Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
JULIE
I thought having to wear the ring would be the most stressful thing about being engaged. I was wrong. I was wrong. The biggest stress is, without a doubt, that I have to meet Asher’s dad tomorrow for the first time. I can tell Asher is worried. And his worry is adding to mine.
So now I'm spiraling because I’ve been watching him stress for days, and tonight at dinner he had more to drink than usual.
He didn’t get sloppy or anything, but it was enough that I noticed.
He's half asleep when I slide into bed beside him.
His arm automatically reaches for me, pulling me close.
I let myself settle into him for a moment, listening as his breathing starts to slow.
"Asher," I say quietly.
"Hmm?"
"You’re so stressed out it’s scaring me. Is there anything I should know before tomorrow? Anything I should worry about when I meet your dad?"
He's quiet for so long I think he's fallen asleep. Then he says, "He's going to judge you."
"Okay. That's... not great."
"He judges everyone." Asher's words are slower now, looser as sleep pulls at him. "That's just who he is. A fucking asshole."
"Anything else?"
"Well, he's a killer."
I go still.
"What?"
"What, babe?" he murmurs.
"Asher. What do you mean your father’s a killer?"
His eyes open. For a moment, he looks confused, like he's not sure where he is. Then realization hits, and he laughs. "Jesus, Julie. I don't mean he's Freddy Krueger."
"You can't just casually say your father is a killer."
"I mean in business." He pulls me closer, still chuckling. "He's ruthless. Cutthroat. Whatever word makes it sound less insane. If you're in his way, he'll destroy you without blinking. People are terrified of him."
"That's not comforting."
"I know." His mouth brushes my temple. "But he's not going to eat you. He's just... intense. And he cares about appearances, so he's going to judge everything."
"So you said."
"I'm sorry." He exhales, already fading again. "He sucks."
"Great. Can't wait."
"Just be yourself." A beat. "Well. The most polished version of yourself possible."
My eyes open in the dark. He doesn't seem to notice what he's said. His arm is heavy across my waist now, his breathing already evening out.
Meanwhile, I can't sleep because I feel like a prized calf being walked out at auction. Moo.
This is it. Dinner with Dean. The father Asher clearly has a less than ideal relationship with. The billionaire mastermind behind Ancre, the world's top cybersecurity program. The man his son described as being a killer. Metaphorically, but still. Not great.
We’re dining at Canlis, which is someplace I never thought I’d be lucky enough to go.
I’m wearing a vintage Calvin Klein cocktail dress.
Black, sleeveless, knee length, with a belt.
Classic gold hoops at my ears. My blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail, my makeup natural.
I look elegant. Clean lines, quality fabric, timeless enough that no one can accuse me of looking like a ho.
So, yay for being not ho-adjacent, at least in my appearance. But that is not settling my nerves at all. Only now am I starting to wonder if Asher kept me from his father until now for a reason. That should've been a red flag. I was too busy being in love to notice.
The hostess leads us upstairs to a private dining room. High ceilings, cream tablecloth, candles already lit. The windows overlook the water, the city lights reflecting off the surface. It's beautiful and romantic, save for the man standing at the head of the table.
Dean Stevens looks like Asher will in thirty years. Same blonde hair, same sharp jawline, same height. But where Asher's blue eyes are warm, Dean's are calculating. Where Asher smiles easily, Dean's mouth is set in a line that suggests frequent smiling is something other people do.
He's wearing an obviously bespoke suit. His watch catches the light. Patek Philippe, I think. Everything about him says he has more money than I can imagine and would prefer I never forget it.
"Asher." Dean's voice is deep, authoritative. There is no warmth to it. He doesn't move to hug his son. Instead, he extends a hand.
"Father." Asher's voice is different. Tighter. More formal. He shakes his father's hand and then gestures to me. "This is Julie Nelson."
Dean turns to me, and I feel his gaze sweep over me. No, not sweep. Assess. Like he's checking me against a list only he can see. Finally, he nods.
"Julie." He takes my hand. His grip is firm, almost aggressive. "A pleasure to finally meet you."
There’s censure in his tone, but I know it’s not directed at me because it's Asher he who gets a frosty glance.
"You too, Mr. Stevens."
"Dean, please." He releases my hand and gestures to the table. "Sit. I took the liberty of ordering wine."
We sit. Asher pulls out my chair, but his movements are stiff. He's different around his father. Quieter for sure. Smaller, somehow.
