t have anything to feel guilty about.
Right?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The lace-covered black cocktail dress doesn’t exactly fit like a glove, but it’s the closest of all dresses Paxton ordered for tonight.
“You look absolutely gorgeous.” His hand finds my knee as he drives us from his house to the main house, where his father lives, the house in which he grew up.
“You’re sure about that?” I keep smoothing and rearranging the curls hanging over one shoulder. I can’t stay still.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. You’re ravishing. It’ll be a miracle if I manage to keep my hands off you for the duration of the party.”
I practically have to bite my tongue to keep myself from suggesting we don’t go to the party at all. I mean, sex is a pretty good deterrent, right? That might get me out of this.
Something tells me I’m not going to be a welcome guest.
He hasn’t had much to say about the fight with his father. By the time he got back on Tuesday afternoon, I decided to gently, casually mention hearing shouting coming from the barn. I didn’t mention anything I’d heard, figuring it would be better if he didn’t know I’d gotten wind of some of the specifics.
Though I still don’t know exactly what it was all about.
“Just another example of how he insists on staying in the past. I swear, it’s like he’s been asleep the last forty years. This isn’t the Dark Ages.” That was the most he would give me.
No way was I going to press him for more since the topic so clearly made him unhappy.
So, I suggested a soak in the hot tub, which definitely turned his mood around. It’s not like I didn’t benefit from it.
And now, I have a hot-tub sex scene to write, so it was a win-win all the way around.
Though I’m sure he wouldn’t tell me even if I tortured him for the information, I get the feeling a big part of what they were fighting about was me. Is it hopelessly deluded of me to think I’m worth fighting about?
“Do me a favor?” I whisper as we ride over the crest of a hill and an absolute castle appears before us. “Don’t let me get lost tonight.”
“Don’t you worry. I have no intention of letting you out of my sight.” His hand creeps up the inside of my thigh, and I squirm a little, giggling. Still, there’s no escaping the block of ice now in my stomach.
I’ve never seen anything like the mansion we’re approaching—not in person at least. On TV, sure. This is the sort of insanely sprawling, over-the-top houses the super wealthy call home. There are three wings, extending in a cloverleaf shape around a central structure.
“The center building was built first,” Paxton explains, almost like he’s reading my mind. “The rest was added on over the years. I love my mama—God rest her soul—but she never knew when enough was enough.”
“It’s very impressive.”
And it is. The long driveway leading up to the circular courtyard is lined on both sides with lit torches casting a warm, almost-magical glow in the otherwise dark night. The sky is so full of stars. The grounds are immaculate, illuminated by carefully hidden spotlights. There are topiaries, luscious roses, towering trees. A pond sits off to one side, complete with a footbridge strung with lights, and to the other side of the mansion sits an array of sparkling luxury cars belonging to the other guests. It’s like something out of a fabulous dream.
Or a nightmare. Like the nightmare I had earlier this week about this very party.
Paxton helps me from the car, nodding in greeting to a uniformed valet on our way to the enormous double doors leading inside the house. He places my hand in the crook of his elbow and pats it gently. “Just be yourself. I think you’ll be surprised how down-to-earth a lot of these people are.”
It’s almost adorable of him, the faith he has in me—and in them, for that matter. I wonder if he knows what it feels like to not fit in.
We’re greeted by a server upon stepping into the marble-floored entry hall. I accept a glass of champagne with a smile, all the while observing the beauty around me.
I could never get used to the grandeur of my grandmother’s home, but this is all a whole other level. A huge stuffed bear sits in one corner of the cavernous study with its paws up, its mouth permanently open in a growl. I wonder if the old man killed it himself and decide it’s better to not think about it. I might end up fainting again, and that wouldn’t be fun for anyone.
I wouldn’t want to be a fainting city slicker who couldn’t stand the sight of a taxidermic bear.
There are so many people too. The women are beautiful, dressed to the nines, wearing their jewels and pearls and laughing like they’re having the time of their lives. I now wonder if a cocktail dress is suitable for this—Paxton obviously didn’t know what to ask for. Only when I see a few women closer to my age, wearing similar dresses, as he leads me from one gigantic room to another do I breathe a little easier.
“Charlotte!” Paxton gestures to a pretty redhead. “Kitty Valentine, this is Charlotte Cleary, Preston’s wife.”
“It’s so nice to meet you.” I take the hand she holds out.
“It sure is nice to meet you,” she offers with a wide smile. “We always enjoy meeting Paxton’s friends. It’s a shame he doesn’t bring them around nearly enough.”
“As I often remind my sister-in-law, that’s because I rarely meet a friend I like enough to bring around in the first place.”
“I’m glad I pass muster.” I shrug with a smile.
“Bless your heart,” Charlotte coos with one more smile before turning to Paxton. “I’m going to find Preston.”
“She’s real warm, that one,” Paxton murmurs sarcastically once she’s gone.
“I know what bless your heart means,” I whisper. “It’s not anything nice.”