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Her husband, Mr. Wilson, was a handsome man too, in that classic-good-looks, distinguished-older-gentleman way. The result was they made children more beautiful than anyone had a right to be, and it struck me as Adonis and Victor came into the room.
It also struck me that the temperature dropped twenty degrees and I forgot to bring a sweater. I slid out of the way as Adonis approached Martha.
“Hello, Mother.” He kissed her cheeks. “You’re looking well.”
“Hmm. Now I look well? Luna says I look beautiful. I’ve gone down in my son’s estimation.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said smoothly. “You’re a vision, Mother.”
“Thank you, my darling. Say hello to your father.” It was an order, not a request.
“Hello, Father.”
Mr. Wilson cut a look over his scotch. “Father? Are you speaking to me? It’s my understanding that fathers and sons share the same last name.”
“That’s because you understand very little.”
John puffed up fast. “Excuse me? Who do you think you’re—?”
“That’s enough.” Martha sharply cut through the argument. “We have a guest.”
Gotta give it to Victor. He said I’d make the perfect social buffer and he was right.
“Adonis, Victor, Luna, sit.” Martha gestured to the chair, retaking her place on the loveseat with her husband. She gripped his thigh—a warning if I’d ever seen one. “Help yourself to refreshments. Should be ready in thirty minutes.”
Thirty minutes? What the hell, Victor? Why did you tell me to come so early?
The guy must’ve read my mind because he flashed a knowing grin at the wide-eyed expression on my face. This was going to be a problem. I couldn’t marry a man sneakier than me.
Adonis claimed the far side of the couch, putting distance between him and his father. Victor, ever the peacemaker, claimed the spot closest. Which left the middle for me.
Gingerly, I wedged between them—my skin heating up where Victor’s leg pressed against mine, and Adonis’s and my shoulder bumped.
The coffee table was loaded down with appetizers, much more than five people needed. I inched forward out of their orbit, helping myself to smoked salmon crostinis, French onion cups, coconut shrimp, and chips with feta dip.
Victor leaned over me to grab a shrimp. “Stuffing your face now so you can beg off early from dinner, saying you’re too full to eat another bite—that won’t work.”
“I despise you and I want a divorce.”
He barked a laugh. “Gotta get married first, sweetheart.”
“It’s such a treat having all of us together for dinner,” Martha said. “Your father and I were just saying we hope this becomes a weekly tradition.”
I wiggled back in, nibbling on my appetizers.
“Especially after you kids are married,” John added. “Stopping by with our grandchildren. Eating and spending time together, seeing you happy with your families, that’s all we want.”
I felt Adonis tensing up next to me.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I blurted. “Victor and I are only eighteen. Kids are way down the line.”
Martha winked at me. “Don’t be so sure. I had Don when I was nineteen. His father and I had a whirlwind romance, got married months after we met in college, and then our Don came along. I wouldn’t be surprised if the same happens between you two, and we have little Wilson feet running around the manor again.”
There was so much frightening about that reply, I didn’t know where to begin. How exactly does an arranged marriage with a dash of blackmail add up to a whirlwind romance? And more importantly, did Mrs. Wilson think we were going to live here in the manor after we were married?
Stop talking about kids. Steer the conversation away, Sinclair.
“How did you and John meet?”
The couple shared a smile. “John and I met at a fundraising gala here in Regalia. It was fate,” she said. “I had my bags packed and plans to move to New York with Don. After losing his father, the memories here were too painful to bear. Then, John and I bumped into each other—literally. We spent the whole night talking and I knew as the sun rose that I wasn’t going anywhere.”
I dropped my head—a feeling both sweet and sad taking me out of the moment. I couldn’t imagine a night like that. Meeting someone and connecting with them so instantly. It was something out of a fairy tale, and my life would never be one of those.
“—do, Luna?”
Blinking, I refocused on John Wilson. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“You’re studying psychology. What do you hope to do with that?”
“Clinical psychology. The plan is to specialize in young adult mental health and start off working in schools, but one day I hope to open a private practice.”
“A noble goal.” He gave me a kind smile, proving he knew why I chose this career path. “I have no doubt you’ll succeed.”
“Thank you.”
“Yes, I always hoped my eldest son would have such ambitions.”
