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“My mom can’t know about the contract,” she says. “This has to be real to her or it’ll break her heart.”
“That won’t be an issue. This needs to be real to everyone.” I come around my desk until I stand before her. “When can I meet your family?”
“Soon.” She wrings her hands, uncharacteristically nervous. Is she having second thoughts? “I want to prep her first. This engagement is going to blindside her.”
“Do you always walk on eggshells around her?”
“She’s … different.” Her glance swings to the side. “You’ll see what I mean when you meet her.”
Sophie’s ocean gaze searches mine.
“Everything’s going to be fine.” I take her hands, which change to steel as her body braces.
This might be the first time we’ve ever touched—aside from bumping into each other the day we met. Given the fact that we’re about to be married, I don’t think I’m overstepping my boundaries.
“Take the day. No, take the week,” I tell her. “Go home. Collect your things. Gather your thoughts. Visit your mother and sister. Tell your friends. Tend to your personal affairs. Broderick will email you the final contract.”
I’ve never shared the Westcott estate with a single soul other than the caretakers who reside in the cottage and the staff that cycle in and out throughout the day who do a top-notch job of making themselves scarce.
“This will be quite an adjustment for both of us,” I say. “But I think it could be fun—that is, if we make it fun.”
“Ever the salesman …” Her lips draw into an unexpected smile, half nervous, half flirting. “I’m pretty sure we have different definitions of fun.”
“Fine. It’ll be an adventure.” Though something tells me she’s not exactly the adventurous type. “There’ll be a learning curve, but I’m confident we’ll figure everything out together. One day at a time.”
She nods, the pallor of her complexion fairer than when she walked in a few minutes ago. To be honest, she looks like she’s about to lose the contents of her stomach. While she may have agreed to my offer, I’m not sure she’s one hundred percent at peace with her decision.
“Go, Sophie.” I release her hands. “I’ll see you tonight—at home.”
When she’s gone, I have Broderick finalize the contract.
I don’t want to risk a last-minute change of heart.
Twenty-Six
Sophie
Present
“What’s with you today?” Mom asks that afternoon. “You’re biting your nails. You never bite your nails.” She swats. “Stop that. You’re going to ruin your manicure. Lord knows you pay an arm and a leg for those in the city.”
I tuck my hands beneath my thighs and take a deep breath. There’s no easy way to preface any of this. Maybe I should’ve told my friends first, practiced on them. But it didn’t seem right to tell my family last.
“I’m getting married,” I blurt. I steady myself for her reaction, only to be met with her signature silent response.
“What? When?” Emmeline asks from the other side of the kitchen table. “And to who?”
“To whom,” my mother corrects before turning to me. Her brows lift as she awaits my answer.
“His name is Trey.” I clear my throat. “Trey Westcott.”
“Wait,” Emmeline says. “Isn’t that your boss?”
“My boss’ boss’ boss’ boss,” I say, “Or something like that … but yes. He owns Westcott Corp.”
Mom takes a seat, practically collapsing in the wooden chair. I should’ve told her to sit before I broke the news. I haven’t dated anyone since Nolan, not seriously anyway, and that was nearly a decade ago. And while I’ve had my fair share of hook-ups and a couple semi long-term friends with benefits, I’ve never allowed a single one to step foot inside my mother’s home.
“How did this happen?” she asks. “I didn’t even know you were seeing someone.”
“I’m just as shocked as you are … we ran into each other in the hallway at work one day.” I don’t tell her it was just the other week. “Next thing I know, we’re spending time together outside the office. It all took off from there.”
“And now you’re getting married?” Her expression twists in disbelief. “Don’t you think you’re moving a little fast? We haven’t even met him.”
“You will,” I say. “Soon. I’m actually moving in with him.”
“This is so exciting,” Emmeline claps. “I can’t wait to go wedding dress shopping!”
Mom shoots her a look before turning back to me. “Have you set a date yet?”
I shake my head. “We’re still working out the details.”
“Where’s your ring?” Her attention descends to my hands, which are still hidden beneath my thighs.
“I don’t have one yet. Everything happened this morning …”
Mom rests her elbows on the table, staring out the tiny window beyond our kitchen table. She doesn’t congratulate me, doesn’t manufacture an ounce of feigned joy. Not that I expected her to. I know where she stands on things like marriage and men. They’re nothing but dirty words in her vocabulary.
