Page 20 of Falling for the Bad Boy
Oliver pulled his arm away and turned around. “What exactly is going on here tonight? Why do I get the feeling you’re using me like some sort of shield against your family?”
“It’s complicated.” I let out a sigh.
“I’m great at complicated.” He set his glass on a table.
“Can we just get through dinner, and I’ll fill you in later?” Maybe bringing him had been a mistake. He’d be the perfect distraction if he’d just keep quiet and go with the plan.
“How about you fill me in now? Is there somewhere we can take five to ten minutes to talk?”
I owed him more of an explanation. It wasn’t fair to ask him to deflect questions from my family without having any idea about the kind of stakes involved. I checked my phone. My mother usually kept pre-dinner activities to an hour, which gave me about fifteen minutes before we’d be expected to gather in the dining room.
I zeroed in on Julie, who appeared to be making her way toward us. Oliver deserved a little more info, especially if my siblings were going to keep peppering him with questions and me with unsolicited advice.
“Come on, I’ll give you a tour of the house.” I set my glass down and twined my fingers with his.
“Sounds good.”
I led him past where Mother stood, discussing something with the server she’d hired to help with dinner. She never did anything impromptu or without major effort.
“I’m taking Oliver on a tour of the house,” I said.
“Make sure you show him the trophy case in the family room,” she replied before turning back to her own conversation.
“Trophy case?” Oliver squeezed my hand.
“All of my siblings’ achievements.”
“How about yours?” he asked.
How about mine? Yet to be discovered? To be determined? My biggest accomplishment to date was signing my name on that Contract for Deed. And God only knew how that would turn out. “I’ll have to let you know about mine. They’re a work in progress.”
“I like works in progress.” He slid his arm behind my back as I led him inside.
Having him with me softened the harshness of being back in my parents’ house, surrounded by my overachieving family. The words left my mouth before I gave them a second thought. “Well then, you’re going to just love me.”
CHAPTER 9
Oliver
Thankfully I’d left my drink on the table. Otherwise I might have sprayed gin and tonic all over the matching white sofas in Trinity’s mother’s formal living room. What had prompted her to utter the “L” word? Even in our current situation where she’d just been responding in kind to my lame, flirtatious banter, it still caught me off guard. I covered my mouth with my fist and cleared my throat.
“What?” she asked, giving me a playful grin. Now that we weren’t surrounded by her family, her good mood seemed to have returned.
As we passed through one pristine room after another, I tried to take in the sheer size of it all. My entire childhood home could have fit in less than half of the first floor. I loved the house I grew up in, but it couldn’t hold a candle to this place. Hell, not even a tiny tealight.
She led me through the kitchen where the server I’d seen earlier worked beside the chef. She hadn’t been joking about the food. I recognized the unmistakable scent of rosemary and lamb. My mouth watered. It had been at least a year since I’d had properly prepared lamb, something my mum made all the time back home. Maybe I’d be able to stick around through dinner after all.
“And that’s my dad’s office over there, and my mother’s sitting room which is next to their bedroom. I don’t suppose you want to see the garage?” She waved a hand in the air.
“Where’s this trophy case?” I asked. The shock and awe of being surrounded by so many priceless things had started to wear off. It wasn’t even the value of their belongings—it was the sheer quantity. Every flat surface held some figurine, piece of crystal, or fragile collectible. The Ryan family had more trinkets than the museums I’d visited in Christchurch when I was a kid.
She swatted at my arm. “You really don’t want to see that, do you?”
“Of course.” I tugged her toward what I thought was the front door where we’d come in. “Is it by the door?”
She planted her feet. “No.”
“By your dad’s office?” I turned, ready to head in the opposite direction.
