Chapter Thirty-Six
Rhys
Since the incidents with Selena, Max has become pensive. Oftentimes I catch her lost in thought—even at work, which has never happened before.
“You want to talk about whatever’s bothering you?”
She shakes her head. “I probably will at some point, but I’m not ready yet.”
I don’t press, although my curiosity is more intense than a heartburn. Did Mom or Dad do something over-the-top embarrassing, or make some inappropriate comment? Did Selena do something behind my back after demanding an interview? But Max isn’t the type to stew over something like that…is she?
Really, what do I know? I didn’t think Selena would be the type to dump me because of what my parents did, but that happened. At least she was nice and upfront about it.
Maybe her father’s attorney is bugging her?
But a lawyer from a firm as prestigious as Highsmith, Dickson and Associates should know better than to harass her.
Not only that, he has to realize that convincing her to do what her father wants will be nearly impossible if a two-billion-dollar inheritance isn’t enough to move her.
The only thing different about her is increased snacking—mainly dark chocolate. So I make sure to keep the kitchen stocked with top-quality German truffles, praying it helps her make a decision, whatever it might be, in my favor.
And soon I start brooding—a summons from Grandmother arrives, via Georgia, who says, “If you’ve finally settled on one of the candidates, please bring her. Do not cancel under any circumstances. If you do, Sorcha’ll go scorched earth, and nobody wants that.”
No shit. Suing us all to force us to meet her at the same time was nothing. She might just napalm our homes. Sorcha Kingswood doesn’t believe in backing down, only escalation.
“She’s done playing around. Cedric’s back from his safari, and your brothers are coming too.”
Damn, not Grandpa, too. He believes Grandmother can do no wrong, and won’t hesitate to cut us down.
Gideon calls him Perseus, after the Greek hero who married a princess and stayed faithful to her, unlike the vast majority of Greek mythic figures.
It fits him in a bizarre way, because Grandpa has never betrayed his marriage vows—and not for lack of means or opportunities—and he slays every monster in Grandma’s way.
The only thing he couldn’t fix for her was her career-ending accident, for which he allegedly beat himself up for a year, blaming himself for planning the lavish birthday party.
“It’ll be a lovely family gathering,” Georgia adds.
No, it’ll be a formal congregation, designed to maximize my pain.
I don’t voice the thought, but it’ll be worse than the time I was forced to sing “Silent Night” for a school Christmas pageant knowing I can’t carry a tune.
Grandmother insisted, while despairing over the fact that I’ll never dance The Nutcracker.
I told her no man wants to dance something titled The Nutcracker, but she only gave me a scornful look.
Unfortunately, Saturday afternoon eventually arrives. “Why don’t we take some flowers?” Max says, like it’s an ordinary dinner. She’s in a fitted blue dress from Danica. Her hair’s down, all casual and relaxed. But then, why wouldn’t it be? She’s always perfect.
“I already got something.” I gesture at a case of Belvedere vodka.
She raises her eyebrows. “That much?”
“Trust me. It’ll be appreciated.” And needed.
Dread unfurls like poison. I wish I could start drinking now.
Since Selena’s disastrous encounter with my parents fourteen years ago, I’ve never taken anybody to meet them…
or Grandmother. Although this fake relationship is about showing the worried family elders that I’ve got my life figured out, apprehension rides high.
Calm the hell down. Max has interacted with my parents and grandmother before. And she’s never freaked out. Why would she start now?
But back then we weren’t in a relationship. Her interaction with my family was limited to the office. Even my parents know you can’t bring naked sidepieces to work…I think.
“Are you going to go like that?” Max eyes my outfit—a jacket and slacks, starched white dress shirt, no tie. “Isn’t that a bit too formal?”
“No. This is the least Grandmother expects.” If I’m sans jacket, she’ll make some cutting remark about the fall of western civilization.
Angelo is off on weekends, so I drive us to my grandparents’ two-story Malibu home.
It has a spectacular view of the Pacific Ocean, and the garden is immaculate with chamomiles, Siberian fawn lilies, fern leaf peonies and lady’s slipper orchids.
The last are Grandmother’s pride and joy because they’re very difficult to grow, and the ones that finally survived in her garden were her third attempt.
Seven luxury cars lie sparkling under the orange glow of sunset. Guess we’re the last to arrive.
Max frowns. “Are we late?”
“Nope. Not even a little.” I place a hand over my churning belly. “Let’s go.”
