The elegant wrought-iron gate opens to a long driveway lined with pear trees and well-sculpted hedges circling the house, which is vaguely colonial with modern touches.
Perfect for the image my parents like to project.
Refined. Classy.
Old money, even though they never earned a penny of it themselves, and by East Coast blue-blooded standards, Gramps was a baby in the money game.
Hattie changed into her dress just before we landed.
She’s all fire beside me, even though tension radiates from her shoulders, and her mouth sets in a firm line.
“Relax. I promise you’ll come out of this alive, Pages,” I whisper roughly.
“Easy for you to say,” she hisses back.
“You’ve met my parents before. They haven’t changed.” I wrap the leash around my hand as we step out with Ares. Amazingly, the old dog tries to break away to chase a butterfly. He’s surprisingly spry when he wants to be. “It’s not a big deal unless you make it one.”
“You keep saying that, Ethan. But you don’t know what this means. It’s different.”
I roll my eyes. “Or maybe you need to stop being so uptight.”
“And maybeyouneed to learn how to be considerate.”
“You met them dozens of times when we were kids,” I remind her with a snort.
“Um, I met them liketentimes over the years. They never came to Portland to pick up Margot, remember? Half the time when I’d visit her here, they were gone somewhere. And I definitely wasn’t supposed to be your fiancée then.”
“There’s nosupposed. Get it right.” I scowl. “You are my fiancée and you’d best start believing it if we want to convince everyone we can tolerate each other’s presence for more than ten goddamned seconds.”
It’s clear as day she doubts it just as much as I do.
Maybe more.
Which shouldn’t sting.
Neither of us chose this fuckery. But it seems like all the money in the world and a shiny new bookstore can’t win her over.
“I’ll be right here. Won’t leave you alone for a second. It’s going to be fine,” I say as we climb the stone stairs to the porch.
Ares objects and I have to pull the leash to coax him up on his stubby legs.
There’s barely time to grab her hand before Dad throws open the door.
“Ethan!” he says cheerfully, stepping back and letting us both in. “And Hattie Sage, how long has it been? Great to see you both.”
Hattie blushes. “Thank you, sir.”
“It’s Scott to you and the rest of the world,” Dad says jovially. “Want a drink to unwind from your flight? Come pick your poison—we have anything you like. The latest wine just came in from our favorite place in Napa.”
“Some water would be lovely.” Hattie looks at me with a wooden smile.
Dad’s smile doesn’t shift. “Coming right up. Ethan?”
“Whiskey,” I say. “The usual Irish stuff. Nothing fancy.”
“No, never. A man of simple tastes.” He winks.
God, this charade is going to be painful, and I don’t just mean the pretend engagement.
