Chapter 28
“I’ll be good,” Anderson says. But the amusement in his eyes still worries me.
“I just don’t want to be any more nervous than I already am?—”
“Relax, June. You were born to play this role.”
“Myself?”
He grins cheekily, while keeping his eyes on the road.
I roll my eyes. “You’re a real funny guy when you want to be.”
“Glad you’re finally appreciating my sense of humor.”
“Yes, well, being the butt of the joke for years put a damper on enjoying it.”
His face darkens, and I immediately regret saying that. “For what it’s worth, June, I am deeply sorry for all of that. Truly. I hate?—”
“Don’t flog yourself on my account, Anderson. I’m fine now.”
“You’re more than that. You’re flourishing.”
“Huh?”
“Look at you. You’re with one of the top firms in Boston, even if you hate it there. You’re brave enough to do something risky to meet your goals. And you look ravishing tonight.”
Warmth creeps up my throat and into my cheeks. “Guess I look okay?—”
“Don’t do that. You’re stunning. Own it.”
I don’t know how to react to his seemingly genuine praise. It’s nice and uncomfortable at the same time. So I mutter a strained, “Thanks.”
He pulls out a small box from his jacket. “Size seven, right?”
“Not since the tenth grade.”
He passes me the box. “Your ring size, June.”
“Oh, right.” I’d forgotten about this part of the ruse. When I open the box, it takes my breath away. “Wow.”
“I hope it’s okay. I’ve never bought one before.”
A huff of a laugh puffs out of me. I can’t stop staring at it. “Well, I’ve never gotten one before.” The engagement ring is a huge emerald-cut diamond with tiny alexandrite stones down the sides of the band. “It’s incredible. But why alexandrite?”
“That’s the birthstone for June,” he says, like I should have known.
I laugh hard, shaking my head as I slip it on.
“What’s so funny?”
“My birthday is August eighth.”
“Shit,” he says with a laugh. “Seems like the kind of thing your fiancé should know.”
“Yeah, but it’s okay. We’re new at this.”
“Why did your folks name you June if your birthday is in August?”
“I’m named for my grandmother.”
He slowly nods. “Also seems like something I should know.”
“And what were you named for?”
Anderson smiles. “Where my parents met. Anderson, Indiana.”
“Aw, that’s sweet. Why were they there?”
“They were both just driving through—him for business, her with her parents. They met at the only diner in town and hit it off.”
“Guess you never know where life will take you.”
“That’s for damned sure.”
The trip is a quick ride to Beacon Hill, the most classic and expensive neighborhood of Boston. I’m a little surprised—I would have thought his parents would live outside the city. Brookline, maybe. The Park Street townhouse we pull up to is gorgeous, though. Rich red brick and trees lining the road.
I slip the ring on, and despite the wrong birthstone, it fits perfectly. “Honestly, I think the birthdate thing is kind of perfect. Tells the story of two people too excited about new love to get everything right.”
“That’s some good spin.”
“Ready for this?”
“If you are.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Let’s do it.”
He jumps out of the car and tosses the keys to the valet on his way around the car in a move so practiced I would think he does it every day. He opens my door, and when I stand up, he says, “They’ll already be watching from the window.”
So, I put my hands around his neck and smile. “Then you should keep me warm.”
He bends down for a sweet peck on the lips, and I’m surprised. “Don’t look so shocked. We’re getting married, remember?”
I giggle and feel the heat in my cheeks again. “This is going to be weird before it’s over, isn’t it?”
“No, of course not. Just two former enemies pretending to be engaged in order to pull the wool over the eyes of a man too controlling for everyone’s own good. Not weird at all.”
I roll my eyes, and he takes my hand to lead me into the building. “It’s nice to know you’re nervous, too.”
“What makes you think that?”
“You ramble and you get facetious when you’re nervous.”
“Good that my fiancée knows me so well.”
Which we do. As we walk through the halls, his hand warms my lower back, and I cannot explain why, but it doesn’t bug me when he does it. The few times any other man has done it, I found it grating. But right now, I don’t mind a little friendly guidance. The elevator takes us to the penthouse.
When we get to the door, he pauses. “Here we go.”
“Yep.”
But he doesn’t move.
“Anderson?”
“Kiss for luck?”
I laugh. “Just knock, you big baby?—”
But the door opens. A smiling older woman holds her arms out. She is dressed to the nines in a silk blouse and skirt that, on anyone else would look like office attire, but on her, I suspect it’s her loungewear. Instantly, I have the impression that her ash blond hair would not be moved by the Boston breeze. Despite her snooty exterior, the warmth in her voice is unmistakable. “Anderson.”
“Mom, hi,” he says as he hugs her.
She looks over his shoulder at me, beaming. “And you must be June.”
I smile and nod, unsure of what to say at the moment. She releases him, then scoops me in for a hug. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. West.”
She takes my hand. “Please, you must call me Kitty. Come in and meet the family.”
“The family?” Anderson asks as he closes the door behind us.
“Well, when Elliot told me you were finally bringing a girl home, I assumed it was serious and that she should meet everyone.”
I keep my face in a permanent smile, but it’s strained. “Everyone?”
“Yes, of course, dear. This way.”
I glance back at Anderson with my heart in my throat, and he gives a sheepish shrug. Neither of us expected this kind of reception, but it’s not as though we can do anything to stop it.
The penthouse is a mix of old world and modern, with hardwood floors throughout and vast windows to absorb every possible view. Pops of blue show up in the occasional blue stripe or the overstuffed dining chairs. Everything else is beige or white. It’s lovely, but frosty. Certainly not the kind of place to raise a son with a soul. No wonder he was so mean as a child.
But it seems incongruous with the sweet woman dragging me behind her and rambling about the architecture as I try to seem interested. She name drops designers as we walk, and though I do not know who these people are, I know enough to sound fascinated. The place must be three or four thousand square feet big, maybe larger. I cannot fathom how much it cost, but easily near ten million to be this palatial in this neighborhood.
Then we reach the living room. And I’m surrounded.
Dozens of people turn their gaze to us, and before long, Kitty is introducing me to Quincy, Heathcliff, Marylin, Theodora, and so many, many more. I cannot keep them all straight, and Anderson gives me a pained smile as he gets us both cocktails. When he delivers mine, he teases, “Mom, do you think she will remember everyone’s names? Come on.”
“Of course not,” she says, smiling and rolling her eyes, “but your cousins came all the way from Brookline to be here, so I’m introducing her to everyone. It’s just polite.” She leans in closer. “It’s the Mackenzies you should take note of, June. They aren’t cousins—they’re just friends, and they own the best boutiques in Boston and New York. Get in with them. You’ll never dress out of season the rest of your life.”
Oh, no. Did I commit some faux pas? “Is what I’m wearing okay?”
“I meant nothing by it. But aren’t you a dear for worrying? No, you look terrific.” If anyone else had said that to me, I would have thought it was an insult, but Kitty clearly doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. Where the hell did Anderson get it from? “All I mean to say is, they will take care of you, if I let them. They love to dress the family. Oh, and speaking of the family …” she gazes over my shoulder.
Anderson’s expression had been tight before. It’s practically cement now.
I turn to see who has joined us, and in an instant, I know. The severe man stalking into the room is Elliot West. Has to be. He looks too much like Anderson not to be his father. This is where he gets his harshness. The man’s very step stiffens my spine, no matter how relaxed I pretend to be.
“Dad. Meet June.”
When he takes my hand to shake it, ice travels through my arm and down my spine. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. West.” Not sure if I’ll get the chance to stop lying tonight.