I grab the vodkas, linking my other hand with hers.
“You’re so cold,” she says.
“The car’s A/C.” It’s really from nerves.
She squeezes. “It’ll be fine. I promise. It’s your family. They love you.”
I gaze into her bright eyes. I wish I had her confidence. It isn’t my family that’s the problem. It’s her reaction to them that makes my stomach burn with anxiety. “Promise me—no matter what happens in there, talk to me before you make any decisions.”
She blinks in confusion. “Decisions? Like what?”
To curse at me? To leave? To say your dignity matters more than our relationship?
Of all the people I know, nobody values self-respect and pride the way Max does. Not even Trevor trying to throw money at her could change her attitude. She’d rather starve to death.
The interior is airy and nothing obstructs the view of the ocean. The golden rays from the early evening sun pour in through the soaring skylight over the dining and living rooms.
The kitchen smells amazing. Grandmother undoubtedly hired a caterer for the occasion, since she doesn’t cook.
Everyone’s already in the dining room. Grandmother’s at the head of the table with Grandfather, who looks dignified with his pure silver hair and ramrod-straight spine.
My parents sit to one side, and my brothers occupy the rest of the chairs farther down the table.
Grandmother even invited Silas. As far as she’s concerned, if you bear the Kingswood name, that’s that, and you should be treated as family.
I respect her for it because I’d hate it if Silas was excluded due to something he had no control over.
All the men are outfitted like me, while Grandmother is in a dress that looks like a ballet costume out of Giselle. Mom’s pearlescent gray jumpsuit would be perfect for the occasion if it didn’t come with a neckline that plunges to her navel.
Four pitchers of iced cucumber-lemon water sit on the table. Grandmother should’ve provided alcohol, too…but of course didn’t. Good thing I brought some.
My brothers silently nod, knowing words are useless.
Max does a quick finger wave at them. They’ve already met over the last three years, so introductions aren’t necessary.
Our chairs are to my grandparents’ left, opposite my parents. I pull out a chair for Max, who nods her thanks and sits down. I take the seat next to hers, placing myself between her and Grandmother like a shield.
“Your assistant isn’t needed. Frederich’s handling everything,” she says.
“Georgia gave specific instructions to bring my girlfriend.”
Her icy eyes flicker. “Am I to understand that she is your girlfriend?”
“You are.”
Frederich begins serving the appetizer—mini lamb and mushroom filo triangles. He might as well be deaf from the blasé expression on his face.
Meanwhile, Grandmother stares at me and Max like I just told her I fornicated with a herd of Holsteins.
“Great going, son!” Dad grins. “I knew you had it in you. Brilliant. Great choice. I would’ve done the same.” He bites into his food with gusto.
Mom nods in approval. “If you’re going to go for it, might as well go for a pretty one. They tend to be more pleasing in bed.”
I paste on a smile like this is normal, while desperately praying Max doesn’t flip out.
“Children!” Grandmother says.
Grandfather pats her arm soothingly, which doesn’t seem to do much.
“What did I say?” Dad spreads his arms.
Mom gives a sort of bewildered shrug. “Max is gorgeous. I’d love to have boobs like hers.”
Grandmother is too outraged to speak. She breathes hard as she tries to calm down, while Max just blinks at my mom. I’m torn between agreeing and shaking my head—Max does have magnificent breasts, as inappropriate as the comment was.
My brothers merely stuff their mouths—they know better than to offer an opinion before the elders of the family.
Grandfather looks at his glass of water balefully, probably hoping for something strong, but his medication doesn’t react well with alcohol.
He’s most definitely going to have a talk with his doctor after this dinner.
I gesture at Max to go ahead and eat. She needs something to make the moment more bearable, and Grandmother always hires the best caterers in the state. I open one of the bottles I brought. Vodka is the only thing that can salvage this dinner for me.
Flicking his eyes at Grandmother, Dad clears his throat.
As unruly as his behavior might be, he’s still slightly scared of his mother, like a rebellious teenager who can’t quit caring about his parents’ opinion.
“Max is hot—and I’d totally do her, too, if I were you—but it’s rude to ignore your grandmother’s effort. Her list of candidates is, um, long.”
“Long doesn’t mean better,” Liam mutters.
“Actually, length is very important,” Dad corrects him. “Nobody wants a short man. Or dick.”
“I wouldn’t have married your father if his dick hadn’t been really long,” Mom adds helpfully.