Chapter 9 Sloane
Sloane
Now
On Friday afternoon, I leave work and head straight to my parents’ house.
The long drive from Studio Six to Walnut Grove—the upscale country club neighborhood my parents have lived in since before I was born—usually wears me out, but today I’m thankful for the time to think after a week of Dominic and James wreaking havoc on my nerves.
Since lunch on Tuesday, things with me and Dominic have been friendly, which has been confusing for me after years of being on guard around the man, but it’s James who seems bothered the most by it. Even Mal, who probably has the most to gain from our tentative truce, isn’t as interested as he is.
First, it was the weird look after Dominic brought me back to the hotel to pick up my car.
James was standing outside talking to a new group of valets when we arrived, and his brows pulled together in clear confusion as he watched Dominic open the passenger door for me.
He then proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon peppering me with questions about our lunch with an irritated look on his face.
Then on Wednesday, when I stopped by to discuss tile choices for the fireplace in the Presidential Suite with Dominic, James came strolling into the construction site to interrupt us.
He looked completely ridiculous in his three-piece suit and Italian loafers.
Especially in comparison to Dominic and his men, who were all wearing variations of the same outfit: steel-toe boots, rugged jeans, and formfitting T-shirts.
I could have sworn I saw a flicker of annoyance cross Dominic’s face when James walked into the room and pressed a kiss to my cheek.
And yesterday, I had to come up with yet another excuse to get out of another one of James’s dinner invites.
This time, he’d asked me to accompany him to a gala that was happening in two weeks.
I lied and said I had a family reunion scheduled for that weekend.
And I was so caught off guard by his attempt to make plans with me weeks in advance, I even broke down and told Mal about it.
To my surprise, she laughed and said I was being ridiculous for turning him down.
I just rolled my eyes and kept my mouth shut, because there was no point in telling her about my decision to never pursue a romantic connection again.
But today? Today took the cake when Dominic, with his annoying habit of being aware of every move I make, strode into James’s office just as he was planting an unexpected, and completely unwelcome, kiss on my lips.
He’d prefaced it with a speech about his feelings for me and his hope for us to be something more than friends, and I was searching for the right thing to say when he grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed his lips to mine.
Which is how Dominic found us.
When I heard the door open, I pushed at James’s chest with both of my hands to put some space between us.
I spun around to face the person who’d interrupted us and almost dropped dead from the darkness filling Dominic’s eyes.
It was a living, breathing thing. Pouring out of him and slithering into the room, wrapping its tendrils around me and squeezing like a vise.
My breath left me in a shallow wheeze, but James wasn’t fazed.
He moved around me, clapping Dominic on the shoulder and ushering him back into the hallway.
The heavy mahogany door fell shut behind them, leaving me frozen in place.
The look in Dominic’s eyes haunted me for the rest of the workday.
And it’s still in my mind when I park behind my mother’s sleek sports car and cut my engine.
I lay my head back and fight the urge to skip this dinner altogether and go home.
My stomach is in knots. A mixture of guilt and anxiety over the entire situation has me feeling nauseous, and being around my mother when I already feel like crap never goes well.
I eye the tall and opposing Craftsman skeptically, wondering what’s waiting for me inside the strategically placed vines of ivy and white brick exterior.
Nothing in me believes I’ll find comfort in the marble floors, art-covered walls, or mahogany cabinets filled with crystal and china no one ever eats off of.
“It’s more of a museum than a home.”
That was Eric’s first thought when I brought him here to meet my parents, and he was right.
Compared to the small, but intimate, confines of Mama’s house, which is constantly brimming with people and laughter and love, the house where I grew up feels cold and unwelcoming.
It’s more of a shrine to luxury and excess than anything else, and that’s the way my mother likes it.
If I thought about it long enough, I could probably link my obsession with making homes cozy and functional back to my mom and this house.
Hell, I can link most of my issues back to her.
A knock on my window startles me out of my thoughts.
“What the hell?!” I twist in my seat to find my father’s handsome face smiling at me. The knot in the pit of my stomach loosens a little when our eyes meet. “Daddy!”
