Chapter 5
He tried several times after the dinner had been set to change her mind about going. But she remained firm.
"I cannot start my life with you by alienating your family. I already told you that I will be all right. I can take care of myself."
"I want to take care of you," he told her tightly, and it warmed her heart that he meant it.
"That's sweet," she told him softly. "But I've been handling myself for years. I know what I'm doing."
So now, they were on their way on the lovely spring Sunday afternoon.
It was a drive she would have enjoyed, especially since he had put the top of his Corvette down and the breeze was a pleasant reminder that spring was in the air.
But he remained rigidly silent, only responding in monosyllables when she attempted a conversation.
He had left the city behind and was driving east in a secluded neighborhood where the very wealthy resided.
Houses were few and far apart, surrounded by lush lawns and immaculate landscaping.
Turning her head from the stunning view, she glanced at his profile and felt her heart aching at the tension in his jaw and the way he was clenching the steering wheel.
"It's so quiet and serene around here."
"Yeah," he answered without even glancing at her.
"The air is sweet and clean. Must be a wonderful place to raise children."
He sent her a sardonic sideways glance. "My childhood was anything but wonderful."
"Dean--"
"It was lonely and hellish. We're here." He turned into a long and winding driveway that seemed to go on for miles.
Palm trees waved their branches in the breeze, and the scent of flowers blooming permeated the already fragrant air.
The house was a dazzling white, like a very beautiful bride, the windows glinting from the sun sinking over the horizon.
There was a pergola a short distance away, and she could see the water from the pool, a clear and beautiful blue.
It was difficult for her to imagine that somewhere as lovely and graceful as this was not a scene for happiness. But she was not na?ve enough to believe that having money, vast sums of it, brought happiness.
Pulling up at the base of the steps that led to the wraparound porch with the towering pillars sweeping gracefully upwards, he parked and sat there staring at the house.
He was so deep in thought, he jolted when she placed a hand over his.
"I'm fine," she said softly, her voice soothing.
"They will want to know everything about you." Turning his hand over, he clasped hers. "What you do for a living, who your parents were--"
"And I believe in honesty." She curled her fingers around his. "I'm not ashamed of who I am. My past is just that. My past. If they want to dig into it, then let them. I'm not perturbed."
He smiled at the determined look on her beautiful face.
She had gone for a kind of retro look with the thick coils of hair styled intricately at the nape of her neck.
Discreet diamonds glittered at her lobes but were no match for the exquisite square-cut diamond ring he had placed on her finger just this afternoon.
She was wearing a slim-line unrelieved black pants suit with a shell pink lace top, just peeping from the bosom.
She looked elegant and coolly beautiful, and he was proud to call her his own.
Lifting her hand to his lips, he brushed her knuckles, eyes glinting. "You look ready to do battle."
"You make it sound as if we're about to enter a battlefield."
"Something like that." His expression sobered.
"If you feel the slightest discomfort, just a nod and we're out of here.
They insist on being formal, a seven-course meal that drags on forever.
" He looked up and was just in time to see the ruby red drape twitched slightly. No doubt his mother was watching.
To give her something to mull over, he bent his head and closed his mouth over Catherine's, taking her completely by surprise. The kiss lingered and deepened, and he wished with all of his heart that he could suggest they leave and go anywhere else.
He lifted his mouth from hers reluctantly, eyes darkened with passion, his mother completely forgotten. "I love the way you look after I kiss you," he told her huskily. "You have this sultry look about you that I find very irresistible."
"Not one I want to have on when I'm going in to face your family. You shouldn't have kissed me." She sighed.
His chuckle warmed her heart. "I could not help myself." He gazed at her deeply. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Ready?"
He nodded and kissed her lightly. "Let's do this."
The term that sprang to mind when the uniformed maid opened the massive oak doors was oppressive opulence.
The woman took their jackets, her expression solemn, her voice remote as she bobbed a funny little curtsy to Dean after informing him that the family was in the grand salon.
