Placing her arms around my shoulders in a friendly hug—as though we’ve done this dozens of times before—she says, “Hey, sweetheart, so good to see you too.”

  I let out a relieved sigh in her arms.

  They’re going along with it! I can’t believe it! The next thought I have is, This family is reeeally weird.

  There was a tiny part of me that honestly thought Carter might be playing a prank on me. Like I was going to walk in, expecting to act like his wife, and the whole family would shout ‘gotcha’ and I’d be the dummy. I guess as long as Ashton Kutcher were here, I wouldn’t mind being Punk’d though.

  That doesn’t seem to be the case. If anything, Carter and I are the ones punking them.

  Carter’s dad, Charles, isn’t nearly as easy as Miranda. His curious look has turned downright hostile. “What’s going—”

  Carter puts his arm over my shoulders, pulling me to his side so fast that I almost lose my balance in the heels I rarely wear. The move is intentional, showing that I belong with him. Or rather, to him. At least in this context. His tone is equally sharp. “Dad, whatever issues you have with my wife, now is not the time. Luna and Elena enjoyed talking about their shared passion for art, and if Elena chooses to work with Blue Lake, it will be partially because of Luna’s love for all things artistic.”

  Carter makes it sound like Charles and I have some sort of sordid, drama-filled history while dropping all sorts of hints to his father about what I’m doing here without spelling it out on an airplane banner. Carter told me that his dad is brilliantly smart and adaptable, but whether Charles takes the hints and plays along is another matter entirely.

  Carter and Charles enter into a stare-down competition with me trapped between the two of them. I have one savior in this room, and I bury myself into Carter’s side, my hand on his abdomen, where I can feel the hard muscles beneath his shirt, and my eyes are locked on his chest, which is rising and falling steadily. His breath keeps me from going into a full-blown panic attack as I pace my breathing to match his.

  “I could use a drink. Anyone else?” Kayla says brightly, breaking the standoff. She pulls me away from Carter, and I flinch at the loss of his protection, but it seems she truly does have my back because she guides me over to the corner to a bar. Quietly, she asks, “Are you old enough to drink? If not, for fuck’s sake, tell me now so I can go ahead and murder my brother.”

  I know I look young, but it didn’t occur to me that they might think I was underage compared to Carter. I was strictly concerned about the unknown wife situation. I nod, confirming, “I’m twenty-three.”

  Kayla opens a bottle of red wine with a ‘POP!’ that covers her curse. “Twenty-three?” she repeats. “Do you have like . . . a safe word or something with him for whatever the hell this is?”

  I blink, my feet stepping away from Kayla instinctively. “Uhh . . .”

  “Of course not,” she sighs, gritting her teeth as she pours wine into glasses. “He’s put you in the middle of some serious shit. If you need an out, meet my eyes and blink twice.” Her warning is delivered with a dramatic demonstration of blinking.

  With that, she leaves me alone, turning to hand out glasses of red wine to her family. Her words rattle around in my brain, making me question everything Carter’s told me.

  Why am I doing this again?

  I should leave, walk right out the door without looking back and go home to Alphena where I belong. There’s a mirror above the bar, and I meet my own eyes in the glass. I look scared, but my makeup is perfect thanks to Samantha’s help. That small detail gives me a tiny boost of strength, and when Carter turns, his eyes find mine instantly in the mirror. That’s another boost.

  Picking up the other glasses, I offer them to those not holding one from Kayla’s distribution. It’s not my place, but I need to do something to keep my hands busy and my feet from running for the door. With my breath stuck in my chest, I hold a glass out to Charles as a pseudo olive branch.

  “Dad?” I say questioningly, my voice breaking on the single syllable.

  My nerves make it sound as though I’m scared of Charles—which I am, but not for the reason Carter made it out to be.

  From off to my side, Elena drawls, “If I’s you, I’d take it.”

  Unspoken is the threat that she’ll leave if he doesn’t. Charles looks from the glass, to me, to Elena, and then to Carter. Finally—finally!—he takes the glass, purposefully not touching my hand. He doesn’t make a toast or drink the wine, but rather just holds it.