I open the door and throw myself into his arms. He drops his briefcase and wraps both of his surprisingly muscular arms around me, lifting me off of the ground a bit.
I squeal like a little girl and squeeze him a bit tighter.
My dad, Mark Carson, is one of my favorite people in the world, and he’s the only reason I survived having a real-life Disney villain for a mother.
“I’ve missed you so much.”
I let him go just enough to allow him to put my feet back on the ground and stare into his face, taking in all of his features.
The slight wrinkles around his round eyes are a little more evident now, but he’s still as handsome as ever.
All clean-shaven chestnut skin with sharp and soulful eyes that always make you feel comfortable and safe.
He plants a kiss on my forehead and laughs. “I’ve missed you too, bean. You don’t come home enough.”
“I know. Work keeps me busy, but I have to make more time to see you.”
He studies me for a moment, and I notice a few gray hairs sparkling in his otherwise black eyebrows. “Sloane, you can’t spend your whole life at that office. Tell me Mallory gets you out of there at a decent hour most nights.”
I scoff as I close the car door. “Did I just hear Mark ‘I invented the term workaholic’ Carson tell me I can’t spend my life at work?”
“Yes, you did. And you should listen to me.”
He bends down and picks up his briefcase then wraps one arm around my shoulders. “Because you’re my dad?”
“That’s one reason. The other reason is a little more selfish: I want some grandbabies to spoil before I become old and decrepit.”
I roll my eyes to hide the pain that twists through my heart at the mention of grandbabies.
“Wow, laying it on pretty thick there, sir. You’re nowhere near old and decrepit.
” Like at all. The man runs three miles every morning and is probably the only partner at his law firm who is over fifty and has abs.
If he ever becomes a grandfather, he’ll be the best looking one on the playground.
Just put the man out of his misery. You know you have no intention of ever giving him grandchildren.
As random and unfair as the thought seems, I can’t argue against it.
Once upon a time, coming over here with a couple of babies in tow felt like a foregone conclusion.
Eric and I wanted kids; we dreamed up a whole life where we were surrounded by little curly-headed cuties with his smile and my eyes, but fate had other plans for us.
Hurtful, destructive plans that tore us apart at the seams long before he left this world and took my hope of ever creating a new life with him.
My dad doesn’t have to know that though.
He’s still smiling as he leads me into the house, regaling me with stories about his day.
I listen intently, remembering the days in my childhood when I would wait by the door for him to come home and talk to me just like this.
A lot of the time, it would be the first conversation I’d have all day with someone who wasn’t paid to be around me.
“Mark, darling, I didn’t realize you would be home so early!” My mother’s voice floats across the foyer to us, the sound of heels echoing along with it. “I was just about to call Sloane—”
She stops short when she sees me standing next to Dad, who’s already loosening his tie. He puts his briefcase down and walks over and envelops her in a tight hug. “Call Sloane for what?”
“To see if we could reschedule,” she says, slipping out of his embrace and waltzing over to me. I resist the urge to cringe as she embraces me. Her bony fingers dig into my flesh and her perfume floods my nostrils. “Sloane, honey, you should have called before you came over.”
My spine stiffens. “I didn’t think I needed to call, Mom. Dad and I made these dinner plans on Sunday at your request.” I pull back to look at her face. Her mouth is drawn tight, lips pressed into a flat line as she releases me.
“Yes, I know.” She spins around on her heel and heads deeper into the house. Dad and I trace her steps to the kitchen. “But things with my schedule change so quickly. It would have been nice to have a reminder, dear.”
There it is. The subtle shift of blame. She probably agreed to attend some dinner or charity event instead of having the dinner she forced me to schedule.
Of course, it’s not her fault though. The great Lauren Carson could never be guilty of something so classless as double-booking.
I suck in a deep breath and swallow the urge to apologize to her.
I didn’t do anything wrong. Sure, I could have called ahead and let her know I was still planning to visit, but what kind of mother forgets her child is coming over for dinner?
Mama never does. She spends hours in the kitchen preparing for me, Mal, or Dominic to visit her.