Chapter Eighteen
“Hunter,” Mom said, gently wrapping her arms around me. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
I air-kissed her cheeks, despite feeling ridiculous. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
I followed her into the dining room, where everyone was already assembled. Dad raised his glass of whiskey by way of greeting. I hugged Lily and shook her husband’s hand before making my way over to Kate and Xander.
Kate smiled at me from across the room, and I realized she was the only reason I was there, when I’d much rather be at home with Lauren.
Home.
I wondered if it was weird that I’d come to think of my house not as a space to inhabit, but as a home. Part of it was due to Lauren’s talent at interior design, but it was more than that. It was having someone to come home to, someone to eat with and to talk about the day, someone to watch movies with, to cuddle with. At least, on those rare occasions when she allowed it.
I didn’t know when it had happened, when the sex had turned into so much more. And I couldn’t say I regretted it. In fact, I’d never realized how much I’d like having someone to share those moments with. But I knew it wasn’t just anyone; it was her.
She was feisty and flirtatious and sexy as fuck. But she was also caring and fun. She kept me guessing, wanting.
I wanted her body. But I also wanted strings. No, something stronger and more permanent than strings. I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant for us, but a sense of certainty settled over me.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Kate threw her arms around my neck, jolting me from my thoughts.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” I said, though with far less exuberance.
I smiled down at her before turning my attention to Xander. “Hey, man.” I held out my hand to shake. “How have you been?”
“Good. Better than good. Your girl Lauren has been keeping me busy.”
I choked, coughing a few times. “Excuse me?”
He chuckled, rubbing circles on my sister’s back. “She’s brought a number of clients by my studio, and now I can barely keep up.”
“It’s amazing, Hunter,” Kate said, her eyes warm with pride. “Truly. Please tell her thank you the next time you see her.”
“Why would I see her?” I blurted, immediately realizing my mistake.
Kate frowned, and I knew she was assessing me. “Because she’s your interior designer.”
“Are you talking about Hunter’s house?” Mom asked, appearing as if from thin air. “When are you going to let us see it? Surely before your father’s fundraising party.” She placed a hand on my arm, the other still wrapped around a cocktail glass. I wondered how many she’d had. She never seemed to be without one.
“We’ll see,” I said, trying to disentangle myself from both my mom and her suggestion.
Though I’d agreed to host the fundraising party for my father’s campaign, that was before. Before Lauren had infiltrated my house and made it a home. Before the space had been infused with her scent, her presence. Before it became my haven, my escape.
“Hunter,” my father said, inserting himself into the conversation. “A word.”
I followed him over to the fireplace, where pictures of our family lined the mantel. All smiling. All happy. All lies.
“Why are you ignoring my staff’s calls?” he asked.
“I’m not ignoring them. As I told them, I have the party covered.”
“This isn’t some college frat party. This is a fundraising event for my campaign for President of the United States.”
“Yes, I know.” I took a sip of my drink, fighting the urge to argue. “And I have it handled. I’ve hired one of the best event planners in LA, and it’s under control.”
“I would prefer that you use my people.” His condescending tone grated on me.
“And I would prefer to use Juliana.”