  “Good to see you too, Luna.” The words are pulled from Charles’s throat one at a time. Miranda bumps his hip with her own, and he smiles reflexively, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

  It’s a signal to everyone that whatever’s going on, we’re all moving forward with it, and small talk starts up again. I take a big breath, forcing a smile to my lips and hoping it looks natural.

  We did it!

  Carter pats my butt, and I jump, squeaking in surprise. When I look up at him, he winks cockily.

  Did he seriously have no doubts? Is he not near DEFCON one right now?

  I know I’m full-blown freaking out on the inside, and only my past experience with hiding nervous meltdowns is keeping me vertical.

  Thankfully, now that I’ve been accepted, at least momentarily, I don’t have to actually speak. I’m virtually forgotten as Charles holds court, chatting with Elena while Claire looks on like a sourpuss.

  “Sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine life without my Miranda.” Charles looks to his wife warmly before returning his gaze to Elena.

  Pressing her lips together, Elena nods solemnly. “I miss him every day.”

  “Me too,” Claire interjects. “My uncle was a good man. He cared about others.”

  Claire cuts her eyes to Elena and resumes her silent grumping. She very clearly is implying that other people don’t care the way Thomas did. I can only guess that she’s talking about Elena, but that doesn’t make sense. Elena seems so sweet and has been nothing but kind.

  Charles agrees. “Family is the most important thing we leave behind.”

  He glances at Carter, and I wonder if Charles is threatening his son, but Carter doesn’t seem worried in the slightest. Even so, I have an urge to stand in front of Carter protectively, but I can’t do much, whether the battle is verbal or physical. Instead, I slip my hand into Carter’s, signaling that it’s the two of us against Charles, and Carter squeezes my hand warmly. I feel the weight of his gaze and look up at him. His lips lift slightly, and at first, I think he’s amused by my silly attempt at protecting him, but there’s heat in the depths of his blue eyes that has nothing to do with laughing at me and everything to do with . . . us? He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I sink into him.

  Does he know that’s my Kryptonite, making me feel like an ooey, gooey s’mores on the inside that someone melted juuust right?

  After a bit, we make our way to a formal dining room. Though I wasn’t expected, there’s the exact number of places set at the long table, including fine China plates, silverware, and crystal glasses. Whoever the house staff is, they’re on the ball. Not that I thought the Harringtons would allow for anything other than quick efficiency.

  Carter guides me to sit beside him, placing the napkin in my lap again. This time, at least I don’t jump.

  What are all those forks for? I know one’s for salad and one’s for the entrée, but there’s one at the top of the plate too, and I have no idea on that.

  “Where’s Jacob?” Grace asks Claire as the first course is served. Cameron looks at Grace questioningly, and Grace explains, “That’s her son. He’s annoying, but he’s funner than being the only kid here.”

  “Grace!” Cameron says sharply. “We don’t call people annoying.”

  Grace’s brow wrinkles. “You call Uncle CJ annoying all the time.” She looks to Carter, who’s staring at his brother with one brow raised, and repeats, “He does. ‘Specially when you whine about work stuffs.”

  “Is that so?” Carter asks.

  Claire clears her throat. “Jacob is home with his father, my husband, Mads. It didn’t seem like he’d be needed for a simple dinner.” She looks around the table, and somehow, even her gaze is condescending.

  “Your husband’s name is Mads?” Kayla inquires. “I know a guy named Mads too. Never heard of another one. He wouldn’t happen to work at South Peach bar, does he?”

  I can’t tell whether Kayla is serious or not. Claire can’t either, I guess, because she scowls as she answers. “My husband is not a bartender. He’s a banker. And his name is Madison, but he prefers Mads.”

  Kayla shrugs. “Understandable. The name thing, not the bartender thing. There’s nothing wrong with being a bartender. Mads is my friend. He’s cool and got his name because he’s a little . . .” She twirls a finger by her ear. “We make sure we don’t get him mad.”

  I doubt Claire’s husband is cool. He’s probably a stuffy numbers type that wears his socks in bed. I can’t imagine she’d have it any other way.

  “Harrumph,” Claire says as she stabs a crouton and shoves it in her mouth.

