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“You sure you know what you’re doing? I’m not getting off this phone until I’m sure that you’re sure. I love you, Nat, and I don’t want you hurt.”
“Of course, I know what I’m doing. I am a grown-ass woman who makes enormous decisions for myself all the time.”
“And if an ex-lover of his shows up at this wedding, and he tells you he wants her back, and you were a mistake? How will that make you feel?”
“Like it’s his loss and not mine. Any man who chooses another woman over my fine ass is a fool, and everyone knows that. Now, would you stop giving me doomsday scenarios as if I’m a damsel in distress? I swear motherhood has flipped a protective switch in you. You know I am not the one you need to worry about here.”
I heard her laugh. “Fair enough. Just be careful. I mean, I want you happy and in love more than anything, but this is Spencer Monroe we’re talking about.”
“Spencer Monroe, who swears he will never settle down ever. Yes, I know exactly who Spencer Monroe is, Breanne. Save your motherly energy for those twins I hear in the background, and stop using it on me. I need to head downstairs before the demon lady known as Spencer’s mother comes looking for me.”
“Is she that bad?”
“Let’s just say I’m no longer curious about why Spencer is the way he is. The woman is next level. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back. I’m sure I’ll have a boatload of stories by the time I return home. Now, I need to go. Make sure all the boxes are checked on that contract and let me know when it goes through. I’m excited about this one.”
“I am too. Miss you, and be careful.”
“Bye, Bree.”
After ending the call with my helicopter best friend, I headed downstairs to face more significant problems. I might as well hit the ground running by first dealing with the Mistress of Darkness.
The week passed with ease. Spencer had adopted a new pet name of babe or baby for me, which was annoying at first, but soon grew on me. I’m sure I was out of touch with how a normal person should behave in a relationship, but that’s because I could hardly remember the last time I was in one. Not that I was ever normal then.
I just did what felt comfortable to me, and no more. I would be damned if I got hurt. That was not an option now or ever. The only thing I knew to do was to watch Spencer’s reactions to me and this situation we’d landed ourselves in. So long as he laughed, teased, or was patient and understanding of my process, then this would work.
I’d been around enough broken hearts, broken promises, and devastatingly failed relationships in my time to know a little bit about the odds, and I wasn’t the type to gamble with my heart.
I’d known many strong women who put their men to the test before allowing their significant other to win their love. This was no different. This was my version of a test; it’s just that my test would prove to be more challenging than a Harvard entrance exam.
There were milestones, hills, and mountains that needed to be climbed to move to the next level of trust with me. But it’s who I was and how I was. I’m sure I would hear shit about it eventually, but I didn’t care. I knew my worth, and any man who was worthy would be grateful to apply to the University of Natalia Hoover.
After a solid week spent with Spencer and his family, the English accent he’d been slipping into more often around his siblings and mother made him seem even more charming. Of course, I’d take every opportunity to be silly with Bex, using the best British accent I could muster, and it always made her giggle. Spencer and Stephen couldn’t help but joke about how I sounded more like Mrs. Doubtfire than Queen Elizabeth, but Bex loved it, and I loved the smile it brought out in her.
Of course, I couldn’t and didn’t expect Mother Cruella to find any amusement in my attempt at humor. In her words, it was a mockery of distinguished Britons everywhere. (I guess she didn’t give a shit about the undistinguished ones). But if imitating Mrs. Doubtfire was wrong, I didn’t want to be right, especially if it meant irritating the fuck out of his mother.
The mood inevitably soured whenever Heidi stepped into the room, seeming to radiate an icy chill no matter how wide or seemingly genuine her smile was. She was utterly off-putting, and I couldn’t quite figure out why at first. At first glance, she was perfectly innocuous. She was well put together, coifed, poised, and dignified looking, but she just set off those tiny internal alarm bells we all have. It didn’t take me long to figure out what was so disarming about her: it was her eyes. She had dead eyes, like a serial killer. And whatever façade she might put up, whether it be happy or sentimental or engaged, I couldn’t get past that there was nothing behind her gaze. Nothing but nastiness, anyway.
A few days before, I’d sat at breakfast with Sloane, Nadia, and Bex in the small nook just off the main dining room. Nadia was slowly buttering a scone, listening to Bex chatter about the book she’d just finished reading the night before.
“Bex,” Nadia asked, “did you find the pictures to show Francesco when he comes to do your hair?”
“Yes!” she said excitedly, pulling out her phone. “I wanted to show you. Do you think he could do my hair curly?”
“I don’t see why not,” she said, reaching out to take the phone from her and nodding happily when she saw the photo. “Oh, yes. You’re going to look gorgeous.” Then, handing the phone back, she turned back to me with an open look. “Do you know what you’re doing with your hair yet?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “I usually just do a loose wave,” I said, reaching for the rich espresso and biscotti that I’d opted for in favor of the English alternatives Heidi always insisted on serving.
“Why don’t you come to get ready with us in the morning?” Nadia asked, looking toward her sister-in-law. “Stephen and I decided not to go the usual big wedding party route, so having more family there would make it quite nice. With only the four of us, I’m sure Francesco and Marzia can fit you in.”
“Oh,” I said, looking around in surprise at Sloane and Bex, who nodded excitedly at me. “Ah—I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“God,” Sloane said, rolling her eyes. “You Americans with that strange politeness of yours.”
I blinked at her before laughing. “I don’t believe anyone has ever described me as excessively polite.”
“Regardless,” Nadia said, stepping in with that effortless way she had of smoothing things over that I’d begun to admire about her, “you wouldn’t be intruding. I don’t have siblings; meeting Spence and Sloane have been one of the best parts of marrying Stephen.”
“I’ll be sure not to tell him,” I said, smiling.
