Page 37 of Rim Job

I turn toward the masculine voice and immediately, I know this is Rimmington Banks’ father. He looks just like Rim—a little older, more salt than pepper hair, but just as striking. The years have been kind to him.

“Father,” Rim says as he glides toward the man, then shakes his hand. His father claps him on the back, and Rim returns the gesture. “How’s Mum?”

“She’s well. Having tea in the solarium. Who do we have here?” His dad gestures toward me, Evelyn, and Jen, and an air of confusion graces his features.

I’m assuming Rim left his father in the dark about our marriage.

“Ladies, this is my father, Sir Thomas Banks, Duke of Saint Clair.” The Duke bows his head in greeting. “Father, this is Evelyn Salinas, Jen Haner, and…” He pauses a moment, almost unsure of what to say. This is the first time I have seen Rimmington Banks at a loss. A few short strides brings him back to my side. His arm hooks around my waist, drawing me into him. I look up at his father, and his features are marred with interest or confusion, I can’t tell. He seems to be the stoic, expressionless type.

“And this is Lady Christina Banks, my wife.”

Oh brother. He went straight for it, didn’t he?

“Your what?”

Did I say expressionless?

Rim’s father’s face morphs into the look one might get when a turd is shoved under their nose. “Don’t be preposterous, Rimmington. Your wife?” He scoffs before continuing, “Is this another one of your absurd jokes? I do not find it humorous at all.” His father raises his chin higher in the air, and that old saying about snobbery and drowning comes to mind.

Rim lifts his chin in defiance.

Folks, we’ve got a chin off.

I bite back a smile as Rim responds to his father, “I am most definitely not joking, Father.”

The tension thickens.

I extend my hand, because you know, it’s awkward so let me help out, right?

Right.

“Nice to meet you Duke, or is it The Duke?” He just looks at me, not at all amused. Of course, I need to continue to fill the awkward silence. “Sir Thomas, Mr. Banks, Sir? No, that sounds tooFifty Shades of Grey, doesn’t it? Oh, but I bet you haven’t read that or watched the movie, huh, um, Dad?”

Good grief, word vomit much? Why in the hell didn’t I ask Rim, or at least Google what to call his dad?

I lower my hand and curtsy because why the hell not carry on with the train wreck at this point? I go for it. Full-on deep squatting, sweeping bow like I’m in front of the Queen. Beside me, Rim chuckles, and I rise back up to see The Duke staring at me, bewildered like I’ve grown two heads.

“Well, in that case…”The Duke, Sir Thomas, err...Sir, shit what do I call him?Anyway, he straightens the cuffs of his shirt underneath the sleeves of his jacket before continuing, “Greta. Virginia.”

Two maids scurry out of the recesses like they were just lingering there waiting for their cue.

“Will you please show the ladies to their rooms. Rimmington, I’ll need a word with you.”

“Yes, Father, but first, I need to see that my wife is settled.”

The Duke nods before he turns and vanishes down a long corridor.

Rim squeezes my waist. “He took that well.”

“That was taking it well? How can you tell?” I peer up at him. His eyes crinkle at the corners as an amused, small smile tugs his lips. I like that look on his face.

“He didn’t yell.”

“He yells?” It’s hard to image The Duke having any sudden outbursts. He seems too calm, too put together, too controlled for emotional outbursts.

“Sometimes, but we call it passion, not yelling. Yelling would imply emotion is attached. He doesn’t possess those.”

I laugh as his hand slips through mine. I look down at our twined fingers. My heart rate picks up.

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