  From somewhere beneath the table, a phone rings. Everyone looks at each other, eyes questioning.

  “Oh, that’s me. Excuse me,” Cole says, pulling his phone from his pocket. He stands, stepping out of the room, but even in the hallway, we can hear his muffled speaking. “Hello?” He’s quiet for a moment, presumably listening, and then says, “Yeah, I got it. No worries. You’re saving me from a boring family business dinner. I’ll see ya in a few.”

  When he pokes his head around the corner, I half-expect Charles to demand that Cole sit his butt down for this ‘boring family business dinner’, but he doesn’t get the chance. Cole throws a two-fingered wave and says, “Duty calls. Nice to meet you, Elena, Claire. Make sure my brother takes care of you, Luna. He can be an asshole.”

  I giggle in surprise as Cole disappears down the hall. Less than a half-second later, the front door opens and closes. Beneath the table, Carter puts his hand on my thigh, squeezing firmly, and my tiny laughter stops instantly. I can feel the weight of his touch, the power in his grip, and the heat spreading from his fingertips to my center. I squirm, not sure whether I want more or for him to stop, and Carter whispers out of the side of his mouth, “You okay?”

  No, I’m not okay. This is madness. Complete and utter madness. Does he know what he’s doing to me? With his touches, his kisses, his . . . kindness? Is it some sort of joke—look at what I can do to the poor, young, inexperienced weirdo? Watch me wind her up and send her spinning?

  If I were sitting on my couch at home, wearing sweats, with my tablet in my hands, watching this dinner on the TV screen, this whole thing would be hilarious. Everyone is cutting each other with verbal knives, the tension is palpable, and we’ve barely been served our salads.

  But I’m not at home and this isn’t scripted for television. I’m right in the middle of the drama.

  Hell, I’m part of the drama.

  And that’s not usually how I roll. I prefer hiding on the outskirts, but with Carter at my side and his hand on my leg, this craziness seems manageable. Or at least enjoyable in a small, twisted way.

  Like improv dinner theater. As long as it doesn’t turn into a murder mystery, I’m probably . . . maybe . . . sorta okay.

  Maybe I can even help . . . if I talk about the one thing I’m comfortable discussing.

  “Elena, did you see the news about the museum’s upcoming exhibition? The month-long showing of Digital Immersion Through Virtual Reality. It’s ground-breaking technology that’ll bring art to life in a new way. Maeve—that’s my boss—is organizing the installation, and I’ll do tours with groups as they approach the pieces in our world and then use VR headsets to dive into them in an immersive way, where it seems as though they’re a part the art, able to trace brushstrokes with their fingertips, move about the scene, and more.”

  Did I breathe at all while rambling that? I’m not sure.

  What I am sure of? Carter’s pinkie finger is point-oh-two inches higher on my thigh and there’s a quiet rumble of approval in his throat.

  “That sounds interesting,” Elena says uncertainly. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a VR anything, much less art.”

  “I would be delighted to do a private tour for you,” I offer. “In addition to experiencing the art, you could see how a short-term exhibition is handled at the museum. See if you’re comfortable showcasing some of Thomas’s collection.”

  “What?” Claire screeches, slamming her napkin on the table. “You’re giving away Uncle Thomas’s art to some museum?”

  Her overreaction sends a cold shiver down my spine, and I try to walk it back. “No, no. Not giving the museum anything. Only exhibiting, for a short time. To share Thomas’s collection in his honor.”

  “You two want to share in Uncle Thomas’s everything, don’t you?” Claire snipes.

  “Claire!” Elena says harshly. More gently, and with a pat of Claire’s hand, Elena adds, “You make it sound like they’re trying to steal Thomas away from us. He’s gone, dear. I know you were close, and it hurts, but . . . he’s gone.”

  Charles adopts an expression of kind concern. “I think we can all appreciate the pain of losing someone. We certainly don’t want to dig in an open wound, but it’s also the survivors’ responsibility to take the best care of what’s left behind. Blue Lake Assets can help with that.”

