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“Mom, you can catch up with Emilia later. Let’s say hi to everyone.”
Mrs. Bennett nods, leading the way. I give him a speculative look as I walk with him behind her. Remembering his warning, I wonder why he’s so eager to face them all. Maybe he has a plan.
The house is as beautiful on the inside as it is on the outside. Decorated in a simple yet elegant fashion, Pippa’s eclectic spitfire and warm personality is visible in every corner. Mrs. Bennett leads us along a long corridor, which opens into a huge living room. Almost all eyes are on Max and me as we step inside
, and I feel myself shrinking under their scrutiny and curiosity. My gaze immediately finds his father, Richard Bennett, looking as sturdy as I remember him, if a little tired. He was the best father figure I could have hoped for growing up. On one memorable afternoon when I was twelve, he came over to my house and taught me how to paint the front door, saying I should know how to properly paint. I asked him if he was teaching me because I had no dad who could do it, and he kindly told me that every girl should know how to paint, that he’d taught Alice and Pippa, and would teach Summer too when she was old enough.
“Eric, Ava, Nadine, this is Emilia,” Max says.
I shake hands with the three of them, and then with Eric’s daughter, Julie. The girl’s age surprises me—she seems to be around thirteen, almost a teenager. Max never mentioned her age, so I supposed she was a small child. But this means Eric had her when he was very young. His story—the loss of his wife, and then his dedication to raising his daughter as a single father—hits a little too close to home.
I’m exchanging a few words with Julie when Max addresses the rest of the room. “Everyone else, you already know Emilia. Yes, we’re dating. No, you can’t pester her with questions. And I forbid everyone to say the words wedding and matchmaking.”
I stare at him incredulously. This was his plan? Even I can tell how much shit his siblings are going to give him for this. I recognize Sebastian, Logan, Summer, Blake, and Daniel easily. The twins have wide grins on their faces as they shake their heads. I nearly choke when I see the person standing next to Blake. Christopher. Holy smokes. I knew he looked exactly like Max, but the impact of that fact became clear only just now. He’s the same six feet of hotness as my man. I look away quickly, but still catch Christopher’s self-satisfied smirk.
“Well, now that my genius brother made it awkward for everyone,” Blake says, “we can move on. Nice to see you, Jonesie.”
One by one, I greet everyone, making small talk and wondering how everyone grew up to be so attractive. Summer was a kid last time I saw her, but she’s grown up to be a beautiful woman. This family has damn good genes. No sooner have I made the rounds than Summer and Alice each grab my arms, pulling me to one side.
***
Max
“When are we eating?” I ask Pippa as I follow her to the kitchen, my stomach rumbling already.
“I’ll check on the roast beef right now. I ran a little late with preparations.”
“You’re still cooking?” I ask in alarm.
“I’m pregnant, Max,” she says as we enter the kitchen. “Not sick. And Eric cooked. I’m just checking on things.”
“Yeah, but you should take it easy. You’ve been organizing your move and stopping by the office every day, and you’re about to give birth. Slow down.”
Pippa sighs. “The doctor says that moving and walking should help my water break. I am supposed to be due next week, but I barely even feel Braxton-Hicks contractions. And it’ll probably be a delayed birth.”
“But, but—they are twins. There’s two of them, and not much space. Shouldn’t they be in a hurry to come out?”
“Over 50 percent of twins are born preterm, and being overdue doesn’t happen very often, but it does occasionally.” My sister whisks a fork out of the sink, then proceeds to walk to the oven. “Let’s see if this beauty is cooked.”
“I’ll check.”
“You’re adorable, but if I let you decide when it’s cooked, we’ll starve.”
“Not true. I’m an expert at ordering takeout. And this can’t be so difficult.” I take the fork from my sister’s hand, opening the door of the oven. Pippa smartly steps to the side, but I don’t. The wave of heat hitting my face makes my eyes water.
Grimacing, I wipe the moisture from my eyes. “You could’ve warned me.”
“Nope. Payback for always weaseling out of your cooking duties when we were kids.”
Pippa chuckles, giving me instructions on how to check if the roast beef is done. Turns out it’s not, so my sister feeds me some cold leftovers in the meantime. We sit at the small wooden table in the center of the kitchen.
“So,” Pippa begins. “What’s the deal with Emilia?”
I groan. “I thought I said—”
“We’re not supposed to pester her on this issue, so I choose to pester you. I want to hear all about you and her.”
“Make sure to speak loudly,” Blake adds, appearing out of nowhere in the kitchen. “We all want to hear.”
