Page 4 of Princess of Pride
I watch the man Dad wants me to marry from where I sit at one of many white-clothed tables in our sunlit estate yard.
Summer in New England has lived up to its charm, offering beautiful days made for outdoor events like this. Today’s luncheon serves two purposes. Business and a place for me and my suitor—Dad’s word—to mingle.
So far, the striking man has mingled with everyone but me.
Lachlan MacReid Ashford stands by the seafood buffet, where an ice sculpture of an ocean wave drips onto lobster tails, while he talks to investors of my father’s company. He wants to buy out my father upon his retirement at the end of the year and own Spencer Securities.
Dad will only allow that if he marries me.
No matter how much Dad admires Lachlan and thinks he’sa worthy owner, he’ll only sell his shares to someone in the family.
With Pippa already married, that leaves me. I thought—hoped—I’d escaped this fate when I found a suitable husband for myself. Gabe is no Lachlan, but he’s smart, handsome, and comes from a family that, although worth far less than ours, is reputable.
Thatact of rebellion,as dad called it, landed me here. I didn’t sleep with Gabe and swore to remain pure until my wedding night. I’d only kissed him—maybe a teeny bit more—like I had kissed other guys throughout my college years. Dad had gotten a little lenient, so I took a chance on Gabe—sweet Gabe who didn’t care that I wanted to wait until marriage to have sex. That should have been my first clue that he was using me.
It took Dad one day to prove Gabe only wanted me for my money and name.
There’s nothing worse than your dad being right—or so I’d thought.
Dad taking away my trust fund and cutting me off was worse. If it weren’t for Pippa needing me for the first time in her life, I wouldn’t have survived. I even had to drop out of college, unable to make tuition.
After the deceit I suffered from Gabe, I decided love wasn’t in the cards for me. Why not embrace Dad’s plans for my future and the business? If I have to marry someone, why not a gorgeous, aloof man? I can handle his detached personality. It might even work to my advantage. I have a plan of my own—terms for the marriage that benefit me and require nothing from Lachlan.
He’d be a fool not to go for it. Maybe. Hopefully.
The only thing stopping me from approaching him about these terms is my nerves. If I had Pippa’s confidence,I would walk right up to him and declare my conditions, certain he’d accept anything just to have me—but I don’t. I have insecurities about my body and my worth. The fact that Lachlan is six years my senior isn’t helping.
How can I entice him to agree to anything I want if I don’t even believe in the product I’m trying to sell him? He wants Dad’s company, but he may not want me. If that happens, this potential deal is over. Lachlan will look for another company to buy, and I’ll be blamed for the failure.
To be honest, I’ve always waited for guys to come to me. If they’re interested, they do, and my nerves simmer down, yet Lachlan hasn’t looked at me once.
I, however, have studied the tall man as if I’m writing a thesis on him.
For a person who doesn’t seem to lack charm, Lachlan isn’t a fan of smiling. He’s composed but stiff in a guarded way.
Could be his fitted suit making him look so rigid. The steel blue European cut is tailored to perfection. The same can be said about his face. God had the most skilled angel carve his features. His thin nose, sculpted cheekbones, and chiseled jaw remind me of a younger Sam Heughan in the first season of Outlander, if Sam’s character had impeccably trimmed light scruff.
It was a favorite show at my boarding school. Damn, those sex scenes were steamy. Having no experience, I learned a lot from those scenes. Now I had visuals to go with the romance books I’d read and the stories I heard from Tinsley—the only sexually active student.
Even though Lachlan has sharp features like Sam aka Jamie Fraser, his eyes are a much brighter blue—nearly fluorescent. And his hair looks like dark chocolate with toffee highlights that are only visible in the sun. The wavy strands are shorter in the back but longer on top. It’s styled in a way that is sexy butalso professional. Everything about him is crisp and pressed. I bet he has his underwear ironed.
Many of the women enjoying my father’s luncheon have eyed him. Some have even approached him, attempting to make small talk.
He engages politely but doesn’t go beyond answering questions with short remarks. They take the hint—he’s not interested—and walk away.
For two hours, I’ve watched this go on. I even snuck a picture of him for my bestie, Adelaide. There is no shortage of gorgeous women here, but not one has caught his attention or made his gaze linger, which has me curious about his sexual preference.
He’s here to mingle with me, but it’s as if he doesn’t know I exist.
I gasp.
Maybe, he doesn’t know who I am, and that’s why he’s never paid attention to me before and isn’t now.
Mom strolls over, the image of a Stepford wife, and sits in the empty seat beside me. Everyone from my table has left to either dance to the live band or walk about the property, talking and taking in the blooming hydrangeas bordering most of the yard.
“How long are you going to sit here, Chewy?” Mom asks in an accusatory tone.
That nickname. I hate it. Who would have thought my sixth-grade obsession with caramel chewy candy would lead to this constant comparison? The sugar-free treats were one of a few Mom allowed us to snack on.