  I listen politely as Carter, Charles, and Elena direct the conversation to the Cartwright portfolio. Part of it is because it’s totally over my head, given that I have a grand total of three hundred dollars in my bank account and they’re talking about millions of dollars. But another reason I stay quietly watchful is Carter. He told me how worried he was about his dad walking over him on this deal, but truthfully, Carter is the one doing the majority of the talking and all the wooing.

  I’m not sure Elena even likes Charles, which probably isn’t good, I guess. But I’m cheering Carter on with every smile Elena flashes, every concern of hers that Carter alleviates, and every look of approval I see on Cameron’s face. Not Charles, because he’s staying in deal-mode, but Cameron doesn’t have a dog in this fight, so he’s watching as a spectator and seems impressed by his brother.

  I wonder if Carter knows that Cameron feels that way?

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  CARTER

  As the dinner plates are swept away from the table, I feel like I’m making some real headway with Elena. Like I expected, Dad is being too much, but I’m doing what I can to balance him out.

  What I didn’t expect is that having Luna at my side would be more than just an ‘in’ to discuss art. She hasn’t said much since the conversation switched to business, but her gentle support is probably the only thing getting me through this dinner. It has nothing to do with Renoir, brushstrokes, or Thomas Cartwright’s collection, but with her unwavering belief that I can do this.

  I’m a confident man by nature, but Luna’s faith in me makes me feel like I could easily tackle the world. Though I could offer her the entirety of the Earth in my hands and she wouldn’t be the slightest bit impressed. That’s not what drives her, and needing to be more than a wallet and good looks to interest her excites me in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

  When dessert is served, she moans in delight at the vanilla mascarpone mousse, and I look over to see that she’s got a tiny dollop of it on her lip. Going for broke, I decide to push the line a little bit.

  “Babe, come here,” I tell her quietly, knowing the whole table can still easily hear me.

  Though I’m focused on her lip, I see her swallow thickly. Keeping my eyes open and on hers, I tilt her chin up gently and place a tender kiss right over the wayward mousse, letting the tip of my tongue dance over the sweetness as I remove it.

  “Delicious,” I whisper as I pull away. She delicately dabs at her lips with her napkin, and for some weird reason, I feel like she’s wiping my kiss off and want to mark her again.

  “Newlyweds are the cutest, don’t you think?” Elena asks Dad, her hand propping up her chin as she looks at Luna and me with hearts in her eyes.

  I lick my own lips and then smirk at him, knowing he’s stuck.

  “Cuter than puppy dog shit,” Dad answers. He knows something’s up. Almost all of us do, but in a way, I keep forgetting that it’s fake with Luna. For the tiniest of seconds, it almost feels . . . not real, exactly, because we’re definitely not married, but like a real date?

  I do my best to stay focused but find my mind wandering to Luna again and again. I keep checking to make sure she’s comfortable, that she’s got what she needs, and that no one is eyeballing her in a way that makes her nervous. I keep my hand on her thigh because it lets me feel in-sync with her, and I’ve noticed that every time she feels uncertain about something, she wiggles her feet, so by touching her, I can respond as soon as I feel the movement.

  By the time dinner is done, I feel like we’ve made our case to Elena. If she doesn’t want to work with Blue Lake Assets and me for her portfolio management, then it wasn’t meant to be. We’ve done all we can do. I damn sure know I’ve done all I can do, and some things I probably shouldn’t have.

  So when the evening is coming to a close, I feel good about walking Elena and Claire to the front door, even though Mom and Dad follow along. They shake hands, and then I have one last moment to seal the deal.

  Elena hugs Luna and me at the same time, her head between us and an arm on each of our shoulders. “Thank you for making a boring family business dinner bearable,” she whispers, then she winks as she pulls away. She obviously heard Cole’s comment and thankfully, found it funny. “Best I’ve had in ages.”

  Claire gives me a dead-eyed stare in place of a goodbye and then follows her aunt. Before she gets far, Grace pops her head around the doorframe. “Tell Jacob I said hi!” she shouts, waving her hand as though Jacob can see her. Claire glances over her shoulder. There might be a tiny hint of a smile, or more likely from what I’ve seen from Claire, it might be a trick of the light. Either way, it disappears when Grace adds, “And that I hope his balls are okay!”