Chapter Thirty-Nine
Huxley
Grace gets on her hands and knees in front of the coffee table. In the armchair behind her, I sit and appreciate the view of her luscious, peach-shaped ass in the air, the erotic curvature of spine and pelvis. My surging libido says she’s hot and interested, but my brain says she’s totally not thinking about sex right now as she inspects the table from various angles.
So make her interested, my hormones argue. That coffee table’s at just the right height. The brothers and their wives won’t be arriving for a while. And if they get here early, make them wait outside .
Yeah, no. I don’t think that’s going to earn me any brownie points. Grace has been anxious ever since I said they were coming over for dinner.
“What are you doing?” I say.
She doesn’t bother to look at me. “Checking to see if there’s any dust.”
“Why?”
“Because your family’s going to be here any second?”
“ Our family,” I correct her. “You’re a Lasker, too.”
“Yes, our family,” she says vaguely to humor me. “This passes,” she mutters. “Okay, now the lamps—”
“Do you think anyone’s going to come here, get on their hands and knees and judge our coffee table?” I put a hand at her elbow and help her up. Her belly is getting more rounded, although when she wears a loose dress, like the one she’s in right now, you can’t really see the mini baby bump.
It’s the crazy pregnancy hormones. Sex will cure it, my libido says as hot blood pools in my dick. I ignore my body’s reaction to her nearness. She has a lushness now that wasn’t there before, a sweeter scent. It’s like she’s a flower in full bloom, and my boner leaps up at every opportunity, hoping and praying.
“No. But it’s the first time they’re coming over.” She twists her back.
“No, it’s not.” My libido is right about one thing: this entire endeavor is crazy. She’s behaving as though she’s planning to go through every room in the house to make sure every surface is spotless. There isn’t enough time for that. However, even if there were, I wouldn’t let her. The place is big enough to house the entire U.S. Olympic team. “They’ve been here before.”
“Fine.” She huffs. “First time I’m meeting them—”
“You met at the wedding.”
“Stop being obtuse. I mean the first time here .”
“So what? They’re your family, too, Grace. Did you go through all this rigamarole when your mother visited? Or when your friends came by?”
“No,” she says reluctantly.
“So don’t do it now. If anyone disapproves of the housekeeping, I’ll tell Tilda. That’s her job, not yours. You are supposed to relax and enjoy the evening.”
She laughs shakily. “Easy for you to say. You’re their brother.”
“And you are now their sister .” I lead her to the dining room and hand her a glass of the bubbly cider. “They aren’t coming over to stress you out. They’re coming to spend time with you and get to know you better. To be a more cohesive family.”
She sits down and takes a sip of the icy cider.
I go behind her chair and rub her tense shoulders, earning an appreciative sigh. “If you don’t make an effort, families drift apart. So my brothers and I have always made sure to meet regularly. Mainly over meals because we have to eat, and it kills two birds with one stone. The Huxleys have the motto pietas et unitas —loyalty and unity. But I feel that more with my brothers and their wives than the Huxleys because I haven’t spent enough time with them.
“The brothers and their wives want to be part of your life, want to bring you into the circle. You’re their family just as much as me. So relax and smile. They’ll love you.”