13 #2
The Bradshaws have this way about them. They smile too tightly and force unnatural laughs that are way too polished. Everything within their mansion by the sea matches their personalities—fake, fake, fake. Oh, and rich. Very rich.
Going into my relationship with Tucker, I knew this about his family. That he came from money, absurd amounts of it. Just like I knew his stepmom is younger than he is. But after some time together, I saw he wasn’t like them. Or at least, I convinced myself he wasn’t.
My track record with men hasn’t been the best. They say girls wind up with men who are like their fathers. Well, in my case, that couldn’t be further from the truth.
My dad, Vince, is an angel. Kind, generous, hilarious; he’s a lot like Hunter.
Which makes what Mom did to him even worse.
Not that cheating on your husband is ever a good thing.
But the fact that she did it to a man like my dad?
Yeah, that makes her an even bigger bitch.
And that’s why I can only handle seeing her every two weeks when I schlep out to Hallstead for dinners with her, Hunter and my sister, Tina—another bitch, but for entirely different reasons.
And yet, even raised with two uncommonly good men like Dad and Hunter, I still ended up with my fair share of assholes.
First there was Jack, in my senior year of high school. A world-class bastard who not only took my virginity, but then dumped me the very next day.
After that, there was Brody, Chase, and Isaiah—in that order—all equally douchey and mean. The only thing they helped me see was that I enjoyed sex more than I ever thought I would, especially after the lackluster performance Jack introduced me to.
Years of shitty relationships finally took their toll. So, when Tucker came up to me one night, I took one look at his clean-cut appearance, noticed the whiter-than-white smile that matched his shirt, and figured he’d be good for me.
And since then, I’ve been trying to convince myself that I wasn’t wrong.
When we talk, I feel his genuine intelligence and interest in me. When he laughs, it doesn’t make me want to cringe. There’s some sincerity in it.
That is unless we’re having dinner with his family, when he turns into a fucking dick-wad.
Tucker’s older brother, Langley, finishes some lame, sexist joke, and Bradford, their father, laughs that unbelievably loud and obnoxious laugh. Tucker squeezes my knee beneath the table as if reminding me to laugh, too. Or is it a warning?
I force a smile, feeling like, yet again, I don’t belong here. The truth is, after my afternoon intervention with Bill and Mitch, I should have canceled on Tucker. I’d much rather be at home, drowning my emotions in a nice bottle of wine.
That wasn’t the first time Bill’s confronted me about my feelings for Mitch, but I’ve always been pretty good at denying them. Or at least I thought I was. Stupid me for thinking Bill ever believed me.
But one thing is for sure; whatever Mitch may have felt for me once, he sure as hell doesn’t feel it anymore. The guy couldn’t even stand to look at me. I thought we were getting closer last night in that cramped bathroom, or at least getting past our shit, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“So, Maxine,” Bradford starts, folding his napkin with too much deliberate care and concentration. “Tucker tells me you’re still working at the inn?”
Still working, as if he expected it to be a short-term thing. There’s that slight richie condescension I’m all too familiar with. They might not raise their nose at me, but I can hear it in their tone.
With a slight nod, I manage a smile that feels more like a grimace. “I run the inn, actually. I’m the manager.”
“Well, temporarily, at least,” Tucker adds. I narrow my gaze at him. He hurries to rub my back, as if that’ll calm me down. “I mean, once Robyn returns, you’ll go back to being assistant manager.”
Langley lets out a small breath of a laugh. “Honestly, Maxy. The place is hanging on by a thread. Why would you even bother?”
I’ve allowed Tucker to call me Maxy, but loathe the way his twerp of a brother thinks he gets the right to. Tucker bristles next to me, but I breathe, blinking slowly at Langley. “It’s had a rough couple of years, sure, but—”
“That’s exactly the point,” Bradford cuts in. “You’re almost thirty, aren’t you?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer before continuing. “You don’t want to pour your best years into something that’s already failing.”
Stunned and seriously insulted, I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Tucker’s hand falls away, and he takes a sip of wine instead of looking at me. I suddenly get the feeling I’m being set up. I’m a big girl and can defend myself, but it would be nice to have someone sticking up for me.
Steadying my voice, I try again. “The inn’s been part of the town for hundreds of years, Brad. Sure, it’s struggling, but there’s still hope.”
I remember Mitch’s words from last night, and his spin on it. I’m not saying he’s convinced me of the inn’s irredeemable value, but he’s made a dent in my resistance.
“Sentiment doesn’t pay the bills,” Langley says, smirking as if his words are the be-all and end-all. He sounds like his father. “You’re a smart girl. You could do so much better.”
I don’t miss his smarmy wink before his eyes drift to his younger brother, who still seems more interested in his wine than defending me. I almost want to elbow Tucker in the ribs and say, hey, jackass, your brother’s hitting on me, but then I wonder if he’d even care.
Langley is gorgeous, with wavy chestnut hair, clear green eyes, and a body to match.
Smart, he’s also endlessly charismatic and exudes arrogance.
In my younger days, I’d be jumping Langley’s bones right about now.
But that’s the old me, I remind myself. The one who searched for the wrong thing, usually with the wrong guy.
Tucker’s the wiser, more responsible choice.
“I’m good where I am, thanks,” I reply, keeping my voice even. “I like what I do.”
Bradford tilts his head. “I’m sure you think you do. But remember, though familiarity can be comforting, it can also breed contempt.”
My eyes follow the circle of not-so-subtle head bobs around me. Beneath the table, I fist my hands in my lap, my short fingernails digging into my palms.
Actually, I love what I do, which is something I’ve only recently realized. Having more responsibilities, even on the days we struggle, I enjoy the challenge. It’s almost as if fighting to keep the doors open, not giving up on something everyone else has pretty much written off, brings me joy.
Wow, I really am a stickler for the underdog.
“I’m only curious if you actually see yourself working at the inn long-term?” Bradford asks. “Don’t you have bigger plans?”
There’s the gentle gaslighting I’ve been waiting for all night. The implication that if I disagree with them, it’s because I don’t know any better.
I glance at Tucker, who finally has the balls to meet my eyes. His brow puckers, not in concern, but in embarrassment. He knows I’m not the type of girl who’ll go along with his father’s attempt at assimilation.
I release a slow exhale. Since he’s not stepping up to be my knight in shining armor…
“What sort of plans exactly, Brad?” I ask, reaching for my wine. “You mean settling down and becoming a wife? Popping out a kid or two?”
“They’re just saying you have options,” Tucker explains, his tone unusually sharp, but in a whisper nonetheless. “You don’t have to get defensive.”
Fire blazes in my veins. “I’m not defensive. I’m explaining—”
“No one’s attacking you, Maxy.” Langley waves a hand, interrupting. “We’re being realistic.”
Realistic would be them acknowledging that they’re talking about my life like it’s a fixer-upper they’re bored with.
Or asking me why I’m sticking around and what the inn means to me.
Or how often I fall asleep on the couch in the office because I don’t want to go home to my empty apartment to stress about keeping everything afloat.