14. Ruby #3
I do my best not to let my nerves show because this woman is not only Miles’s mom, but she also knows why I’m here.
Therefore, I expect disapproval, but I don’t detect a hint of it in her tone. “Welcome to Burlington, my dear. We’re all very eager to get to know you.”
“Yes, ma’am, me too. Thank you for welcoming me into your home.” I smile as graciously as I can and mentally prep myself for a grilling, but nothing comes.
Even when Lando arrives, I’m offered nothing more than a curt, “Hello.”
But the evening continues with food, drinks, laughter, and chaos. Grilling to a minimum, because every time it seems like I’m on the verge of being caught up in one, Miles steps in.
Eventually, even he relaxes and stops asking if I want to leave every five minutes. And I don’t want to leave, because as tired as I am, this—this loud, chaotic, loving family with its squabbling and fighting, love and laughter—is everything I ever wanted, and never had.
Because when my dad wasn’t working his butt off, getting up hours before the sun rose to feed the various animals before heading out to the fields, he’d be taking my brothers to Monster Truck rallies I wasn’t invited to.
His disappointment that his third child was a girl is something I’ve felt deep in my bones since I was old enough to understand.
“When’s the first match?” asks Story, pulling me away from my thoughts.
“Monday—”
“But it’s small fry, some friendly matches to get the points on the board. The first big game isn’t for two weeks. Gloucester Park. You’re coming, aren’t you?” replies Miles, from his seat next to mine.
He’s barely left my side all evening, staying close enough that I can feel his warmth. Although we don’t have to pretend, because they know we’re not a couple, it hasn’t stopped Miles from reaching for my hand, or putting his arm around me, or leaning in so close his beard tickles my face.
“Lando and I are.” Holiday nods. “I’m throwing out the first ball. It’s the last fun thing I’m doing before the play begins—”
“Play?”
Holiday nods. “I’m playing Viola in Twelfth Night at the Donmar Warehouse. We’re halfway through rehearsals, and the first night is the middle of June. You must come—”
“And next weekend you can come and sit with us,” adds Story.
“Ruby will be with the horses. She’s part of the team,” Miles interjects firmly.
Clementine picks up her glass of wine. “Are you excited?”
I nod. “Yes, I’ve only seen high-goal on television.”
Story turns to Holiday. “What are you wearing?”
Holiday shakes her head. “I don’t know yet. My stylist will send something for me. What about you?”
“I need to go shopping this week.”
I groan a laugh. “See, this is why I’m happy to be part of the team. I have jodhpurs and a shirt. I’m terrible at shopping. Ask Story.”
She diplomatically stays silent, but her smile as she twirls her pasta noodles and forks them into her mouth speaks volumes.
“It’s exactly why I have a stylist, because my brain would explode if I didn’t. I have a lot of engagements this summer, and the press picks apart everything I wear. I’ve learned to let someone else deal with it.”
“I’d happily hand my wardrobe over to someone else to deal with.”
Clementine’s hand shoots up, almost knocking over a bottle of wine, which Hendricks manages to catch just in time. “I’ll do it.”
Not one part of her expression makes me think she’s joking either.
And the conversation continues like it began, bouncing from subject to subject, such that I have a hard time keeping up.
But I can’t help but also feel grateful for how much they’re trying to include me.
It doesn’t feel awkward because everyone here knows this thing between Miles and me is temporary.
“Are you surviving?” Miles whispers to me, breaking away from the bickering with his brothers.
“Actually”—I lean in, matching his lowered tone—“I’m thriving.”
He returns to his squabble with a loud laugh, but reaches for my hand under the table, where it stays. It’s a pattern that repeats as the night goes on—Miles checking in.
And much like Miles himself, it’s a surprise, because I half expected him to leave me the second the front door closed.
The assumptions I've made about him are proven wrong over and over again, and as more layers of his personality peel away, I see a man who’s not only someone I respect as a polo player, but someone I could see becoming a friend.
If I think about it, I’ve not once seen Miles behave in a way that’s less than gentlemanly and respectful.
He’s so down to earth . . . his whole family is.
Even his mother who’s been nothing but sweet to me.
Lando I’m still undecided about, however.
And when it’s finally time to leave, I say goodbye with a full heart and promises to see Clementine, Haven, Story, and Holiday again soon. We make plans for them to come and watch our matches.
We drive away with them waving to us on the doorstep, like we’re a real family.
And I have to remind myself that’s not the case. It’s all pretend.
Even though it doesn’t quite feel like it.