Page 3 of My Dirty Father In Law
But my fake fiancé merely shoots me a smile as he raises his hand to knock.
“No way, Jules. Even if you wanted to go back to Paris, I’d be devastated if you left. So we’re going to get married, and you’ll get your green card, and everything will be fine. I want this to happen, for both of us actually,” he says cheekily while rapping on the red door. “You’ll see. Both of our lives are going to turn out fabulous.”
Then, the door swings open and Mr. Lewis greets us. My breath is momentarily taken away because I’d forgotten how tall and imposing the older man is. He’s wearing a white button down tucked into dark jeans, with his black hair pushed back and a bit of growth showing on that square jaw.
“Harry,” he growls in a deep voice before stepping aside to let us into the foyer of the huge home. “And Juliette. Welcome,” he says, while pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. A tingle goes down from his lips all the way to my pussy, and immediately, I know something’s different. This man knows. The alpha male hasn’t shown his cards, but I can instinctively sense that he knows, and he’s just not letting on. Oh shit, what do I do? The green card marriage seems ridiculous and false, and Mr. Lewis is going to call us out on it.
My stomach drops to the floor as I stare into those penetrating blue eyes, my heart fluttering at a million miles an hour. I want this charade to stop ... but it’s already too late.
2
Jordan
She’s gorgeous as she stares at me with those huge hazel-green eyes.
“Bonjour Monsieur Lewis,” Juliette murmurs in a slightly accented voice. “Thank you for inviting me to your home.”
I smile and nod, my blue gaze heated as it rakes over her frame. It’s nothing sinister. Juliette’s dressed appropriately for an elegant dinner, and yet the clothes do nothing to hide her curvy figure. She’s got a big bust beneath that blue dress, as well as a narrow waist that flares out into wide, child-bearing hips. Her brown hair is swept over one shoulder in a mass of waves, and I long to bury my face there, inhaling its sweet scent. What would it be like to claim this girl as mine?
But Harry beats me to it. He wraps a scrawny arm around his girlfriend’s waist and pulls her close.
“We’re looking forward to the meal,” he chortles. “By the way, did Mrs. Lackey make her special Beef Wellington?” he asks with an excited smile. “She knows I love her version of the dish so much.”
I grin.
“Yeah, she did because she knows you’re coming over. Dinner will be ready in a few,” I add. “Should we get drinks to begin?”
“Oh sure,” Harry says, practically bursting with excitement at the seams. “But let me go say hi to Mrs. Lackey first because I haven’t seen her for months.”
Then, after a peck to his girlfriend’s cheek, my son scampers away down the hall and towards the kitchen. The pitter patter of his feet is light and quick, and within moments, Harry’s out of sight.
“You’ll have to excuse my son,” I growl while directing Juliette to a sitting room off to our right. “Mrs. Lackey isn’t just the cook. She was Harry’s nanny when he was a kid, so he always likes to say hi to her.”
“Oh, I see,” Juliette says with a pretty laugh while seating herself on an overstuffed couch. “Yes, that would be important. I’m sure she has a special place in his heart.”
“Always,” I growl while pouring myself a bourbon. “Can I get you something, honey?”
When I turn, my heart almost stops because Juliette looks so perfect poised on the couch. The young woman looks like she belongs, and is rightfully the woman of the house. Her chestnut hair is reflected in the golden accents of the drapery behind her, and the settee seems created exactly for a woman of her size and shape. Holy shit, where is this feeling of “rightness” coming from?
Then again, I suppose it makes sense because this house will ultimately be hers. Hell, it might happen before I die too, seeing that she and Harry will be getting married soon. I have to admit that I was surprised when my son started bringing Juliette around because I’ve always assumed that Harry was gay. The suspicion didn’t make me happy, but everyone’s journey is different, and if my son prefers the company of men, then so be it. But when the beautiful brunette showed up one day on his arm, I was astonished. Juliette is European, delicate, cultured, and perfect wife material. So what was she doing with my closeted son?
But it’s not my place to say who or what gender Harry prefers, or what he and his fiancée have agreed to. It’s their decision to make, and when my son asked me for his grandmother’s engagement ring, I readily gave it to him. In fact, the diamond is waiting for him in the kitchen right now. The excuse to say hello to Mrs. Landry is just a ruse because Harry’s about to do a big proposal, right here in the sitting room. Yet my heart drops to my stomach at the knowledge, a wave of jealousy making me sick
Whom your son marries is not your business, the voice in my head remonstrates. Keep your nose out of it.
Yet the attraction I feel to my son’s beautiful fiancée can’t be denied. Juliette is everything that I’d want in a woman, from her flushed cheeks to her pouty lips and big, hazel-green eyes. She’s witty, clever, and charming, with a college degree and a gift for small talk. This is the woman for me, and not my son.
But my train of thought is interrupted when Harry materializes in the doorway. He’s so excited that he’s bouncing on his toes, his green eyes wide and sparkling. Then, he strides over to where Juliette’s seated and drops to one knee before her while taking her hand.
“Juliette,” my son murmurs. “You are the light of my life, and the stars in my galaxy. You are the answer to my dreams, as well as the dream itself. You are?—”
His words go on, flowery and over the top. Meanwhile, Juliette smiles hesitantly while sitting frozen on the settee. Finally, Harry finishes his speech, and pops open the top of a velvet box with a flourish. Inside is a giant sparkler. It’s a rose cut diamond of about five carats, set in an antique gold band with emeralds flanking the center stone.
“This ring belonged to my Grandmother Elinor,” Harry murmurs. “It was discovered in India, and brought thousands of miles over the ocean by my Grandfather Herbert after one of his trips abroad. The stone has a long lineage, and even longer history. But would you do me the honor of wearing it, Juliette? Would you become my wife? What do you say, my dear?”
The young woman blinks, astonished, at the diamond ring. Then she whispers, “Harry, I thought we agreed on no jewelry. Didn’t we agree on that? Or am I imagining things?”
“No, we agreed,” Harry says with a proud nod of his head. “But you are too beautiful and precious, my dear Jules. I want you to have this heirloom piece and to wear it with pride.”
