Page 78 of Whiteout

“She doesn’t need to impress him, my mother, or anybody else.”

“It’s not about that, Ian,” Francie said, glancing up from the potatoes she was peeling. “How would you feel walking into court in jeans and a T-shirt?”

“Totally out of place.” Not that he’d ever do that.

“The suit makes the man, eh?”

“This isn’t court, Auntie, it’s her home.”

With an arch of her eyebrow, she shot him a look.

“Okay, yeah, I get it.”

“Breanna’s a wonderful girl, Sinny.”

Though everyone called him Sinjin as a kid, his aunt hadn’t used the nickname Pamela gave him in a very long time. These days, she saved it for when she was especially meaningful or showing him affection. Ian figured in this instance, it was a little of both.

The corners of his mouth rose, and he softly agreed, “Yes, she is.”

“I see so much of Shane in her.” Biting on her lip, Francie choked, “He and Valerie would be so damn proud.”

Hugging his aunt, Ian sighed. “Yeah.”

“You’ve got to put a stop to this, honey.” She swiped beneath her glasses.

Besides him, Francie was probably the person closest to Valerie Dalton. She and Ted had been here, running the house for her, for over forty years.

“I’m trying to, Auntie.”

“How can I help?” She held onto his hands.

He kissed her brow. “Right now, I need you to follow my lead and do your best to keep Derek away from her.”

To say his cousin was far from happy was putting it mildly. Breanna was still upstairs when Derek charged in like he already owned the place, which he did not, and never would if Ian could help it. Of course, the bastard cornered him the first chance he got. “Did you get it done?”

“Told you, cuz.” He poured himself a bourbon. “It’s not fucking happening.”

“I guess we’re doing things my way, then.” And with a smirk, Derek turned toward their aunt. “What’s for dinner, Francie?”

“Creme Fraiche salmon, escarole salad, potatoes Anna, beef tenderloin, and I baked us a chocolate caramel pecan tart for dessert.”

Now, in the sitting room with said pecan tart, Breanna safely tucked between him and Pamela, Ian watched Derek return with a tray of brandy, obviously miffed, judging by the pinched expression on his face, that he had no choice but to sit with Ted and Francie.

His mother snickered, taking a snifter from the tray. “What a difference a week makes, eh?”

“And just what is that supposed to mean, Pamela?” Derek’s nostrils flared. “I wasn’t aware you were joining us this weekend.”

“Hm, perhaps because my comings and goings are none of your concern, dear.” She sipped on her brandy with a smile. “I’m here to help Francie and Breanna with the holiday touches.”

“I see.”

“Why are you here?” Pamela asked, as if she didn’t already know.

“For Miss Dalton, of course.”

“Shouldn’t you be…oh, I don’t know…at a dinner party somewhere or spending the weekend in Tahoe with Miranda? That’s what you usually do, isn’t it?”

“I have more important matters to attend to here,” Derek said, his sights on Breanna.

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