Chapter 3 It’s My Uterus #2
I just stand there, flute in hand, watching her enjoy herself. “Lachlan and I are living in America.” Per the section in the contract that stated so. “He’s not noble here. Therefore, I won’t be noble.”
“But we can announce you that way at parties and to the press. Lord and Lady Ashford.”
I roll my eyes and drink some champagne, deciding I’m going to need it, even if I do remember a section in the documents we signed today about him being related to several Scottish earls from centuries long ago.
“How should we dress you for the engagement party?”
In one week. I remember that part of the contract too.
It’ll be a small party in the seaside backyard of my parents’ Nantucket home.
Even though I enjoy visiting the house and taking in the salty air, I have zero excitement toward any of this.
As if it’s not my life. As if it’s happening to someone else.
“That frown does nothing for you, Emery.” Mom plucks the champagne from my hand and downs it.
I gape, even though I shouldn’t be shocked. “Please, have it,” I say with sarcasm.
“You weren’t going to drink it.” She sets both glasses on the nearby table, fluffs her strawberry blonde hair, and falls dramatically onto the settee. “Pippa was happier than you are, and she married a commoner.”
Hunt’s billionaire family is far from being commoners. “Pippa’s fiancé at least eyed her like he was interested. Mine acts like I don’t exist.” Around other people anyway. But he did notice I shivered in the meeting today.
“We’ll go shopping this weekend for your wedding and reception gowns. I already had Gillian close the boutique on Sunday. Pippa will be there.”
“She will?” I perk up for the first time since this morning.
It’s funny how Pippa, who I used to despise, is now a positive for me. Maybe it’s my nephew swimming around in her uterus giving her good energy and changing her personality from bitch to benevolent.
“Of course.” Mom leans forward to fetch her flute of champagne. She finishes it and sets it next to the other empty glass. “Being your maid of honor and pregnant, she needs to choose a dress and color that’s flattering for her body and complexion. She said you wouldn’t mind.”
Maybe she’s not as benevolent. Maybe her sudden kindness was a side effect from the first trimester, and it’s gone.
“Sit.” Mom gestures to the spot beside her.
I lower onto the settee across from Mom where a vase of fresh hydrangeas from the garden blocks her from my view.
The floral scent draws my gaze to the yard terrace beyond a row of French doors.
The pool house isn’t visible from this room.
I can only see one half of the sparkling pool and the white-cushioned recliners on the patio, although it’s all a good distance away.
Has Lachlan returned there, or is he still with my father? I can’t believe he signed over my trust like I asked him to.
“Mom?”
“Yes?” Her tone is gentle as she plays with the hem of her dress, probably planning my entire wedding in her head.
“When I open my bookstore, will you help me design it?” For all her drinking and blasé behavior, she’s incredible at those things. With years of planning multiple parties and events, she’s more than capable of helping me create the bookstore of my dreams.
“And when would that be, dear?” She rings the bell on the table, summoning Zelda.
Zelda appears as if she were outside the door waiting. “Mrs. Spencer?”
Candace is the only housekeeper allowed to address Mom by her first name. Priscilla.
“Take these away and bring me my phone. I’ve misplaced it again.”
Zelda removes it from her uniform pocket. “Candace found it in the hall.”
“Wonderful.” Mom beams and snatches it from the housekeeper.
Zelda picks up the drinks. “Would you like anything else?”
“A gin and tonic would be nice, extra lime.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Spencer.” She looks at me for my order.
“I’m fine. I’m leaving actually.” I stand.
“Whatever for?” Mom pouts. “I thought we could scroll through dresses on the boutique site.”
“I’d rather wait until I can try them on.” And make sure my boobs don’t look huge.
She waves her hand down. “Oh, you’re no fun.”
And you can’t even remember that I just asked about my bookstore and if you’d help.
“Don’t go disappearing. We have dinner tonight to celebrate the arrangement.”
I roll my eyes. How many celebrations do we need? I wouldn’t even care if we eloped. Wait. That’s not a bad idea. Even better, we don’t have to elope, we can pretend we did, and no one would know the truth.
If I leave with Lachlan on one of his business trips, we could lie and say we eloped.
If he—we—travel to a place where my family can’t just drop in, I won’t have to endure them anymore or be around Lachlan.
He’ll be busy with work. I’ll be left on my own to focus on my business plan and get ideas.
I could do whatever I want. Based on how he acts, Lachlan would prefer I not be around him, even if we’re under the same roof.
Mom won’t be able to summon me home. I’ll be with my husband.
I might be able to convince Lachlan to have my back and agree to no wedding.
It’s not like the event is for him or me.
It’s for my parents. And it’s always at the estate.
They do it at home so they can control every detail and so no uninvited journalists can get in.
From what I’ve heard about Lachlan, he’s persuasive with Dad at a level others haven’t been able to reach. I just have to figure out how to convince him this is what’s best for us. And by us, I mean me.
I stand taller, proud of myself for coming up with such a great plan.
Mom takes me in. “Now that is the posture and smile I expect to see on your wedding day.”
Not if I can help it. “Mother.” I excuse myself with a girly curtsey and pretend to head for my bedroom.
Instead, I take a back hallway toward Dad’s office. The door is closed, so I creep to it and press my ear against the wood frame, listening.
“Is this a habit of yours?” a man’s voice sounds from a darkened alcove.
I cover my mouth to stop the scream, my muscles locking tight.
Lachlan emerges from the shadows. His phone is in one hand while his other is stuffed in his pocket. Damn, he looks good in his blue suit, which is more nautical than the steel color he wore yesterday.
“Were you spying on me?” I accuse in a whisper.
“I was making a call, not that it’s any of your business. I’m not the one sneaking around.”
“I’m not sneaking around.” I walk to him and tug his jacket sleeve to pull him back into the alcove and away from my father’s office door.
“I was checking to see if my dad was still here.” He glances at his jacket sleeve where it’s pinched by my fingers.
“Sorry.” I release the material and try to smooth out the crease, wincing.
Nothing I do helps. Mr. Pressed and Polished won’t like this. “I could iron it for you.”
He raises a brow at that. “Do you iron?”
“No, but the housekeeper does.”
His gaze rakes over me from head to toe, and his lips flatten into a hard line. Whatever he’s thinking about me, it isn’t good.
Now might not be the best time to negotiate a deal.
His phone dings. He reads the screen then types back quickly.
I open my mouth, but no words come out.
“What is it?” he says, his gaze still on his phone and the reply text based on the second ding.
“I was hoping we could talk about a possible new plan regarding our immediate futures.” My immediate future, one where it includes a seat on your private jet.
“Fine.” He texts another reply.
Does he even know what I just said? “Would now work?”
“No.” Another ding and more reading. He exhales, but it sounds like a groan. “I have to make a call. Do you mind?” He gestures for me to leave and give him privacy.
“Tonight then? After dinner?”
His phone rings. He arches a severe brow at me and lifts his phone toward his ear, waiting for me to depart.
I nod and flee the area, heading to my bedroom. But I’m not giving up on my plan. I’ll go to the pool house after dinner and get him to agree, no matter what I have to do.