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“I’ll let you pick something for me after dinner,” I assure her, confident that she knows more than I do about how to dress for the occasion. Before moving into Rosethorn, the only parties I attended called for denim cutoffs and a tank top. Something tells me that won’t fly for this.
“I’m so happy you’re getting settled here and finding friends. Everyone seems to like you as much as I do,” she says, smiling warmly.
“Not everyone,” I say, before I think better of it.
“Oh?”
I clear my throat and consider trying to evade her questioning gaze, but it’s probably best that she knows the truth.
“I don’t think your grandson likes me very much. He’s made it clear to me on two occasions now.” Three if you count our standoff at breakfast over the weekend.
She hums in understanding, not the least bit shocked.
“He’s fiercely protective of me. Don’t let him deter you, though. I want you here, and that’s what matters. Besides, others want you here as well. Tori, for instance, and Barrett, not to mention everyone here at Rosethorn.”
I’m glad she’s not trying to persuade me into thinking Nicholas does like me. We both know that’s not the case.
Though, since we’re on the subject of her grandson, I can’t help but ask. “Are Nicholas and Tori really betrothed?”
She laughs. “What makes you ask?”
“We talked about it at lunch today. Barrett made it sound like it was a done deal.”
“I have hoped they would develop feelings for one another. I’ve known Tori since she was a baby and there are few people on earth as gracious as she is, not to mention that I think the match makes sense from a practical standpoint. You catch my meaning? The Pruitts are a very established family here in Newport. There would never be a question of one of them marrying solely for money. They each have their own.”
I nod, realizing that’s never something I’ve had to worry about. All the guys in my life have been just as dirt poor as me.
“Has he ever told you he has feelings for her?” I ask, training my voice so I don’t sound overly curious.
She furrows her brow in thought. “He can be very English sometimes. He’s like his father that way, always one to keep his lips buttoned, his heart locked away. I doubt he’d ever admit to catching feelings. To him, it’s akin to admitting weakness.”
Cornelia’s words stick with me.
I wonder if Nicholas is really as closed off as she says he is. He does seem that way to me, but then I still barely know him. I run through our exchanges, turning them over in my mind and looking for any details I might have missed the first time around. I imagine him in the breakfast room, looking painfully handsome in a navy blue sweater and jeans—dressed down, but hardly.
I want to ask someone—Cornelia or Tori—if he’ll be in town for the garden party, but I can’t seem to work up the courage. What does it matter anyway? I won’t let his presence deter me from going. Besides, I’m not going alone; I’m going with Barrett. I can’t imagine what Nicholas will think of that. Will he accuse me of using Barrett too? Laughable. Barrett has made it perfectly clear that he’s interested in me, and I find that I’m actually excited to go out with him as I finish getting ready for him to pick me up on Friday.
My short blue dress is thin, so I layer a cream cable-knit sweater over it. It’s oversized and hanging off one of my shoulders in a flirty way that makes me feel confident as I walk down the steps of Rosethorn to meet Barrett. I saw on my way out that Cornelia, Rita, and Patricia are huddled in the window in the entry foyer, peering out at us.
“Have a good time!” Cornelia called as I swept past.
“You look beautiful!” Rita added.
I’m still smiling as Barrett gets out of the front seat of his silver Range Rover, coming around to greet me. His cocky smile is in place as he bends down to kiss my cheek.
“You look amazing,” he says, holding my hand as he steps back to give me a once-over.
He’s wearing khakis and a pale green shirt layered underneath a dark green sport coat.
“Thank you. I hope I don’t get chilly. Tori said she was going to set up the table outside.”
“Well it wouldn’t be a garden party if we ate in the dining room,” he quips, and I can’t help but blush at my blunder. Duh. “But it doesn’t matter—you can have my coat if you get cold. My pants too, if you want them,” he teases, and I’m immediately put at ease.
There’s something nice about Barrett’s personality. Yes, he’s cocky, but he’s also self-deprecating and silly. He chats my ear off as he drives us toward a little wine bar he swears I’ll love. Sure, most of what he says is filled with humble-brags or outright-blatant brags, but I don’t really mind. I’m intrigued by his life, and I like hearing about it. It’s fortunate, too, because he doesn’t think to ask me about mine very often.
