6. Kent
Chapter Six
KENT
We proceed hand in hand toward my father’s office. Beatrice is still stationed at her desk. She barely glances up when she catches a glimpse of Liz, then does a double take.
“Hello, again, Beatrice,” I say.
My father’s assistant darts glances back and forth between Liz and me. “And who is this?”
I straighten my back and clear my throat. “This is Liz. She’s my fiancée.”
Beatrice maintains her stern glare. “Hmph,” she utters, then narrows her eyes. “Is that right?”
Liz offers her free hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Beatrice looks at her displeased, then reluctantly shakes my fake fiancée’s hand. “How do you do?” she says, then looks at me. “I see you’re walking in your brothers’ footsteps. Giving your good English name to another American.”
I smile, deflecting her jab. “Yes, but I’m sure like many Americans, she has some English in her,” I say.
“No, actually. But I’ve got lots of Scottish blood,” Liz offers, giving Beatrice a square look, and she replies with a lift of her dark grey eyebrow on her wrinkled forehead.
I clear my throat again and rest my hand on Liz’s back. “Close enough. Come on, Darling. It’s time to meet your future father-in-law.”
She beams at me, putting on her exaggerated, in-love fiancée act. “Of course, Darling.” Then she turns back to Beatrice. “Merry Christmas,” she says with an emphasis on Merry.
“Happy Christmas to you,” Beatrice replies.
Good God, what have I gotten myself into? What are the chances this will go any better with my father in a moment? Bollocks. It better. I need this to go off without a hitch. Everything’s on the line.
I knock on Dad’s solid wood door before pushing it open and stepping inside.
The smell of leather and cologne still lingers in the air.
He’s pacing behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back when he stops and stares up at the oil painting displayed proudly behind his desk.
It’s a painting he had commissioned of himself wearing his knighthood insignia, bestowed by the Queen herself.
The thing gives me a little shiver every time I look at it.
“Father,” I say, pulling his attention. “Allow me to introduce my fiancée, Liz.”
Finally, he turns around and looks at the woman who is supposed to be my future wife. A woman I hardly know. Which come to think of it, isn’t that different than Mick’s situation. Nor Drew’s. So at least there’s precedent here.
Dad walks slowly and stiffly from behind his desk and over to Liz. “Liz, is it?” he asks.
“Yes,” she answers, her voice somewhat shaky.
“Forgive me for the lack of fanfare, but my son has just told me that you exist.” Dad shoots me a look. Shit. He’s not pleased. Or he’s not buying it. In which case, he’s extra pissed.
“I understand. This all happened so fast. Like whoop! We’re engaged!” she says, flicking her left hand like she’s done it a billion times.
Nothing about this warms Dad’s cold presence. “Liz. Is that short for Elizabeth?”
“It is,” she offers.
“Same as the Queen. Only she’s my queen,” I add, selling the idea of this woman. Selling the idea that I’m becoming a mature family man.
“And where are you from, Elizabeth?”
She darts a glance at me, then slowly answers. “I’m from the Northwest. Washington state but I live in San Francisco now.”
“And what is it that you do there?” Dad continues his interrogation. And I don’t like it one bit. I lift my chin and stand tall, giving Liz my utmost confidence.
“I own a clothing business,” Liz says as if trying to give as little detail as possible. Smart girl.
“Lingerie? Is that how you know my daughter-in-law?”
“Not lingerie. But yes, I know Kate from our time at FIT in New York.”
“Hmm,” he mutters, suspicious, though I’m pretty sure Liz is only stating the facts. “And why have you two decided to wed so quickly? Are you also with child?”
“Also?” she asks.
I squeeze Liz’s hand, letting out a chuckle. “Yes, my brother Mick is newly engaged with a baby on the way, remember?”
She looks at me blinking for a moment, and I smile brighter, as if to say, don’t screw this up or we’ll both be screwed. And not in the fun way. “Oh, right. It slipped my mind. Jetlag.”
“Uh-huh,” Dad continues with his sacral responses.
“And no, I’m definitely not pregnant.”