A waiter appears with a bottle of red wine. Asher doesn't love red, and I’m not a huge fan either. Neither of us says a word. Dean tastes it, nods his approval, and the waiter pours for all of us before disappearing.
"So," Dean says, leaning back in his chair. "You’re engaged to my son."
"I am." I smile, hoping it doesn’t betray my nerves.
“And he makes you happy? He’s a good partner?”
What an odd question. I feel Asher still beside me, like his body has turned into stone. “He does and he is,” I assure Dean. “He’s wonderful. I’m a very lucky girl to have found someone so incredible.”
Dean snickers like I’ve just said something hilarious. No wonder Asher doesn’t speak all that highly of him.
"Show me the ring."
It’s an instruction, not a request. My hand is tucked in my lap because I have a habit of hiding the ring. It’s a lot and I hate it, but I love the man who gave it to me, so it is what it is. As I lift my hand and hold it toward him, I wonder if Dean will say something about how ugly it is.
He takes my hand without asking. He turns my hand beneath the light and studies the diamond for several silent seconds. Then he releases me. "Serviceable."
My stomach drops. Serviceable?
"It should be bigger, but I guess it will do." He glances at Asher. "You failed to mention that you went the practical route."
Oh. Wow. Not gaudy, then. Practical. Fucking practical.
My flabbers are gasted. If this ring were any bigger, NASA would be tracking it.
Somewhere, other billionaires are trying to acquire land rights.
It's too fucking big on its best day. Serviceable and practical are not how any reasonable person would describe it.
"I think it's lovely," I lie. Seriously, I hate this thing with my whole heart, but what else am I supposed to do? He’s just made it sound like Asher gave me a crackerjack box ring, and he doesn't deserve that. Dean's gaze shifts back to my face as I drop my hand into my lap.
"Yes, I can see that you favor a classic style. Refined. Your dress is demure. Vintage, I believe?"
Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised that he knows women’s fashion, but I am. "Yes," I say. "Calvin Klein. From the nineties."
"Ah." He picks up his wine glass. "Thrift store find?"
He says it as though a thrift store is a conveyor belt from a landfill. "Estate sale, actually," I say, keeping my voice even.
“Much better. How resourceful." He takes a sip of wine. "So you run a little store with your sister. Bath products."
Little store. He makes it sound like a lemonade stand. Asshole. "Yes. We make high-quality, handcrafted bath and body products and have recently started adding home scents into our line."
"Fascinating." Another word that sounds like an insult. "It must be nice to have a hobby."
Hobby. Not a business. Not a career. A hobby. I feel Asher's hand find mine under the table. He squeezes, but he doesn't say anything. Doesn't correct his father. Doesn't defend me.
"We’re very lucky to be building something the way we are," I say. "We've been growing steadily since we opened two years ago."
"Of course." Dean sets down his wine glass. "Let’s discuss wedding plans. You’ll need to have this locked up in the next six months, obviously."
"Actually, Father," Asher says, "I talked Julie into something faster. We’re thinking maybe two months."
Dean's eyebrows rise. "Two months?"
"I don't want to wait," Asher says.
"But you have until..." Dean's voice trails off as his gaze shifts to me. Any pretense of warmth disappears as his eyes narrow. "You're not pregnant, are you?"
The question is so blunt, so invasive, that for a moment I can't respond. "No," I finally manage. "I'm not."
"Thank God." Dean picks up his menu, already moving on. "Teenage pregnancy is one thing because hormones and poor impulse control make mistakes understandable. But adult pregnancy before marriage? It would be inexcusable in a family like ours."
I want to throw my wine in his face. I want to stand up and walk out. But Asher is still holding my hand under the table, and I can feel how tense he is.
"Um, we looked at Chihuly Garden and Glass yesterday," I say, trying to steer the conversation somewhere less awful. "It's this beautiful venue in Seattle with?—"
"I know what it is." Dean doesn't look up from his menu. "How many guests can it accommodate?"
"I don't remember what they told us, but we'd like the wedding to be intimate anyway, so it works. The list we've come up with has just under forty people on it. Close friends and family."
Dean tosses his menu down onto the table. "I'm sorry. Did you just say forty people?"
It's obvious something is wrong. It’s like I stepped in shit somewhere and he just got a big whiff. "Um. Well. Yes. We want it to feel personal. Special."
