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“Damn, Stanley really needs a life of his own, doesn’t he?” I joke.
“He looks out for Aunt Elena,” Claire says stonily. “He always has.”
Okay. Elena was definitely fond of Stanley, but he’s sounding a bit stalkerish if you ask me. I introduce Elena and Claire to my brothers and sister, and then, as they come in, to Mom and Dad. “Elena, this is my mother, Miranda, and my father, Charles. Mom, Dad . . . this is Elena Cartwright and Claire Reynolds.”
Mom is in full hostess with the mostest mode, a role she’s especially good at. She’s done this song and dance enough times over the years for Dad’s various business partners that she could probably pull this off in her sleep. She can make anyone feel like the guest of honor.
“It’s so good to meet you, Elena,” Dad says, his blue eyes twinkling. “I hear lovely things about you from Carter.”
They keep talking, with Dad layering on charm, compliments, and Southern hospitality like Elena’s a Sunday supper peach cobbler that needs ice cream and whipped cream, plus a sprinkle of pecans. And for all Elena’s request for nothing fancy, she’s eating up Mom and Dad’s attention like they’re long-lost friends catching up on a lifetime of happenings.
Meanwhile, Claire stands by, silently scowling. I consider talking with her? Sort of like ‘if you want the girl, be nice to the best friend’ advice that I learned back in my high school days . . . except this involves money and not pussy. But Claire doesn’t seem open to any conversation and is listening to Elena as though she might spill family secrets at any moment.
“Why do you keep looking at the door?” Kayla whispers out of the side of her mouth while Dad is holding court.
“What?” I ask quickly. “No, I’m not.”
I was totally looking for Luna. I’m worried because she’s late. I told her to be here a few minutes after the scheduled arrival time, but it’s several minutes past that now. It’s entirely possible that she got caught up in her work again and won’t realize that she’s late until hours from now. It’s also possible that she changed her mind and will no-show on me.
But though those options are reasonable, there’s a seed of worry too. She planned to drive herself out since I needed to be here early. What if she had car trouble? Or got in an accident?
The concern for her takes over, and I can feel my heart speed up. I should call her. Just to check if she’s okay. And on her way.
I need her.
Kayla places her hand on my shoulder. “Dude, where’d your brain go? Are you having a panic attack? Go in the hall and put your head between your knees or something.”
“What? No, I’m fine. I’m just . . .”
What? Freaking out that my fake wife isn’t here?
“You’re not. No need to lie to me.”
There’s a saying my grandmother used to tell us—that some men were all hat and no saddle. It meant that a man was all about show and not about the real deal. Kayla is the opposite—all saddle and no hat. She has no time for niceties and white lies. She would despise what I’m doing with Luna.
But she also doesn’t want me to tell her false pleasantries when I’m clearly not okay.
“I’m worried,” I confess, not divulging why.
“You should be.” She points at Dad and Elena, who are acting like best buds. “Dad’s stealing your deal and you’re over here letting him. Go get your client, man.”
She’s right. She always is. “Thanks.”
Mission renewed, I interrupt them as Dad starts on the story of how he turned a dilapidated boat into a million dollars. “Elena, is Dad telling you war stories about his days in the trenches of corporate life? He’s got some whoppers.”
“No, but I’d love to hear them. I can see where you get your charm from, young man.” Elena smiles warmly. “And your good looks.”
She looks to Mom, even though I’m basically a cut n’ paste of Dad. Small talk is an annoying but necessary fact of life, and I launch in with her, talking about piddly nothings for a bit while still watching the door like a hawk.
But eventually, I hear the front door open and nearly run toward it with palpable relief. That lasts for all of two seconds until Luna appears in the sitting room doorway . . . on the arm of my brother, Cole.
He’s wearing black jeans, a white button-up that’s undone at the neck, sunglasses pushed up on his head, and a stack of bracelets on each wrist where his sleeves are rolled up. Luna has on a pretty black dress that’s relatively basic except that in its plainness, it makes her whiplash curves all that much more standout.
