Page 11 of Stick to the Deal
Nic.
I swallow and pray it’s not audible. The woman is Eris, Greek goddess of chaos, incarnate. I think I’ve opened Pandora’s box, but what a way to go.
Despite the slow traffic, the gates of Silverbrook Hall come into view all too soon. I’m still reeling over Nic’s transformation as I climb the front steps and cross the marble foyer. My feet carry me to the parlor on autopilot even before I hear the murmur of voices inside. Nothing about this place changes. It’s frozen in history, devoid of progress. Or humanity.
“Reggie-bear!”
Up to now, I’d still enjoyed a slight buzz from the scotch. Just enough to soothe my frayed nerves and amp myself up for the conversation ahead. Hearing the shrill voice of Serena Wentworth instantly sobers me up and sucks any remaining warmth from the room.
“Serena. What are you doing here?” My teeth creak as I bite back more words as my mother shoots me a look of rebuke.
Undeterred, she steps into my space until the hem of her Pepto-Bismol pink dress brushes my slacks and her matching manicured claws rest on my shirtfront. “Don’t be cross, darling. Your mother spilled the beans about the engagement and I couldn’t wait a moment longer. Of course I’ll marry you.”
My eyes dart to my mother. The joy in her smile tempers my rage. With significant effort at gentility, I remove Serena’s hand as I side-step past her. “I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood.” Giving her my back, I stride forward to sit beside my mother on the antique love seat.
Blue eyes flare, showing a hint of the demon within the debutante. “Are we not getting married?”
Holding her gaze, I let my lips curve into my most gentlemanly smile. It’s a look I practiced for hours as a child—after the first time my grandfather backhanded me for being an ungrateful lad. “I am getting married, but not to you.”
Both women gasp at my proclamation. “Married to whom?” Serena’s eye twitches and her pouty pink lips pinch like she swallowed a lemon.
My decision to marry Nic keeps looking better and better.
Footfalls echo through the foyer moments before father appears behind a still seething Serena. “Reginald, about damn time.” He does a double take at the young woman, his dark brows pinching in confusion. “Excuse us, Serena, dear, but we have family business to discuss. You’ll have to continue your tea with Penny tomorrow.”
I have to bite my cheek to stop from laughing as Foster closes the heavy doors in a sputtering Serena’s face.
“Reginald,” Mother turns to me with confused blue eyes, “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you marry Serena? I thought you were sweet on each other. You know it’s been my fondest wish to see you two married.”
My merriment evaporates. Poor Mother. Serena is the daughter of her dearest friend. Yes, I’ve known for decades what my mother planned for my future. I even went along with it for a while. Until I couldn’t anymore.
“Now, Penny. Serena is a nice girl, but as the heir, Reginald needs to marry someone who can bring something to this family. Social clout, a sizable inheritance, business connections.”
“And why is that again, Father?” At his glare, I simply walk to the decanter in the corner and pour myself a scotch.
“Are we in trouble, Eddie?” My mother’s tremulous voice and bright eyes send an arrow of guilt through me. Although my father has always been ruthless, my mother has always seemed too delicate for this world of social warfare.
Claiming my emptied seat, Father takes her hands in his and kisses the backs. “Of course not, my dear. It’s true, some investments are not growing as I’d hoped, but Reginald’s marriage will fix all that. Plus, it’s expected for the eldest son. Why don’t you set Serena up with Monty?” The scotch burns in my throat as I choke on my sip, earning yet another glare from my esteemed sire. “So, boy, have you narrowed it down? Or must I do everything myself?”
My knuckles whiten around the crystal glass and I carefully place it on the sideboard before it cracks in my grip. “No, sir. I have spoken to Miss Atherton, and she has agreed to be my bride.”
Gray eyes, a perfect match of my own, widen. It’s the closest to emotion I’ll see from him. “As in Edgar Atherton? Real estate mogul, Edgar Atherton?” I nod. “Yes, the Atherton heiress will do quite nicely. Well done.” His lips pucker as if the flavor of the compliment is vile. Must be a surplus of lemons going around.
“Well, when do I get to meet her?” Mother whines. Her pout almost matches father’s.
I repress a sigh. “Soon, Mother. We’ll have to arrange a public courting before announcing the engagement. We’d like to marry early November.”
“This all seems very fast, Reginald.” Mother’s hand flutters about her pearl necklace.
Swigging back the rest of the scotch, I paste my practiced smile back into place. “When you know, you know, Mother.”
The dinner bell sounds and I follow my parents into the formal dining room. As they fall into their own world discussing my life as if I’m not sitting right here, I pull out my cell phone. I wonder if Nic is getting on any better.
Me
How’d it go? Meet me for coffee tomorrow. Or would you prefer mimosas?
Chapter 7
