Page 50 of Just The Way You Aren't

“Ah, as a matter of fact, yes, sir,” Nick says, somewhat awkwardly.

Damien scowls. “She called me a few minutes ago in tears, but wouldn’t say what was wrong. I thought something had happened to her.”

Nick clears his throat. “If you’ll pardon me for saying so, sir, I think Mrs. Langley is simply lonely today.”

“I don’t believe this.” Damien blows out a sigh. I know that sigh. It’s the one he gives when he’s just about at his wits’ end and ready to go full grump. “I had things on my schedule today. Important things.”

“It’s okay,” I interject, forcing him to meet my eyes and focus on me. “This is important too, Damien. Your mom wants to have tea with you. So, let’s have tea.”

Nick gives me a knowing smile, but addresses Damien. “I’ll have Margaret add another place setting to the table for Ms. Harper, then?”

“Yes, fine,” Damien grumbles. He looks at me. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now.”

He lets out a grunt, then nods and extends his arm to me. “This way.”

With my hand resting in the crook of his elbow, he leads me into the house, through a marble foyer with a grand staircase, and off to the left. We end up in a room with lovely sky-blue silk fabric wallpaper accented with delicate gold-leaf.

Sitting on a dainty blue-and-mahogany settee is a very distinguished woman with pristine raven black hair streaked with gray. She has it up in a neat French twist, something I had never been able to accomplish with my wild hair.

“Damien!” Mrs. Langley smiles. Her eyes fall on me and the arm I have threaded through his. Her smile brightens a thousand percent. “Oh, you must be the Executive Director of Silver Hearts!”

“Yes,” I reply with a smile of my own, though I’m a bit surprised to hear that she knows who I am. “My name is Willow, Mrs. Langley.”

Damien’s mother holds out a hand in greeting. “Please, call me Marianne. I’ve been so hoping to meet you.”

She has? I’m not sure how I manage to hide my shock. I walk over and shake her hand, never more grateful to be wearing manageable flats than I am right now. “I’m very pleased to meet you as well, Marianne.”

“I’m sure Damien has told you nothing about me. Rude little cuss.” She gives a trill of a laugh.

“Mom!” he protests, sounding less like the intimidating billionaire business titan he truly is and more like an ordinary son being mortified by his mother’s irreverent sense of humor.

She gestures for us to sit on the matching settee opposite hers. The table laden with a silver tea service that sits between us is so delicate, I am surprised it doesn’t collapse under theweight of the bone china kettle and tower of petit fours on a matching silver tiered serving tray.

“Please, have some tea. Stella will bring another set of—ah, here she is. Thank you, Stella.” Marianne takes the cup and saucer, and small plate for the petit fours. She pours Damien and me both tea. “It’s so lovely to see you together.”

“Pardon?” he asks, flushing.

Mrs. Langley is still looking at me. “It’s been ages since my son’s brought a girlfriend around to meet me,” she continues, not paying attention to his objection. “And his sister is right. You do make a perfect couple.”

I’m trying hard to keep up with everything that’s being said—and not said—between Damien and his mom, but I have to admit I’m a bit lost. Does Mrs. Langley think I’m his girlfriend? How does his sister know who I am? And how would she know enough to say Damien and I make a perfect couple?

I have all of these questions and more on the tip of my tongue as I glance at Damien in confusion.

“Why did you call me here, Mother? Willow and I had plans?—”

“Which we were happy to put aside to come see you,” I say, noting the sudden falter in his mom’s expression. I frown at Damien, recalling how Nick told us that Mrs. Langley was feeling lonely. “We were just going to some stuffy ballroom at The Plaza to make sure it’s right for the Silver Hearts’ charity event. I have no doubt it’ll be perfect.”

Marianne still looks crestfallen. “Oh. I’m sorry I interrupted your day.”

“I’m not.” I wink conspiratorially at her.

She recovers her smile. “I suppose it is rather stuffy at The Plaza. Tea here at the St. Regis is so much better.”

She indicates the room we’re seated in, and for a moment Iwonder if she’s making a joke. But then I recognize that she’s serious. She believes we’re at the St. Regis Hotel right now, not a room in her own home. I feel my pulse quicken as I realize the truth of his mother’s situation.

I glance at Damien and the only way I can describe the expression in his eyes is pure horror.

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