Page 33 of Hands off his Dudette

Chapter 15

Arabella Johnson was an elegant, still-beautiful lady of seventy-two, who didn't look a day over forty-five, courtesy of her friend Bruno, the surgeon she kept on speed dial.

She enjoyed all fineries and delighted in luxury. This year, she was spending December on a safari, in Africa. Arabella was fond of cats, and she refused to leave this world until she'd cuddled a lion. Hence why Finn didn't comprehend what she was doing here.

"Aren't you supposed to be in Nigeria this week?"

"Good of you to remember my itinerary, Finnegan. And I would certainly be there, had your stubborn brother not insisted on this farce." She tsked. "A wedding, scheduled in four weeks! And around Christmas, too. What has the world come to?"

Behind her, her butler came in, a large suitcase in hand, and the leash of a white Maine Coon cat on the other.

"Ah, Arnold. When you're done with my luggage, make some tea, would you?"

Arabella walked in and took over like she owned the place—which she did.

Finn followed her, wincing in advance as he thought of what she'd have to say about the new sofa.

"A tree!" she noted, surprised, her eyes set on the eight foot tall Christmas tree he'd just carried in. Arabella turned to her soon. "Not decorated, but still, it's better than none."

He shrugged. "I just got it today. Anna and I will decorate it this evening." He pointed to the various bags at the foot of the large, bushy Christmas tree. "See?"

"Ah." Arabella swept the room in one glance. "And where is Annabelle now, may I ask?"

"At work, Mom. She should get home soon."

"Good," was all the reply she made.

Finn looked for his phone, to warn Anna, but the door opened again before he located it. He practically ran to the entryway.

One glance at his expression, and Anna groaned. "Don't tell me she's here?" she whispered.

He nodded helplessly.

"Is that you, Annabelle?"

No one called Anna that, not even her own family; she hated the stuffy name, and she'd said so many times. Arabella Johnson didn't care about such things as preferences, however.

"Yes, Arabella."

"Well, come on through then. Let's get a good look at you."

Anna sighed, before pushing her shoulder back, and walking in the lounge with a big smile. "Welcome home, Arabella. We didn't know you were coming, or we would have put fresh flowers in your room."

She waved her hand. "I can get my own flowers, child. Come closer. Yes, right here. You changed your hair."

Anna nodded. "Yes, I had it layered, and got some highlights, too. Do you like it?"

"I suppose," said Arabella, her expression cold and indifferent.

Come to think of it, it was no wonder that Anna thought Arabella disliked her. She did look very severe and judgmental. But Finn knew his mother: she fucking doted on Anna.

"How's that job of yours? Still drawing toys?"

"Yes, it's very fulfilling. This week, we're giving away ten thousand toys to families who can't afford Christmas presents in the country. Limited collection, just for them. I got to design three of the dolls."

Arabella blinked—words such as dolls and exclusive never failed to pique her interest. "Did you, now? Well, you better show me what you're made of, young lady."

Anna got her phone and proudly showed her designs to the old woman.

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