"Grand?" Catherine whispered, gratified when he reached for her hand.
"Overwhelming is more like it," he said in an undertone.
The hallway floor was highly polished, and the walls were papered a delicate blue water silk.
A massive doorway opened into a large dark-paneled room.
A huge fireplace took up an entire wall.
The soaring ceiling added to the impression of more space.
Antique furnishings with silk-cushioned chairs were strategically placed by the floor-to-ceiling windows.
A thick expensive rug was in the middle of the floor.
There were four people in the room, but the woman draped elegantly on the padded turquoise high-back chair drew her attention.
Isobel Collier might be in her sixties, but the woman had somehow defied the aging process.
Her skin was a pale alabaster, her narrow face barely lined.
She had passed on her incredible good looks to her son, giving nothing to her daughter.
The sapphire blue dress she had on mirrored her eyes.
Her makeup was flawless. The man standing by her chair topped over six feet easily and was watching her with appraising gray eyes as they walked into the room.
Martin Collier exuded confidence and arrogance.
The older couple overshadowed the other two occupants of the room.
A quick glance at Irene revealed a woman who had been cowed her entire life.
Her thin face was pinched and haunted. The man seated next to her had distanced himself by a few inches.
It was plain there was friction between them.
Catherine was instantly sympathetic to the woman's plight.
She was part of a dynamic family and had been shoved into the corner.
Isobel and Dean had the striking good looks, Martin had the power and presence, which left Irene with nothing.
"We were starting to wonder if you were still coming." Isobel swept a cursory glance over the woman her son was holding onto so possessively and pinned him with a glance.
"Everyone, this is Catherine Miller, my fiancée."
There was silence for a few minutes as they all pinned her with a glance.
"Well!" Isobel waved a delicate hand. "That was fast. Tell me, darling, are we to expect a baby in the next eight months as well?"
The fury came quickly and had him lashing out at the implication that Catherine was pregnant.
"We prefer to get married first before starting a family," he told her coolly, reining in his temper.
"Now, remember what I said when you issued this invitation.
One out-of-place remark and we're leaving.
Personally, I would have preferred to skip the dinner altogether, but Catherine would not hear of it.
She has this tendency to think that people are inherently good, even though I warned her that was not the case.
What's it to be? Are we going to try and behave like a civilized family, or do we take our leave right now?
Bear in mind that I also mentioned the fact that I would prefer to get a special license and get married in Vegas, but she wants a church wedding and would like to involve all of you.
" His eyes were like chips of sapphire as they swept over each of them. "Well?"
Forcing a smile to her lips, Isobel rose gracefully with the aid of her husband and came forward.
"Welcome to our home, my dear." She held out both hands in greeting.
Pulling away from Dean's tight hold, she took the proffered hands and offered a gracious smile.
"Thanks for inviting me."
The greeting opened up the way for the others to come forward. Dean stiffened when his father came forward, a smile wreathing his lips.
"She's a beauty, son. You've chosen well."
"Thank you," Dean said stiffly, deliberately clamping his hand on Catherine's arm. A knowing glint entered the older man's eyes, but he heeded the warning and simply extended a hand.
"Nice to meet you, my dear."
"Ah, the bell." Isobel swept towards the doorway. "Let's adjourn to the dining room."
And Dean was right. They interrogated her as soon as they sat down to the meal.
The dining room was lofty, the walls paneled in deep dark wood.
It would have been suffocatingly dark and dreary except for the myriad of windows that offered a dazzling view of the rose garden.
The table could seat twenty people easily.
Two maids stood to attention as they awaited instructions. As soon as the first course was served, the questions started.
"My son tells us that you're a kindergarten teacher." Isobel started under the guise of interest. "It must be gratifying to be able to try and mold young minds."
"It is. There's nothing more satisfying than spending time with children of that age."
"And your mother, she died?"
"Yes. Two years ago."
"Your father left?" The question continued.