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Faith had already decided she wasn’t going to allow herself to be intimidated by the Wakefield family fortune. She just wasn’t.
Yes, she knew the family was as iconic as the Vanderbilts, the Kennedys, and the Fords, but Wakefields were human beings, too, just like her. No better. No worse.
Telling herself this and actually being able to keep her jaw from dropping when Vale whipped his low-slung red road devourer into the circle drive of a house that looked more like a hotel were two different things. Holy medulla oblongata! This was really just a house?
“This is your family’s beach home?”
He glanced at the lumbering three-story beige house with balconies jutting out on every level. “The East Coast one, yes. My mother had the old house torn down, and this one built a few years ago. Personally, I preferred the former one.”
They had a beach house for each coast? Had torn down their previous beach house to rebuild another? Somehow, she doubted the East Coast home had been torn down due to being rundown. Faith let that digest. Sure, Vale had money, lots of money, but the side she generally saw of him could have been just another hard-working physician, not the son of a family worth billions.
Except for the society-page photos with women hanging all over him. Those she could do without.
Vale switched off the ignition, but made no move to get out of the car. Stretching forward, his arms wrapped around the steering-wheel, he took a deep breath. “Remind me why I’m doing this wedding again.”
Wondering exactly the same thing, Faith tore her gaze away from the monstrosity where they’d be staying and unbuckled her seat belt with shaky fingers. “Because your cousin Sharon expects you to be here.”
“And Sharon must get her way.”
Did she? Faith had never met any of Vale’s family, but could only imagine that they must be used to the world bowing at their privileged Italian leather–covered feet. Just looking at the enormous house before her made her knees want to buckle. She was so out of her league.
“Must run in the family,” she mused.
“Must.” He grinned, opening the door of his car that probably cost more than triple her annual salary. “Let’s go in. I’ll grab our luggage later.”
First checking her appearance to make sure she wasn’t committing some faux pas such as lipstick on her teeth, Faith reached for her doorhandle and was surprised when the door opened before she could.
“What are you doing?” She blinked up at Vale. Lord, the man was fast. In so many ways, a total speed demon.
“Opening your door.”
“Why?”
“I already told you why,” he said with exaggerated patience. “This weekend, you’re my girl. A gentleman opens the door for his girl.”
A thousand birds took flight in her belly at once.
“No, Vale.” She spoke just as slowly as he had so there would be no misunderstanding between them. “For the record, I’m not your girl and you are not a gentleman.”
Reaching for her hand to help her out, he gave her a mock sympathetic look. “You’re wasting your breath. We’ve already established that we Wakefields always get our way.”
True, but being here as his colleague for a working weekend was one thing, pretending to be his girl or whatever it was he wanted from her was something completely different. Not when part of her wanted to be his girl. For real.
“And to set the record straight—” his grin was lethal “—I’m always a gentleman when it comes to the ladies.”
Stepping from the low-slung sports car, she turned to face him, determined to make him understand. “Vale, I won’t—”
Tugging on her hand, he pulled her flush to him and she forgot how to breathe. The respiratory centers of her brain literally shut down and left her woozy.
“Sure you will, and you’ll have fun. I promise.”
Looking into his twinkling eyes, Faith believed him. Being his girl, even for a weekend, would be fun. Only then she’d have to pay the piper the price for that fun. And, dear Lord, could she please have some oxygen in her lungs please?
“Don’t look now, but we’re being watched.”
She started turning toward the house, but Vale’s forehead lowered to rest against hers, and, grinning, he said, “My mother and aunt are standing at the window and I told you not to look.”
“Yes, but if this isn’t a working weekend, you’re not my boss, are you?” she bit out, trying not to gasp for air.
