As they followed the butler into the lounge area, Scarlett nervously smoothed her damp palms along the sides of her cobalt blue dress. The lightweight wool dress was plain and unadorned, but the cut and close fitting style plus the glorious color did amazing things for her skin and slender curves. Because she still wasn’t entirely comfortable with wearing stilettos, half-afraid she’d twist an ankle or topple forward and break a couple of ribs, she’d opted for a pair of nude peep-toe pumps with a more modest heel.
She’d accessorized the starkness of the dress with a pretty necklace made of crystals and beads in varying shades of blue and purple. The necklace and its matching earrings had been a Christmas gift from Ananda, a set that she had personally made just for Scarlett.
Her makeup was minimal, really no more than some tinted moisturizer, a bit of powdered blush, a coat of mascara, and some nude lip gloss. She doubted she’d ever really like wearing makeup, and never wore it during the week when she was attending classes or working at the café. Same with the weekends when she didn’t see Jackson. But when they were together she admittedly made a bit more of an effort to do her face and pay more attention to what she wore. Not, of course, that he seemed to give a damn about her casual attire and lack of makeup. But she was all too well aware that the women he’d dated in the past had probably all been glamorous like Devon, and that the female members of his family all dressed to kill.
Scarlett had toyed with the idea - not entirely seriously, of course - of showing up to dinner this evening in her usual garb of faded, ripped jeans, old T-shirt, and canvas sneakers. But things were going to be difficult enough tonight, she’d reasoned, and she hadn’t wanted to start the night off with a mark against her. Plus, it was a matter of pride to look her best, to prove to Jackson’s stuffy family that she was more than worthy to be his girlfriend.
The interior of the house was even more grandly intimidating than the outside, and Scarlett forced herself not to gulp as they walked along shiny marble floors, glimpsing what were probably pricey works of art on the walls, ornate chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and furnishings that looked anything but comfortable. She gripped Jackson’s hand a little tighter as they approached whatever the hell room the “lounge” was, causing him to look at her quizzically.
“They haven’t seen us yet,” she whispered urgently. “Still time for us to duck out, head back to your condo, and order pizza.”
He chuckled, bringing her hand to his lips. “Don’t tempt me,” he whispered back. “Come on, let’s get this over with. You’ve faced much tougher obstacles in your life. Think back to that story you told me about slashing the tires on that bully’s bicycle. That took guts, babe. Think back to how you felt when you lit that bag of dog poop on fire, that sense of triumph. That’s how you should be feeling right now.”
Scarlett grinned wickedly. “I was actually pretty terrified after I pulled that stunt, afraid that someone had seen me or that I’d get caught. But after I made it home safe and realized no one could pin it on me, I felt more exhilarated and more powerful than I’d ever done before. Thanks for the reminder. I’ll just pretend that I slashed the tires on both of our fathers cars and that there’s a flaming bag of dog poop on the front doorstep right now. That should give me the confidence I need.”
Jackson returned her grin unabashedly. “That’s my girl. Come on, let’s go give ‘em hell.”
She strode into the lounge with renewed confidence, a smile on her face as Jackson squeezed her hand reassuringly. But as she looked around at the other occupants of the room, that brazen self-reliance began to fade instantly, and she found herself clutching Jackson’s hand even tighter.
Jackson wisely approached his mother first, knowing that she would be the least likely adult in the room to make any sort of scene. Candace Gilmore looked every inch the rich, pampered society matron that she was, dressed in slim fitting cream silk trousers and a gorgeous tunic top patterned in gold and cream. She, apparently, didn’t have the same sort of qualms Scarlett did when it came to wearing stilettos, her cream leather sandals studded with rhinestones adding at least three inches to her height. Her complexion was smooth and flawless, making her look years younger than her actual age, her makeup discreetly but expertly applied. Her pale blonde hair waved around her face, and Scarlett guessed that she’d had it blown out mere hours ago. Candace also liked jewelry - a lot of it - having draped herself with several necklaces of varying lengths and styles, at least a dozen gold bangle bracelets, huge diamond stud earrings, and sparkling rings on almost every one of her perfectly manicured fingers.
The smile Candace gave her as they were introduced seemed genuine, thought Scarlett faintly, holding her breath as the older woman gave her a brief hug, enveloping her in a cloud of heady perfume.
“It’s lovely to finally meet you, Scarlett,” replied Candace smoothly. “I’m still not certain why Jackson felt he had to keep you a secret for so many months, but I’m happy to welcome you to our home this evening.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Gilmore,” murmured Scarlett softly. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“And you’ve already met my father,” commented Jackson dryly. “Though I’m not sure how nice of an experience that was.”
Aside from giving his son a reproving glare, Barton didn’t acknowledge the sarcastic comment. Unlike his wife, however, his greeting for Scarlett was nowhere near as gracious.
“Hello,” he mumbled, half under his breath, extending his hand to her with visible reluctance.
Scarlett, in turn, took great pleasure in grasping his hand firmly, enough so that he winced. Deciding she might as well lay it on thick, she gave him a winning smile and practically simpered in response.
“So nice to see you again, Mr. Gilmore,” she gushed. “What a beautiful home you have. Jackson said you built it yourself.”
Barton gave a terse nod. “More or less.”
Realizing that was all he was going to pry out of his father at the moment, Jackson took Scarlett by the arm and gently steered her over to the other three people in the room. Neil, the only one wearing a suit and tie, got to his feet slowly to greet his daughter.
“Hello, Scarlett,” he said in a somber tone.
He gave her hand a brief squeeze before glancing over her dress, shoes, and hair in obvious surprise.
“Glad to see you decided to dress up for the occasion,” he murmured. “I almost didn’t recognize you for a moment. Ah, this is my wife. And Laura this is - well, Scarlett.”
It should have riled Scarlett that Neil couldn’t bring himself to actually refer to her as his daughter, but since she had well and truly given up long ago on ever having any sort of relationship with him, she found she could shrug it off easily. What wouldn’t be quite so easy to ignore, however, was the glare of pure hatred and resentment being directed her way by Jackson’s sister.
Her resemblance to Candace was obvious, though Laura was more petite and fragile, her too-slender body garbed in a blush pink sheath dress and coordinating pumps. She wore only a minimal amount of makeup, which made her pale skin look almost sickly. Her blonde hair had been scraped back into a tight knot at her nape, the style too severe for someone with such small, delicate features. And while she was well dressed and perfectly groomed, she was overshadowed by her far more glamorous mother.