Seriously?
Okay, Donovan couldn't have prepared me for this. No matter what he’d said, I would not have been able to predict what kind of answer a woman like this would want from me. No wonder he hadn't tried.
I wanted to say something snide in return but her latest comments had been fairly polite, and it was perhaps best not to rock the boat.
"Wonderful, Susan," I said instead, and reached for my wine glass.
Edward had better have another bottle on hand, I thought, because this evening was going to take a lot of alcohol to get through.
“So Sabrina, will you quit working after the wedding or will you wait until you are pregnant?"
I almost choked on my chicken roulade.
After our initial introduction, the evening had gone better. Early on, it was obvious that Raymond and Susan's only interest where I was concerned was in how well-bred I was. Or how well-bred I wasn't, as the case may be.
But poverty had always been my beginning, and that was unchangeable. I was used to the looks I got when people from better means heard about my upbringing. I had gotten it a lot when I had been at Harvard, in fact. And when someone like Donovan showed up with someone like me on his arm, of course his parents would want to know about my education, my current means. They probably were afraid I was after their son’s money, and it was only natural to make sure that I had legitimate feelings for him.
I did my best to speak affectionately about him at every turn possible. When the time came to speak about my job, I made sure I sounded independent and secure, not reliant on Donovan for my position or his paycheck, so the Kincaids wouldn't have to worry that I was attaching myself to him for reasons other than romantic. I had thought I was easing them into our relationship.
Then Raymond completely took me off guard by asking about weddings and babies.
"We’re not engaged," I said in unison with Donovan.
I was thankful he'd had the same answer. For a moment I wondered if I'd been brought here under false pretenses.
Though at the same time, I was intrigued by the idea. I almost wished I had time to consider it longer before he’d made it clear those weren't his intentions.
"Not yet, maybe," Raymond said, in between bites of his entrée. He took a swallow from his water goblet. "But why else would Donovan bring you here? He's never introduced a woman to us before."
"I knew you weren't gay," Susan said as though she had discussed it many times in the past.
Donovan blinked, shaking his head almost indiscernibly. "I'm not even acknowledging that comment."
"You've never introduced anyone to your parents before?" I patted my mouth with my napkin, trying to find a safer topic, one that might not have me on such pins and needles.
"They knew Amanda. Who else would I have brought here?"
I supposed no one. He'd told me that he hadn't had feelings for anyone since his fiancée had died so who would he have brought? It wasn’t surprising that there hadn’t been anyone.
Still, I was reeling from Raymond's comments. Why would he assume that engagement was inevitable when I'd only just met them?
Was it inevitable?
"You didn't answer the question," Susan prodded. She seemed to have decided to like me, but that wasn't saying a lot. I wasn't even sure she liked Donovan very much.
"What question?" The question about whether I’d quit working or not? Did she seriously expect me to answer that?
Thankfully Donovan intervened. “Sabrina worked harder than a lot of people do to get her degrees and to earn her reputation in the industry. I doubt that she will want to end her career if or when she marries, no matter how well off her husband is. She is very independent and strong-minded, and I'm certain she would enjoy contributing a paycheck almost as much as she enjoys the work itself. Not that it's any of our business what she chooses to do, since as I said, we are not betrothed."
"Right. I like working." I didn't know if I liked his answer, though. There was nothing wrong with it, and we absolutely weren't engaged, but did he have to seem so adamant about it?
Despite his son’s argument to the contrary, Raymond seemed not to be the kind of guy who thought anything was out of the realm of his business. "But you will quit when you're pregnant?"
Donovan rushed to answer this as well, but this time I decided to fend for myself. "I don't see why I’d have to."
Not that I was getting pregnant. Not that I was getting married.
Raymond and Susan exchanged anxious glances.
"Oh, but dear, you can't work with a baby," she said patiently. A bit condescendingly, too.
"It's not a woman's role," Raymond agreed.
"Not in polite circles. You can volunteer for the PTA. You can head charities—that's what I do. You can still work, per se, but earning an actual paycheck is…" She searched for the word that she wanted. “Tacky. And it’s not a good example for the baby."
I dropped my fork and looked at Donovan incredulously. He had his eyes closed and his jaw was working. It occurred to me that perhaps it was his parents that were the initial cause of the chronic clench of his teeth.
It sure wasn't his fault they were who they were.
But somehow, he was who he was because of them.
And so, for that reason alone, I didn't want to alienate them, no matter how archaic and idiotic their notions.
So when he began again to defend me and my future choices, I slipped my hand onto his knee under the table, letting him know I had this.
"I'll certainly consider your advice," I told them. “Of course, when the time comes to make those decisions, Donovan and I will have to seriously discuss it together."
I didn't even look to his parents for a reaction. I only looked to him. And though he didn't smile with his lips, his eyes did. Under the table, he laced his fingers through mine, and we held them together like a secret only the two of us knew for the rest of the meal.
After dinner, Susan went to bed early and Raymond asked Donovan to join him in his study for a cigar. It was clear that I was not invited, possibly because I was not his son, but I had a feeling it was because I was not a man.
It was fine. I was perfectly content to be left on my own. I went upstairs to our suite and spent an hour entering data I'd gathered on the ride up into my computer now that I had Wi-Fi. When I’d finished and Donovan still hadn't come up, I put on some slippers, stole the blanket from the bottom of the bed to wrap around me, and slipped out onto the balcony.
The night was cold and crisp, wetter and thicker than in the city. My breath was visible as I exhaled like I was smoking cigarettes. I leaned against the railing and looked out over the property and the land that stretched out beyond. It had stopped snowing and the moon was out now, and the stars. And without the lights of the city, I could see for miles—an ocean of trees and snow. Here and there a glow came from beneath the canopy, suggesting a residence underneath. But mostly there was nothing but woods. No one.
It was lonely.
As lonely as this house—this behemoth of a house that lodged two people, and perhaps an employee or two.
Donovan had told me he'd spent most of his time growing up in the city, but that his parents preferred the country home because of the space it provided them. And standing outside in the cold, alone, after the most unfriendly dinner of my life, all I could think was—how much space do three people who barely even talk need?