He pats the hand he’s holding with his other one and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and it certainly doesn’t make me feel any better. “Then just let my mother take care of it. You know she’ll be happy to.”
Yeah. I know Cordelia Hazelwood would love nothing more than to swoop in and take over planning the wedding. I just don’t know if I would be happy with a single aspect of it if she did.
As my fiancé, shouldn’t he wantmeto be happy, not his mom?
I’m saved from having to reply by the door opening and the appearance of an older gentlemen wearing a crisp white shirt tucked into white pants with a black bow tie.
“Hey, Jefferson,” Baron says, stepping inside as the man gives us a small bow. I give him a smile and am given a slight one in return.
Even though my parents are not exactly what you’d call casual, they don’t have a freaking butler greeting guests.
The older Hazelwoods always like to appear to be a level above everyone else.
I hand Jefferson my coat and follow Baron down the hall, trying not to fidget with the high-waisted dress pants I worefor dinner. I hate dressing up. I have ever since I was a child and my mother chose my clothing every day, forcing me into frilly dresses and uncomfortable shoes. Give me leggings and a T-shirt, or my work uniform of joggers and a Tridents polo any day. But Cordelia insists on a dress code for family dinner, and since I refuse to wear dresses unless absolutely necessary, outfits like the silk blouse and dress pants I have on today are the only acceptable alternative.
I ache to toe off the pointy shoes I stuffed my feet into, but that’s another no-no here. Shoes stay on. And heaven forbid I show up in sneakers. I made that mistake once, early on in our relationship, and the look of horror on Cordelia’s face is not one I’ll ever forget.
Baron’s parents are waiting in the lounge, as they call it. A stuffy room with uncomfortable furniture and a creepy family portrait hanging above the fireplace. Baron squeezes my hand again and gives me a small smile, his eyes glinting. I know exactly what he’s thinking because the memory comes to me every time I see that portrait as well.
It was a Canada Day party two years ago, and we ended up far too drunk, making out in this very room, trying to escape our parents and their friends. Back then, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.
Unlike now. We might be holding hands, but that’s about as much affection as I can expect from him these days.
But that late afternoon years ago, tipsy on mojitos, we came up with a ridiculous plan to deface the portrait together. His mother really would be improved with a mustache, and his father could really rock a monocle.
Too bad we never went through with the plan.
Too bad we never drank mojitos again.
“Ah, Baron. Lark. There you are, we were wondering if we’d have to tell the staff to delay dinner.” The chiding tone is clear, even as Cordelia sweeps forward with a tight smile.
He gets a hug and an obligatory air-kiss toward his cheek. I get a once-over and then an even more perfunctory air-kiss. Baron Senior shakes his son’s hand and gives me a nod before pulling Baron into a conversation about work. Now that Baron’s head of the finance department at the property development firm our fathers run, it seems all they do is talk shop.
Jefferson enters the room with a silver tray, with two flutes filled with effervescent liquid. Champagne. Not my favourite, but I resign myself to drinking it every time we’re here.
Lately it’s becoming harder to accept just how many things I give in and take, despite being the opposite of my preference. Maybe it’s watching my friends fall in love, I don’t know. But ever since Baron proposed to me, I’ve had this weird feeling in the middle of my chest. This knot of discontent poking at me. Asking questions I’m steadfastly ignoring.
I hear my name and focus on the conversation. Cordelia is looking at me and her displeasure is poorly hidden.
“I’m sorry, what did I miss?” I say, sipping the overly sweet champagne.
“I was informing Baron of our schedule while he’s on his business trip. We don’t have much time to solidify wedding plans, you know. With just over two months until New Year’s Eve, there’s a lot to do. We have a dress-fitting appointment at the Terrence Bovier salon on Saturday, then I’ve set up sometime for us to tour the Devereaux Hotel downtown Tuesday night, and cake tasting on Friday. You’ll attend that without me, I’m afraid. I have a ladies’ luncheon at the club.”
It’s a fight not to let my mouth fall open. “I…I had no idea about any of that.”
“Well, of course, you didn’t. I took it upon myself to arrange everything, as Baron told me you were occupied with work.” Her little sniff at the end says everything about how Cordelia feels when it comes to my job with the Tridents. Working for a sports team, even a professional one, is not the career path they would have chosen for a daughter-in-law. If it weren’t for my father and Baron’s father having such a long-standing history, there’s not a chance they’d support our relationship.
Then again, if it weren’t for our family’s connection, there probably wouldn’tbea relationship.
“Wow,” I say, only to have Baron’s hand land on mine, squeezing it tightly.
“What Lark means to say is, wow, Mother, that’s very generous of you to give us your time and energy into wedding planning. I’m sure I speak for us both when I say we appreciate the assistance. What with my trip taking up the next couple of weeks, I was worried about Lark managing it all. It’s great she’ll have your help.”
My teeth grind together. Yeah,greatisnotthe word I’d use. But I know there’s no stopping Cordelia Hazelwood once she starts, which means I’m simply along for the ride.
“Right.” I exhale slowly. “I’ll check with my mother and my maid of honour to make sure they can be there on Saturday.”
“I already discussed the plans with your mother over lunchearlier this week,” Cordelia says calmly, with no acknowledgment of how much she’s overstepping. “Unfortunately, she’s occupied at that time with a commitment with your father, but she wishes us well.”