"Forty people," Dean repeats. Now there's a sharp edge to his voice. "Asher, did you bother to explain to your fiancee who you are? Who we are?"
"Father we?—"
"No."
Asher's jaw tightens.
Dean turns to me. "Julie, I’m going to be blunt. Over my dead body will my son have a forty-person wedding in a glass garden like a bohemian art student."
My throat tightens. I press my nails into my palm under the table. "We thought?—"
"What you two thought is absolutely out of the question," he interrupts.
His voice is calm, which somehow makes it worse.
"Asher is my only child, and the heir of a multibillion-dollar company.
An acceptable wedding guest list will include senators, CEOs, investors. People whose presence means something."
"Father," Asher says, and his voice is weak. Pleading. "Julie and I talked about it and decided on something small. Classy. You can sell that in a press release."
Sell it? The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Shit. This is so bad.
"No. Jesus Christ. Small." Dean laughs, but there's no humor in it.
"If you want something small you can order lunch from the children's menu.
Your wedding is a business event. It is a statement about our family, our company, our position in the world.
Forty people in a garden is not a statement.
It's an embarrassment. You may as well get married in a park near the community grills. "
My face heats.
"My family is not common," he adds.
The implication is that I am. And I am dying inside right now. I think about how excited I was touring Chihuly. The calls I've made to florists. The list of forty names I was so happy about. All of it feels ridiculous now. "We really liked Chihuly," I murmur. "It was lovely."
"I’m sure it was." Dean gives me the kind of smile a person gives a child who has misunderstood basic math. "But that's not happening."
Asher straightens. "Father, I think?—"
"I already know what you think." Dean turns to him. "That's why this has gone this far. You could have avoided all of this with a frank conversation.”
Asher sags and goes quiet again.
Dean returns his attention to me. "Obviously, I’ll pay for everything. That’s a given. And you don’t need to worry about anything. I’ll have Evangelina reach out. She plans weddings and events around the world for the elite. She'll know what to do."
"That isn't necessary," I assure him.
"Of course it is."
"Father, Julie and I can?—"
"Asher." Dean's voice drops. Not loud. Final. "This is no longer a discussion."
Asher looks down and I know he’s given up.
And when he surrenders, I feel something slipping.
Like there's a crack in the foundation of my future with him.
It scares the hell out of me. Maybe I'm making a horrible mistake.
Their wealth, the showing off, the need to dominate.
It's not me. I don't know if I can do this.
"Now, Julie, don't panic. I understand this might feel overwhelming," Dean says, and now his voice has shifted into something that might pass for kindness if you didn't know better.
"But trust me. When you see what Evangelina can do, you'll understand.
Yours will be a wedding people talk about for years. "
I don't want people to talk about it for years. I want it to be ours. But I know there’s not one damn thing I can say right now that will change anything. This man is absolute, unmovable, and unconcerned how that affects the people around him.
The waiter returns to take our order, and Dean shifts into charming host mode.
Telling stories about business deals. Acting like he didn't just dismantle my entire wedding vision in under five minutes.
I smile. I nod. When dinner arrives, I pretend to care about the halibut.
But inside, everything has gone very quiet, like anything non-essential has been sucked out of me for the time being.
When the meal is over and we’re leaving the restaurant, Dean shakes my hand. He glances at my engagement ring again like it's offended him in some way.
"It was a pleasure to meet you," he says.
I nod and say the same. I'm lying. I assume he is, too. Then he turns to Asher. The handshake is firm enough that it looks uncomfortable. "I approved of her on paper," Dean says.
My smile freezes. On paper?
"But meeting her confirms what you told me for once." His gaze shifts to me, then right back to Asher. "She's perfect."
Perfect for what? My God. If this man says I have childbearing hips, I will launch myself through the nearest window.
"Nothing like the over-the-top whores you've introduced me to in the past," Dean adds.
Ah. Well then. I actually feel bad for any of Asher's past girlfriends who endured even five minutes with this insufferable blowhard. Asher shoots me a mortified glance, but I pretend to be oblivious.
He's quiet as we walk downstairs. He says nothing until we pull away from the restaurant. "I'm sorry," he says. "He's just... he's a lot."
A lot. He keeps saying that. Like his dad has a personality quirk as opposed to an arrogance that is as close to unbearable as any I’ve ever encountered. What that man just did over dinner was a systematic dismantling of everything Asher and I had discussed.
And my guess is that he's going to keep right on steamrolling both of us.