19. Liz
Chapter Nineteen
LIZ
I spend the car ride home reading and rereading the gossip column with my stomach in knots. What have I gotten myself into? Oh, right, a twenty million dollar deal with my debts paid. It’s worth it, I know. But why do I still feel so conflicted about this whole thing?
Luckily, when I walk into Kent’s penthouse, Dahlia is dressed in her Lululemons with a yoga mat strapped to her back on her way out.
“Hey, did you see the picture in Cheeri-Ooh!?” she asks. Does everyone read this stupid gossip rag?
“Yes, we did.” I have no idea why I use the word we, as if Kent and I are a true couple.
She shrugs. “That’s what happens when you marry a Bonnaire.”
I let out a nervous laugh. Geez, how will the press behave when we ultimately stage a breakup? Will I be a laughingstock? A lepper? Am I somehow solidifying myself as a single woman? And why does that bother me so much?
I’m a modern feminist. I don’t need a man. I glance down at the diamond on my finger. But what if I want one? Does that make me a bad female entrepreneur feminist?
“Working here again today?” she asks, and I nod. “Okay, well, there’s cookies in the kitchen. See you later.”
I see her off, then hide in Kent’s home office where I can suppress all of my uncomfortable feelings by burying myself in work, which is really easy with the new deal.
Only breaking for coffee and Dahlia’s homemade leftover cookies, work seems to fly by into the early evening when the sun sets.
Kent still isn’t back from the office, so I take my time dressing for dinner at Mick’s.
As I’m coating my lashes with mascara, I get a call from my brother.
Why is he calling? Then I gasp. Crap, did he see the photo?
No, he’s probably never even heard of Cheeri-Ooh!
And my name isn’t even in it. But just in case, I ignore the call.
He probably still has some questions for me, and I’m not really in the mood to lie to Leo. I was never very good at it anyway.
It’s after six when I’m ready but Kent still hasn’t returned. So I wander into the living room and find Dahlia sipping from a glass of white wine with her nose in a very thick document. The moment I see her, I freeze, then begin to backtrack out of there. Did she see me?
“You can come in, Liz,” Dahlia says. Damn, she caught me. I take a breath and reenter the room.
“You looked like you were in the middle of something. I didn’t want to disturb you,” I say, excusing my most recent attempt to dodge her.
“You’re not disturbing me. Come sit down.”
I sit in the chair opposite her. “What are you reading?”
“It’s a play. I’m thinking of auditioning for it.”
“Oh, you’re an actress.” Then it hits me that I don’t know anything about this woman. I just assumed she was a trust fund socialite.
“Yeah, Kent didn’t tell you?” she asks.
I pretend to search my memory for pretend conversations with Kent. “I don’t know if it came up.”
“Well, it’s not like I’ve been in anything big,” she grumbles with a twisted expression.
“Is the play any good?” I ask.
“I haven’t decided. I come from the film world so I’m getting used to stage plays. It’s a little different.”
“My brother works in the film industry too. He’s a director,” I say, finally offering her some common ground.
Her eyes light up as if my brother’s position in Hollywood could aid her in some way. “Has he done anything I’d know?”
I think of the long list of indie films he’s shot. Movies no one’s ever heard of. “No, not really.”
She frowns. “Well, I hope he’s having better luck than me.”
“Sorry I’m late.” Kent’s voice enters the room before he does.
“Hello, Darling,” he smiles at me like he’s happy to see me and kisses my cheek.
Warmth spills over the rest of my face, flowing through my entire body as he lingers for just a moment.
I close my eyes, relishing his faux kiss. Or is it real?
“Hi,” I say.
He greets Dahlia, then excuses himself to get changed. And I’m alone with Cousin Dahly once more.
“I should probably go grab a bottle of wine to bring tonight,” I say, rising from the chair.
Dahlia closes her script. “Liz, have I done something to offend you?”
Aside from stealing the guest wing? “No, why would you think that?”
She shrugs. “Because it seems like every time we talk, you find some excuse to leave.”
I have been really skittish around her. For good reason. She’s so sweet, and she’s an excellent baker. “You’re right. I’m sorry. This is new for me.”
“What is?”
Lying to a man’s family about being his fiancée. But I don’t say that. Instead, I say, “Being engaged to a man with such a big and close family.”
“That’s why I’d like to get to know you. You’re joining the family.”
I’m not sure why, but the phrase joining the family rings in my head.
I never had a big family like Kent. My ex didn’t have a big family either.
And it’s not until this moment that I realize I kind of like the idea of joining a family like Kent’s—sans Dean Bonnaire.
But his brothers and Dahlia, not to mention my friend, Kate. They’re all great people.
“So much of this is unexpected,” I say, truthfully.
“Isn’t that what makes life so fun? One day, you’re just living your life, and the next, you’re in love.”
“I suppose that’s true.” In my case, it’s more like one day I was living my normal life, and the next, I’m saving my company in the most unpredictable, and perhaps unethical, way. “Well, I should probably go grab that wine.” I begin walking toward the kitchen.
“The wine cellar is that way.” Dahlia points to a door in the corner.
“Oh, right. I’m still getting used to this place,” I say, but I have no clue where the heck the cellar is.
“Before you know it, it’ll be home,” she says, and it sounds strange. Even if Kent and I were legitimately getting married, I don’t think I’d be able to settle in London. After growing up in Washington, I did my time with the rain. Now I need that California sunshine.
I open the door at the corner of the room, and it leads to a staircase down to a lower floor, almost like a basement. But this is no ordinary basement. It’s an expansive, perfectly temperature-controlled wine cellar.
“Wow.” I look around, slack-jawed. This place is as large as a wine store. Cases and cases of California wines line the lower shelves while beautiful bottles of every grape imaginable sit proudly on the upper shelves.
All I want is a single bottle of wine, but now I don’t know where to begin. So I go where I’m drawn. Deeper into the cellar, there’s an archway that leads to a second room. These bottles are displayed locked in glass cases. My eyes draw to one that looks as vintage as they come.
Is that? No. It can’t be.
“See something you like?” Kent’s voice sounds behind me. I jump and turn toward him. “You said you had a wine collection, you didn’t say you have the wine collection.”
“I don’t like to brag.” He walks closer.
“Is this an actual 1945 bottle of Romanée-Conti?”
“Wow, you really do know your wine,” he says with a delightfully surprised smile. “Yes, it was passed down by my mother. She was a wine collector as well.”
“Well, she had excellent taste.”
“She did. I’m saving it for a special occasion.”
“What occasion is that?” I ask.
“I don’t know yet but I will when it arrives.”
“Maybe when you get your promotion,” I suggest.
“Yeah, something special like that.” Kent’s blue-eyed gaze turns sapphire in the dim cellar light. He steps closer and a slow breath escapes my lips.
I know my will to escape him is wearing thin, but I still have some left. “We should probably get going, or we’ll be late.”
“Right.” Kent drops his stare. “C’mon, I know just the bottle to bring.”