Page 108 of The Price of Scandal
“He’s talking about you,” Derek teased me.
I stuffed the diarrhea meds in my bag and hoped for the best.
We got out, and my car was descended upon by a mob of admirers as the testosterone-filled side of Derek’s family admired it. Introductions were made between questions about horsepower and original features.
Michael, the stepfather, was pink flamingo and cigar guy. Then came brother Will, stepbrother Alberto—or Berto—and brothers-in-law Pete and Carmine. All had a loudly voiced opinion about my car and a shameless desire to drive it. Derek handed the keys back to me.
“Not on your life, gents,” he teased. “Do not let them con you into a ride,” he whispered to me.
“Your girl’s got good taste in horses, eh?” Pete said, chewing on a piece of gum like it was his last meal.
“She hasn’t decided if she’s my girl yet,” Derek said, slipping his arm around my waist and guiding me toward the house. “I’m hoping you’ll help convince her.”
“Run away,” Will fake-coughed into his hand. His grin was a carbon copy of Derek’s, his accent more U.S. than U.K.
“Good luck in there, Em,” Michael called after us. “Remember, don’t let them smell your fear.”
“She deals with a board of directors on a daily basis. I’m sure she can handle the female side of the family,” Derek said dryly.
“You hit your head or something recently, D?” Carmine asked with a wink in my direction.
My board of directors had nothing on the ladies of the Price-Perez clan. Derek’s sister Tanya—part-time model and full-time mom of three—bounced a sobbing two-year-old on her hip and asked me what my favorite nonprofit organizations were. Liz, with the edgy pixie cut and leather bands up both wrists, gave my haircut an approving nod and asked exactly what my relationship with her brother was. Verita, the bubbly stepsister, pressed a glass of wine into my hand and suggested that I join them on the patio so we could all be more comfortable for the interrogation.
Derek’s mother, Daniella, was warm and welcoming. Along with that welcome came a very subtle vibe that said we could be friends as long as I didn’t screw with her family. She was beautiful. Her mink-colored hair was cut in a frothy, chin-length bob. She wore black and white checked shorts and a sleeveless white top. Her feet were bare, but her face was expertly made up.
“I promise I won’t abandon you,” Derek whispered in my ear as he guided me outside. The kids, ranging in age from teenagers to floaty-wearing preschoolers, were in and out of the pool in what looked like a chaotic amateur diving contest. Dogs, three of them in varying sizes, dashed around the fenced-in backyard, taking turns jumping into the pool and then violently shaking dry to the delight of the kids.
The menfolk had finished drooling over my car and were gathering around the grill, throwing raw meat and fresh beers around.
“I’ll be fine,” I assured him, though my intestines gave a low rumble of protest. “Go play with your friends.” I ruffled his hair, earning his grin, and his sisters “oohed.”
“Be nice,” he warned them, giving them each a peck on the cheek before crossing the concrete to the Man Zone.
Salsa music played on the wireless speakers, and someone put a plate of fresh cut vegetables and hummus in front of me. Vaguely British and Spanish accents gave the conversations more color and energy.
“So, Emily,” Daniella said, picking up her glass of Chardonnay.
I’d learned long ago that the first question a person asked me was usually a spot-on indicator of their character and their expectations of me.
“Tell me what my son is doing for you?” she said, arching a perfect eyebrow.
There was a lot to unpack there. The implied possessiveness of “my son.” The open-endedness of the question and its myriad of possible answers.
Well, there was the scandal spinning. The tucking into bed. The regular meals. The haircut. And then, of course, there were the orgasms. Oh, and he made me laugh.
“My company hired his firm, and we’ve been spending time together,” I said evasively.
The women sat like statues, sphinxes waiting me out.
I smiled benignly and sipped my wine.
Silence reigned for a full minute.
“She’s not cracking,” Tanya stage-whispered out the side of her mouth.
“Stare harder,” Verita whispered back.
“She’s good,” Liz observed. “Scary good.”
