Chapter Twenty-Two
Rhys
The silence that follows Max’s entrance is golden. She moves with precision, wearing a fake smile that looks surprisingly genuine if you don’t know her.
The green of her dress intensifies the gorgeous color of her eyes.
Her coppery hair glints as she faces the enemies—er, my family.
Her professional outfit does nothing to hide her divine curves.
As a matter of fact, the fabric clings to her ass perfectly, and with the sunlight streaming at the right angle—like now—the sight is mesmerizing.
Blood heats, then flows to my dick. My body doesn’t care about how unhappy I was at her abrupt departure from Tokyo.
The lust pulsing in my body wants to know what she’d be like bent over my desk.
I want to see her tremble and fight to hold back a moan as I run my hands over that ass and drive into her.
There’s an urge to shift, but I remain still.
Nobody can see my body’s reaction under the desk.
I take a long swig of the coffee, hoping to bring my focus back to my family, who barged in without notice.
I wouldn’t have known they were coming if my parents’ butler Frederich hadn’t texted me a warning.
I wanted Max out of the way so I’d be the only one witnessing this embarrassment. But she’s too damn efficient.
Grandmother doesn’t even glance at Max. “Family shouldn’t have to make an appointment.
In addition, this visit wouldn’t have been necessary if you’d just come over for dinner on Saturday like I asked you.
A third reschedule—how ludicrous! As if your work could be that busy when you simply delegate.
” Her diction is as precise as her ballet moves, the accent almost undetectable.
“I hope this firm is doing well enough to stock some tea in the breakroom.” Finally her eyes flick in Max’s direction. “Green tea, if you don’t mind.”
Max’s expression hardens, her mouth forming a taut hyphen.
Grandmother has that effect on people. As the granddaughter of an Italian count and a Russian heiress whose family made a fortune in mining, she grew up in wealth and privilege, then earned worldwide adoration and respect through her ballet. She doesn’t ask. She commands.
“You won’t be staying long enough to enjoy it,” I say flatly, hating that Max feels like the help under Grandmother’s gaze.
“The conversation we’re about to have may take longer than you expect,” Grandmother says smoothly.
“I have a meeting I can’t miss in ten minutes.” I glance at Max, silently asking her to back me up.
“He does,” she says without batting an eye, even though she knows the only impending appointment I have is with the coffee and Danish from Hubby & Wifey. She takes a seat near my desk and joins my battle against the enemies.
“Then I’ll make it straightforward. Here’s a list of marriageable-aged women of good breeding.” Grandmother places a folder in front of me.
Did you check their teeth, too? I swallow the question before it pops out. The best outcome right now might be her getting whatever she needs to say off her chest and leaving as soon as possible, since she won’t take the overt hint that I’m avoiding her after three cancellations.
At least she didn’t try to sue again, not that it’s much consolation. There probably just wasn’t enough time.
“Pick one and set a date,” she says.
“Want me to mount one and breed her while I’m at it?” I say before I can catch myself.
Max snorts, then turns her face away while clearing her throat. Dad starts to laugh, but quickly clicks his teeth shut at the searing scorn on Grandmother’s face. The corners of Mom’s mouth twitch.
Grandmother turns to me with frosty disapproval tinged with concern. “Don’t be crude. Good thing I’m here to set things right. It seems you’re going astray, just like your father.”
Dad frowns. “I’m not that bad, Mother—”
She raises a finger, shutting Dad up. “I blame myself for the way you turned out, Auric. I should’ve never let your grandmother raise you while I was busy with my career.
Now all you do is act like a child in an adult body.
” She turns to me. “These women are dignified, many of them European aristocrats. If you were married, you wouldn’t have been dragged into that disgraceful scandal. ”
Still hung up on that pregnancy scandal. I want to figure out who put her up to it so I can strangle the bastard. “I didn’t do it, and she isn’t a high school kid.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s what people believe.”
“What do you believe?”
Not a flicker of emotion crosses her face. “It’s irrelevant.”
I grind my molars as old resentment and pain claw at me.
She knows it matters, but won’t say because she can’t tell me she trusts me.
That burns, but I should be used to it. She’s always expected me to end up a disgrace just like my father.
Not sure why, because I’ve never given her any cause.
