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Chapter Nineteen
Donovan tried to keep his hands still as he sat in his grandmother’s parlor with Troy and Mila. She’d already given him a few stern warning looks. If there was one thing Gran didn’t abide, it was fidgeting.
Well, that wasn’t true. There were hundreds of things she didn’t abide, but every time she mentioned any of them, she prefaced her statement with, “If there’s one thing I can’t abide…” so Donovan had naturally attached those words to her preferences, even in his own mind.
Normally, he had no problem avoiding her “don’t abides.” After all, he was a grown man and he only saw her for short periods. Remaining on his best behavior for a few hours was certainly not impossible. Normally, it wasn’t even hard.
This was different, though. Tonight, Ella was on her way over to his grandmother’s stately, formal home, and he felt an unreasonable level of pressure for the night to go well.
It didn’t make sense. There were no real world stakes. It’s not like his grandmother was in a position of power over him in any real way, so if she “disapproved” of Ella, it wouldn’t substantially change his life. He kept telling himself that, over and over.
But no matter how many times he told himself, it seemed his fidgety hands just didn’t get the memo.
The doorbell rang, and Donovan almost jumped out of his skin. Mila smirked at him the way that only a pre-teen girl could. “Geez. Jumpy much?”
He grimaced. “The sound of the doorbell just startled me. That must be Ella.”
His grandmother looked at him, an inscrutable expression on her face. “We’ll see.”
With that, she shuffled out toward the hall to answer the door, Armando trailing after her. Donovan looked at Troy. “What did she mean by that? Who else did she invite?”
Troy shook his head. “How would I know? It’s not as if she runs her party planning ideas past me before pulling the trigger.”
After a moment, his grandmother came back into the room, an expansive smile on her face. “Donovan, look who just happened to arrive at the same time! Our final two guests.”
Donovan felt his gut clench. Ella was there in the doorway, holding a gorgeous velvet bag which looked, by its shape, like it must contain a bottle of wine. He met her eyes, which made no secret of the fact that she was not happy. He didn’t have to guess at the reason.
There, standing next to her in the entrance to the parlor, beaming and looking pleased as punch to be the final guest at the impromptu dinner party, was Vicki Blair.
He tried to send Ella a message with his eyes, to let her know he’d had nothing to do with the guest list, but he didn’t think his eyes were quite as expressive as hers were being at the moment.
“Excellent. Now that we’ve all arrived, and right on time I might add, let’s adjourn to the dining room. I’m certain Lupe is just about ready to serve the first course.”
As the group proceeded through to the formal dining room, Donovan maneuvered next to Ella. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “This wasn’t me, Ell. I didn’t know.”
She gave one sharp shake of her head, then whispered back, “Not now. Not here. Not in front of your gran.”
Wow. For someone who hadn’t been raised in his family, she had a very solid handle on the “don’t abides.” He was impressed.
“Everyone, you’ll notice that a place card with each of your names has been placed at each setting. If you please, you may locate your seat now,” Grandmother Valentine trilled as they all approached the table.
Donovan, head still reeling from the night’s recent developments, stood still for a moment. He needed to catch his breath—but he didn’t have the opportunity. Before he knew it, Vicki was calling out, “Donovan! Over here! Next to me!”
He glanced up at her just in time to see the condescending and triumphant glance she shot at Ella, and it made his blood boil. His instinct to protect Ella, from anything and at all costs, rose up in him.
He didn’t care that they were at his grandmother’s dinner party. He didn’t care about her lengthy list of “don’t abides.” He opened his mouth to defend Ella, and although he wasn’t entirely certain what he was about to say, he guessed it wasn’t going to be kind or pretty. Vicki had fired a shot with the intention to hurt Ella, and therefore she was going down.
Before he could utter even one word, however, another voice piped up. This one was the opposite of the calculated, smooth voice of social strategist Vicki Blair, though. It was the high, excited, happy voice—totally free of guile—of his kid sister Mila.
“Oh, yay! Donovan, look! You’re right by me, too!”
He looked down into her face, shining with excitement at getting to spend an entire meal sitting next to the big brother that she rarely got to see, and knew he couldn’t make a scene about wanting to move now.
He slipped an arm around his little sister and squeezed her shoulder. “There’s no place I’d rather be, kiddo.”
As they all settled into their assigned seats, Donovan caught Ella’s eye. Her seat was just about as far away from his as was possible, on the other side of the table and on the far opposite end. He gave her a little shrug, one that was meant to be apologetic, but she returned the gesture with nothing but an implacable smile.
Well, damn. She’s got her social manners mask firmly on. I’m getting nothing.
