He stopped mid-word when he saw her, saying into his phone, “My date is here. Forward that to my parents, and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”
He ended the call and came to the bottom of the stairs, trapping her on the bottom one so they were eye to eye.
She held her breath as he took in her hair, scooped into a simple twist, her red lips, her bare shoulders and cleavage, then came back up.
“So you do like my taste in earrings.”
“These aren’t the earrings?” She touched the very artistic scroll of blue-and-white stones. Regina had said they would go perfectly with her dress, so Fliss had assumed the other woman had picked them herself from some high-end costume jewelry.
“They are,” he confirmed, making her stomach feel funny.
“But you’re not giving them to me,” she protested. “I said I didn’t want any,” she reminded, wondering if this meant he’d rather give her sparkly rocks than respect or regard.
“I collected them on my way to Nottingham, so I already had them when you said you didn’t want them.” His face blanked into the remote expression that was so hard to read. “Would you rather not accept them?”
“They’re worth a fortune! It’s stressful to wear things this expensive.” The dress and shoes were already a lot to worry about. “Why do you want me to wear them?”
“Because you like them and they suit you?” he suggested pithily.
“It’s not because...”
“What?”
“Are you trying to prove something or... I don’t know,” she mumbled as she saw his expression darken.
“I don’t care about anyone’s opinion but yours. If you like them, then I want you to have them and wear them.”
“Thank you.” Fliss touched her lobes to ensure each earring was secure. Her stomach was full of snakes. “I feel like you’re mad at me now, and that wasn’t my intention. I’m just nervous.”
“I’m not mad,” he said in that acerbic voice. “Not at you. I’m only realizing that the earrings will be noticed and remarked on and that will make you self-conscious. I want you to be able to enjoy wearing a pair of damned earrings if you want to.”
“What an apt description. That’s what I’ll call them from now one. My damned earrings.”
Saint didn’t react, only stared at her.
“Sometimes my sense of humor is misplaced,” she admitted with a wrinkle of her nose.
“Now that you’ve found it, keep it,” he drawled, helping her down the final step. “It’ll help you get through dinner.”
“Because they’re going to hate me?” she asked with dread as they waited for the elevator.
“My father hates everyone. Don’t take it personally.”
“And your mother?” she asked as they stepped into the elevator.
He sighed. “Mother has always believed her looks are her only asset. Dad has never given her credit for bringing more to their marriage than beauty. As such, she despises any sign of aging. The title of grandmother will be a knife to her heart.”
“Do we have to do this in public?” she asked as they exited and stepped into the waiting car.
“We do,” he said firmly.
The drive wasn’t far. The restaurant was smallish, obviously very exclusive given the way they were escorted from the curb up carpeted steps that were protected by a black awning lit by fairy lights. They were handed off to a middle-aged maître d’ who had the air of someone who had made a career out of this work.
“Mr. Montgomery. Welcome. I just seated your parents. Please follow me.”
Saint had taken hold of Fliss’s hand as they’d left the car. He had to feel how clammy her palm was, but he forged the way, allowing her to trail behind him as they wound through the full tables. She tried not to crane her neck, even though she recognized a few celebrities. It was disconcerting to realize they were looking back, noticing Saint and maybe recognizing her from her photos.
She tried to focus on the clothes as a distraction, and it worked a little too well. She nearly crashed into Saint when he stopped walking. He steadied her as he brought her to stand beside him.
“Mom. Dad. I’d like you to meet Felicity.”
Fliss’s anxiety turned to the sort of morbid terror that came from facing something she knew wasn’t genuinely life-threatening but still turned her blood cold, like a giant spider.
The couple stole a moment to recover from their shock, then rose politely. Ted Montgomery was a peek at what Saint would look like in forty years—distinguished and even more stern, still wearing an aura of power that hadn’t diminished at all.
His mother was the source of his star power, though. Norma was easily fifteen years younger than her husband. Her figure was fit, not the least bit matronly. She wore a sequined drop-waist dress that glinted and shimmered in the candlelight. Her beauty would have been a standard blonde-and-blue-eyed variety if not for an intrinsic sparkle that might have dimmed with age, but it was still there, demanding she be noticed.
“How charming. Call me Norma,” his mother said, offering her hand in a very brief, weak shake. Her cool gaze skimmed down, taking in every detail of Fliss’s appearance, including coming back to the earrings before transferring a silent question toward Saint.
“Ted.” His father didn’t offer to shake hands. He moved to help Norma with her chair.
“A bottle of Dom,” Saint said to the hovering maître d’ as he held Fliss’s chair.
She sank gratefully into it, knees weak. Her throat had constricted so tightly she felt as though she sipped oxygen through a straw.
“This is why you went to London?” Ted asked with only a flickering glance toward Fliss before shifting his glare back to his son. “You didn’t say a word about her in our meeting this morning.”
“I was waiting on an email that I’ve forwarded to both of you,” Saint said blithely. “You can read it later, but the important piece is that you’re being informed of our happy news at the same time. I’m not playing favorites.”
