He nods stoically. “Mr. Drake is at home. And his mother is visiting.”
“His mother,” I echo. I glance helplessly at all my worldly possessions in trash bags and a cardboard box advertising cheap vodka.
I want to die.
“You can fetch this later, if you wish,” Miguel repeats. “I would put it in the package room for you.”
“Oh God, thank you,” I gasp. He’s saving me right now. What a guy. “I owe you big. Thank you so much.”
He nods once.
“Neil’s mother,” I breathe. “On a scale of one to ten, how terrifying is she?”
At first, I don’t think he’s going to answer. He’s too discreet, and I’m putting him in a terrible position by asking. I don’t even live here.
“She’s an eight,” he whispers.
Gulp.
“And a half.”
“God. Really?” I hiss.
Instead of answering, he marches toward the elevator to summon it for me, pressing the button firmly.
Either button-pushing is a service that rich people enjoy, or he’s trying to get rid of me. It could really go either way.
“Thanks again!” I call as the elevator arrives.
He gives me a salute as the doors close.
I fluff my hair in the reflective brass doors as the car ascends. I’m wearing jeans, damn it. But at least they’re my good jeans.
I’d happily skip this meet-the-parent thing entirely. But I have practice in an hour, and my Brooklyn Hockey ID is in Neil’s apartment. So this Mrs. Cornelius Drake is about to meet another Mrs. Cornelius Drake whether I want to or not.
The elevator doors burp me out on the sixth floor before I’m ready. I unlock the front door and hear Neil’s voice and then footsteps approaching the foyer. “Hi,” Neil says with a tight smile. “My mother is here.”
“Oh, is she?” I ask in a clear, sweet voice. “How lovely.”
Neil quirks an eyebrow. I must not be a very good actor. “Come and meet her,” he whispers as he removes my coat. “She has a lot of opinions, but she’s seventy-five percent harmless.”
I drop my voice to a whisper. “That means she’s twenty-five percent deadly. Got it.”
With a chuckle, he slips his hand into mine, as if that’s something we do.
And I realize this is it—our first big performance.
I’m so not ready.
Nevertheless, Neil draws me toward the living room. “Charli, this is my mother, Paloma. Mom, this is Charli. My wife.”
Breathe, I remind myself as I smile at the woman who’s perched so regally on the world’s most uncomfortable sofa.
“Hello, darling,” she says with a forced smile. Her eyes are the same hazel as Neil’s. But not as warm.
“Hello,” I echo. “You look just like your daughter.” The resemblance is downright uncanny. Like Neil’s younger sister, Mrs. Drake has honey-gold streaks in her brown hair, aggressive cheekbones, and the cunning hazel eyes of a sly fox.
Now they widen in surprise. “You know Paisley?”
“We’ve met,” I say carefully. “Boarding school.” And I’ve been avoiding her ever since. “I went to Draper on a sports scholarship,” I explain. “She was on the soccer team, if I recall.”
Might as well get that out there—I was the scholarship kid that never fit in. But at least we won the Northeast Hockey Championship two of the years I was there.
“Where are you from?” Mrs. Drake asks.
Another fun question. “Philly. Not the nice part, either.” This comes out sounding a little curt. It’s a reflex born of having people judge me.
“I see.” She tilts her head, as if analyzing this new bit of information. “And what do your parents do?”
“What parents? I haven’t seen either one in years.” I probably wouldn’t even recognize my father. But I keep that detail to myself.
“That could change,” she says airily.
“Not likely.” I don’t even know why she’d say such a thing.
“Charlotte,” she says, and I wonder if she googled me, or if my real name was just a lucky guess. “People behave strangely around money.”
“I really wouldn’t know.”
Neil chuckles. He sits down on a sort of chaise thing that looks more comfortable than it is. Then? He tugs my hand until I’m seated on his thigh, like a little girl visiting Santa at the mall.
We are the least convincing couple in the world, as I predicted. It’s a nice thigh, though. And when he parks a warm hand on my lower back, I enjoy the calming presence.
“Money makes everything weird,” Paloma says.
“You must be right, because Neil’s uncle burst a gasket over my sudden appearance in Neil’s life.”
There’s another small sound of amusement from Neil. And his thumb traces a lazy arc across my back, which I really should not be enjoying.
“Indeed,” Paloma sniffs. “Neil’s uncle had his sense of humor surgically removed sometime before puberty. And his son is just as bad.”
Interesting. “They sound like a lot of fun. Remind me not to invite them over for cocktails the next time Neil and I are entertaining.”
This is the first time in my life I’ve ever used entertaining as a verb. I sound like a twat right now. I flick a glance at Neil, to see how I’m doing. He grins at me.
“It’s their loss, really,” I continue. “I make a nice margarita.”
His mother gives me a fox-like smile. “You’ll have to meet them both, though. By virtue of marrying my son, you’re the newest voting member of the Drake Foundation board of directors.”
“So I heard. But I don’t know anything about the foundation, so I plan to vote for anything that Neil votes for. Unless he votes to have mushrooms on pizza. Those are a hard no.”
I’m rambling now, because playacting doesn’t come easily to me. But Neil’s mom doesn’t seem to mind. “Perhaps there’s a charity you’d like to support,” she says. “A cause that’s meaningful to you personally. If you think of something, send me the details, and I’ll do any necessary research.”
“All right.” I lick my lips nervously. I really need to get out of here, and I have the perfect excuse. “Sorry,” I say, standing up suddenly. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get to practice. And I’m sure you’d like to visit with your son.”
I escape to the bedroom. That had not been an easy few minutes. I’d never wanted to meet Neil’s mother, and I sure as hell never wanted to meet her as his wife.
Jesus. This was never going to work. I should just tell Neil that our charade is a non-starter.
Then again, I just told my brother I was giving up my apartment.
Shit.
I get down on the floor and do a series of cat and cow yoga stretches, ending up in down dog. It calms me a little bit. I can hear the murmur of Neil’s voice in the living room, and it calms me down even further.
Standing up, I grab my ID and my gym bag. As I cross the apartment, headed for the door, my body language tries to convey how busy I am. But not too busy to stop and give Neil’s mother a smile that attempts to look presentable. “It was lovely to meet you Mrs. Drake.”