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“I was born and raised here, and I have a beating heart,” I said and crossed myself. “Of course I like the Red Sox.”
He was already on his phone, tapping away, probably ordering tickets. Men were actually a lot easier to manage than they liked to believe. Even the super-rich ones, apparently.
“The game’s home—it’s at four,” he said, looking at me hopefully. “Does that work for you?”
“Your wish is my command,” I said. I decided I was going to make the next two weeks fun, whether he ever f**ked me or not, whether I had cried alone in my bed last night or not.
Game face, Audrey, game face, I chanted to myself.
I definitely needed it for brunch.
“I hate brunch,” James complained as he opened the door for me. We were at another hotel, a stuffy one, and the clientele was beautifully dressed, just like us.
“The concept of brunch? Or brunch itself?” I asked.
“Both. Fucking waste of time,” he said and grabbed my hand.
“It’s just two hours—and there’s booze,” I reminded him, trying to be upbeat. That lasted until we got to the table and Celia Preston patted the empty chair next to her and motioned for me to join her.
I didn’t even let myself look at James. I just squeezed his hand and went to sit next to the captain of the firing squad.
“Good morning, Mrs. Preston. You look lovely,” I said. She was wearing a flowered blouse and diamond studs so large they looked like ice cubes.
“As do you, Audrey,” she said. She smiled at me without warmth.
I smiled at James’s father, Robert, who was sitting to her right. “Good morning,” I said.
“You take good care of my son last night?” he asked in a ribald tone.
They were both watching me.
“Of course, sir,” I said and smiled at them without missing a beat. “I took his bourbon away and made him go straight to bed. And look at him. He barely has a hangover.”
Mr. Preston snorted and went back to stirring his coffee. When I’d met him last night, all he’d done was stare at my ti**ts. Apparently he couldn’t do that with his wife sitting next to him, so I was dismissed as no longer of interest.
Phew.
But Celia was still staring at me.
“We didn’t have much time to talk last night,” she said, “with all the wedding excitement.”
“I know,” I said. Thank God, I thought.
“Tell me about your family. Todd mentioned that you’re from New Hampshire.”
“I don’t have any family,” I said. “My parents died several years ago. I don’t have any siblings or cousins. Both my parents were only children, and so am I.” I briefly wondered what it would be like if that were true, if I had no one left to disgrace me or depend on me.
It would be a mixed bag, I decided.
“How sad,” Mrs. Preston said.
“Not really,” I said. “But I’m afraid my family wouldn’t have been interesting to you anyway—we weren’t society. My father owned a shoe store, and my mother was a nurse. Very middle class. Very boring and under the radar, unlike your family.”
She smiled briefly at my compliment that was not a compliment.
“I’m sure that James’s lifestyle must seem very glamorous to you,” she said.
“His house is a lot more glamorous than my dorm,” I admitted.
“Is it serious between you and my son? He doesn’t tell us anything,” she said.
I smiled at her and tried to decide on a course of action. With lying, I’d found it was always safest to tell the version closest to the truth.
“He’s out of my league, Mrs. Preston,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll figure it out sooner rather than later. But right now, I’m still the new and the shiny. We’re just having fun.”
Some approval actually crept into her smile. “Well, stay new and shiny until we get through this wedding,” she said. To my shock, it appeared that she was supporting me. “He hasn’t been this easy to get along with in years.”
“I think your mother doesn’t actually hate me,” I told James later. We were back at the apartment, and I was digging through the clothes Elena had sent for me while he sat on my bed, watching me.
I was looking for a normal pair of jeans, something that wasn’t geared toward high-society functions that I could breathe in. I found nothing of the kind, so I settled for a simple cotton dress that probably cost a thousand dollars.
“In fact, she might even be rooting for me,” I said. “And your father didn’t look at my ti**ts once. I consider brunch an outright success.”
