Page 49 of Stick to the Deal
Just when we thought Florida might be their main home, Lord R ran back to New York alone. Since returning to the Big Apple, he’s been his usual antisocial self, only seen in the company of university friend, Daniel Gooding. A quick search turned up some interesting bread crumbs. Business loans, licenses, and web addresses have been all recently formed under his name. What are you boys up to? And what is Elysium?
I smell a story.
TTFN
Wendy
Chapter 25
Ghosts of Christmas Past
The evergreen garlands and white lights fail to cast a cheery glow on the ever frosty front steps of Silverbrook Hall. I glance over at Nic beside me as her eyes dart over the monstrous facade of my parents’ house. There is no shock or awe—after all, Nic grew up in this world for half her life—but there is a glint of appreciation.
I guess it’s pretty, though I’ve always found it constricting rather than beautiful. The architects aren’t to blame as much as the occupants.
Nic’s hazel eyes are still on the carved details of the exterior when she speaks. “This is where you grew up? It’s lovely, but a bit cold.”
I take her gloved hands in mine and squeeze them. When she parrots my inner thoughts back to me, it is like the sun coming out of the clouds. Like she absolutely sees me like no one else.
The grand front doors open and Foster opens the door with a smile. “Good to see you, sir.”
I clap him on the shoulder with a genuine smile as he takes my coat. “Happy Christmas, Foster. This is my wife, Nic.” I slip her red wool coat off her slim arms and hand it over.
Up to now, Nic has been studying the foyer with her artist’s eye, but at the introduction she turns to us, slipping under my arm and wrapping hers aroundmy waist. In an instant, she smiles at Foster, not her social one, her real one. I find I can easily differentiate between all her smiles.
Foster’s eyes crinkle as he beams at her. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, ma’am.”
“You as well. Merry Christmas, Foster.” She squeezes his arm with her free hand.
He clears his throat as emotion glistens in his eyes. “The family is in the ballroom with their guests. Your mother has already asked after you.” The last is added quietly.
I groan internally. Of course she has. In years past, I’ve been a most dutiful son and arrived hours early to listen to Mother’s lectures on who will be attending and ensure I’m standing by Father’s side when the first guest entered. Our original flight from JFK was canceled because of snow and we only landed in London a few hours ago. We’d crashed as soon as we got to my flat and woke in a rush.
The roar of people talking greets us before we enter the ballroom at the rear of the house. Nic falters as we approach the threshold and I squeeze her hip encouragingly.
“Holy shit,” she whispers in my ear. “I thought this was a family Christmas party.”
“Oh, it is, plus our close family friends. My mother does this every year. Come on, let’s get this over with.”
We make our way through the crowd, stopped repeatedly by acquaintances of my parents who want to wish us a happy Christmas and congratulations on our recent marriage. Mother shoots pointed looks our way from her spot by the fireplace and storm clouds are practically brewing overhead by the time we reach her.
“Mother.” I stoop for the required kiss to the cheek. “Happy Christmas.”
“Where have you been?” she seethes through gritted teeth. “I expected you hours ago.”
“Weather cancellation. We got out on the first available flight.”
The explanation does nothing to quell the anger in her eyes. “Why did you wait until the last moment? You should have been here days ago.”
“I’m afraid it’s my fault,” Nic says. “Radio City Music Hall asked me to do the Christmas photos for the Rockettes this year.”
“Oh, hi, Nicolette.” Mother gives Nic a once-over, her lips pinched. “Now that you’re married, I imagine you’ll be giving all that up.” Nic stiffensnext to me, but her face reveals none of her inner turmoil. She opens her scarlet-painted lips to answer, but Mother cuts her off. “Where is your grandmother? I invited her but didn’t hear back. Quite rude, actually.”
Of course she did. Vivienne Atherton is a pillar of society. She’s headed more charities than anyone else—there are more hospitals, museums, and libraries with the Atherton name than any other. It doesn’t matter that my mother is titled and the Athertons are not, having her attend would be a coup.
“Grandmama sends her regrets, she has other obligations for the holidays. We’ll have to arrange a tea after the new year.” Her best social smile is pasted on her face, but there’s a sadness in Nic’s eyes. Something is going on there.
“We’d better circulate. I see Lord Firth at the refreshments table and must congratulate him on his recent award.” With a nod to my mother, I anchor my hand on the small of Nic’s back and guide her away. I pick a few items from the buffet and hand them to her as I sidle up next to the older gentleman.