As a matter of fact, I’ve been a stellar grandchild—never gotten into trouble, always brought home straight As, did numerous extracurriculars, including several sports that I excelled in.
Received a degree in physics from MIT, summa cum laude.
I made sure to set good examples for my younger brothers, did everything I could to shield them from our parents’ antics.
Most families would be proud, but not Grandmother.
Maybe it’s the very fact that I’m my father’s son that bothers her so much.
Hiding my bitterness, I pick up the list. Best to humor her because she isn’t leaving until I, at least, pretend to care. “Coraline Vescovi? Isn’t her family basically a money pit?” It’d be a losing merger, to put it kindly, and I’m no sucker.
“At least they aren’t nouveau riche.” Grandmother’s judgmental eyes flick to Mom before turning back to me. “You have plenty of money. I’m sure you can afford her for the sake of our family’s dignity.”
Doubtful the family has any dignity left. I better keep that to myself, though. When she loses her composure, things can get dramatically ugly.
“We should strive to avoid the failures of your father.” Grandmother speaks as though Dad isn’t sitting less than four feet away, listening. “And your mother.”
My parents just tap their chins and sigh.
If Grandmother weren’t here, they’d be looking at their phones, but she hates it when people “play with electronic toys” when she’s speaking.
I might feel sorry for my parents, if they weren’t the reason she was subjecting me to such unreasonable demands first thing in the morning.
If they weren’t so scandalous, she might’ve waited until I resolved the incident.
But her patience has run out, and she can’t be confident I won’t follow in Dad’s footsteps.
“What makes you think that marrying one of your…approved candidates will make a difference to my life trajectory?” I ask.
“You’ll be bound by propriety.”
My eyes slide to my parents. Surely she hasn’t missed that nothing binds them.
Condemnation darkens her face. “That’s why you marry a woman who cares. I’ll have Georgia set up meetings for you. But they’re all about equal, so you can marry whoever.”
Grandmother makes the process sound like picking up eggs from a supermarket. Any carton will do. After all, they’re all eggs!
Except every fiber of my being rebels. I’m thirty-fucking-seven, damn it.
I don’t need her acting like I’m a child incapable of making good decisions or knowing his own mind, much less trying to impose something as significant as who gets to share my bed and life.
I’ve set my life up exactly the way I want it.
I don’t need anybody disrupting my status quo—work, work, and work some more, plus time set aside for my brothers.
There’s no room for anything else, including romance and marriage, which are doomed to fail anyway, unless I choose a woman who loves my money so much that nothing else matters. And that, I can’t tolerate.
But Grandmother is persistent. She wouldn’t have become the top ballerina at the Mariinsky otherwise. There’s no way I’m letting her alter my existence to suit her need for control, though.
“That won’t be necessary. I already have someone on my mind,” I lie to throw her off. Hopefully she’ll be too busy figuring out the mystery woman’s identity to bother me.
“Who?” Grandmother’s eyes light up. “Perhaps Lady Catherine from—”
“No. She’s not my type. Besides, she looks like a horse.”
“Gotta agree with you there,” Dad says. “But at least she looks like a handsome horse.”
“But is she mountably handsome?” Mom muses out loud.
I clench and unclench my hands. Somebody invent a mute machine! My parents should never be allowed to speak when someone else is in the room. Ever.
“Rhys doesn’t need your input,” Grandmother says.
Or yours, I think. At the same time, Max mutters, “Or yours.” It’s startling, but brings a small smile to my lips.
“I’ve said my piece and you know what needs to be done. I won’t take up any more of your time,” Grandmother says stiffly. “But you really need to do better than models and starlets. Pretty faces fade, and breasts sag.”
“Botox and boob jobs,” Dad says, shrugging.
She gives him a look that would make a lesser man shrink in shame, but he just smiles, used to such silent rebukes.
She stands, moving like someone half her age, and turns to my parents. “You two, get up. It isn’t like you have anything to contribute. I’m sure I don’t know why you tagged along.”
She leaves, my parents following. The door shuts behind them.
Max and I sit for a few moments. Only the sounds of sipping coffee and the rustling of the napkins fill the office.
My brew is hot and a bit too rich for my taste.
But I don’t complain because I really need extra caffeine.
The Danish adds some sweetness—the perfect complement to jack up my blood sugar after that clusterfuck of a visit.