“That’s a relief,” Dad grumbles. “And why is it that I don’t see an engagement ring on your finger?”
“Uh.” Liz gapes and my father’s stare intensifies with every second she’s silent.
Crap. I forgot about one of the most important details of an engagement. The ring. There’s only one good reason for a newly engaged woman to be missing her ring.
“It’s being resized.” I lift her left hand to show my father. “I underestimated just how dainty her beautiful fingers are.”
“Size four and a half,” she says.
Four and a half, huh? Interesting. That’s the same size as my grandmother’s rare heirloom diamond ring. Don’t ask how I remember that tiny detail. But I distinctly remember my mother saying it when she gave me the ring after I returned from university.
I look at Liz, taking in her radiant, dark red hair. What would my mother say if she could see what I was up to now? I glance over at a photo of her and my father on the bookshelf. They were about my age. Married with children. The picture is black and white, but her smile breathes color into it.
“I expect you’ll be spending the holidays with our family?” Dad asks.
“Of course.”
“And what about your family? Will they be joining us from the States?”
“Unfortunately, not,” she says, and I feel a twinge of guilt keeping her from her loved ones this Christmas.
I clear my throat. “I’m sure you’ll get to meet Liz’s family soon enough.”
“Speaking of family. Have you told your brothers?” Dad asks.
“Not yet,” I admit, truthfully. “I didn’t want to steal the spotlight away from Mick’s happy engagement. Seemed like the mature thing to do.”
Good one, Kent.
“Hmm. Very well. Then, I suppose I’ll share this news with the board.” Dad wanders back over to his leather chair and takes a seat. A jolt of victory electrifies my body. We did it! He bought it. And now Bonnaire Capital is sure to be mine.
“Please do,” I say. “We better get back down to the party.” Now we really have something to celebrate.
“Of course. Enjoy yourselves.”
We thank him and turn for the door, Liz’s hand still wrapped in mine.
“And Kent,” Dad beckons just as we’re about to leave.
“Yes?”
By now, my father’s leaning back in his chair with a stern glare. “If I find out that this is an engagement of convenience in any way, not only will Bonnaire Capital go to Collin but I will end you. Do you understand?”
Perhaps the celebration is slightly premature. I gulp hard. The brooding oil painting hanging above his head magnifies his authority, reminding me, once again, that he’s the king of this castle.
“Yes, Father,” I say, tongue going dry. The thing is, if Collin’s in charge, it’s as good as being dead anyway. From this moment on, it’s all or nothing.
Then, Liz drops my hand and stomps toward Dad’s desk. Uh-oh. What is she doing?
“Mr. Bonnaire, I assure you our engagement is as real as the silk threads in your tie. Your son makes me very, very happy,” Liz argues, practically stamping her black stiletto to make a point.
“So you truly love my son, Elizabeth?” Dad asks, looking her straight in the eye.
Liz hesitates, fidgeting her ringless hands. “What kind of question is that? Can’t you tell by the way my eyes sparkle when I look at him?”
A chuckle bubbles in my mouth when she admits it but I quickly swallow it back like a swig of good wine.
“That proves nothing,” he replies, unfazed.
Damn. This isn’t going to be as easy as I’d hoped.
“Proof. I’ll give you proof.” Liz says in her underhanded, under-her-breath way.
She makes a B-line toward me with a look of determination in her eyes.
Before I know it, her delicate hand is wrapped around my neck, and her lips are pressed to mine.
They open like the soft petals of a rose.
Her mouth tastes like Pinot Noir—my favorite.
For a moment, I forget where we are and pull her closer, indulging in a delicious kiss.
Oh, sweet, sweet Liz.
Just as I’m falling deeper and deeper into her kiss, she pulls away and gazes at me for a split second—just long enough for me to catch a glimpse of that sparkle. Then she looks back at my dad with a look that says—is that proof enough for you?
A woman who sticks up to my father? Maybe I should marry her.
Dad lets out a long, rigid sigh. “You are very American, aren’t you?”
Liz nods sharply. “And proud of it.”