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He looks beseechingly at Xavier.
Xavier stands unmoved with his beefy arms crossed over his chest.
Awkward silence doesn’t even begin to describe the quiet that falls over the three of us. Xavier might be cool with that and even his dad bears it out bravely, but I’m a wimp and my Chatty Cathy instincts bust to the fore.
“We haven’t been introduced.” I step around Xavier before he can stop me. “I’m Melanie Va—” I catch myself just in time. It’s been half a year but I doubt the world has forgotten so quickly about my father’s scandal even though out here, it feels a million miles away and about three centuries ago. “I’m Melanie,” I finish a little lamely but smile as I hold out my hand.
Xavier’s dad seems glad for the reprieve and he takes my hand and shakes it warmly. “Lovely to meet you, Melanie. I’m Pritchard.” There’s a bit of silence, then he looks between Xavier and me. “So, how long have you known my son?”
“Wow, Dad, that took you a whole three seconds after introductions,” Xavier says scathingly.
I glance back to Xavier, then swallow, and, on what is probably the wrong impulse—decide to tell the truth. “We met about six months ago when we agreed to this mutual experiment,” I rub my baby bump. Then I wince at my wording. “I mean, you know, this amazing adventure,” I rush on in a gushing voice. “Nothing more amazing than bringing a child into this world!”
I lean in chummily to Pritchard. “Except giving one a good kick in the pants when they deserve it,” I point a thumb back at Xavier and then fo
rce a chuckle of camaraderie. “Am I right?”
Oh God, oh God, someone shut me up. Am I really trying to bond with the enemy? The way Xavier was acting, it sure seemed like his dad was an enemy. But, holy information Batman. This is my baby’s grandfather. And there’s so much I don’t know about Xavier. Surely this is the man who can give me the motherload—or rather, fatherload—of info I’m so hungry for. And what did he mean bargain? Like the baby was some sort of bet or something between them.
Pritchard chuckles along with me. “You have no idea. He’s been a constant pain in my ass since he was about eighteen months old and mastered the word no.”
I keep a pleasant smile on my face in spite of my roiling thoughts. “Come on, join us for dinner. We’ve got a shepherd’s pie warming in the oven.”
Both men look at me in surprise. I’m not sure who looks more so.
“That sounds… delightful…” Pritchard says with a broad smile that belies the reluctance of his words.
Xavier scoffs. “I don’t know, Dad. Do you think your highly developed palate can handle something as common place as shepherd’s pie?”
Pritchard ignores his son and looks at me. “As I said, it sounds delightful. If you might show me where I can clean up for our meal?”
I struggle not to react to his overly formal speech and mannerisms. I glance back at Xavier one more time and he makes an overexaggerated gesture for me to lead on.
I start back toward the house and am surprised when not only Pritchard but Xavier himself follow me. Once the house is in view, I gesture on ahead.
“You can let yourself in through the kitchen, the bathroom is down the hall and to the left. You can clean up there.”
Pritchard pauses, his gaze briefly locking with his son’s before he heads up toward the house.
I immediately swing around to Xavier.
“Holy shit!” I smack him on the chest. “You never told me your father was Mr. Moneybags. I mean, I guessed you were rich because of the whole get-my-Dad-out-of-the-country thing.” I pace in front of him. “But you don’t wear it like that.” I pause and look at him again. “So, what is it? Are you guys old money? Did you strike it rich back in the day like the Rockefellers? Or do you run guns?” I start nodding. “I thought mafia from the beginning.”
Xavier just stares at me, totally deadpan. “Worse than all of those.”
My mouth drops open and I stop pacing right in front of him. “What? What is it?”
“My family are career politicians.”
I pause and frown. “What’s your last name again?” I heard it once briefly the day Holy Hellfire died but everything was happening too fast for me to really catch it.
His jaw goes taut. “Kent. My dad is Pritchard Kent.”
“Shit.” I can feel my face draining of color.
“Language.” The chastisement barely has any energy to it, though.
“He’s the Speaker of the House,” I whisper.
