34. Nathan’s Family Members

THIRTY-FOUR

#2 Lilian Hunt—mom

"Iknew that Ralph Lauren would be perfect on you, Nathaniel. Doesn't he look perfect, Radford?"

The blond woman, petite and elegant in a silver lace dress, looked to be about sixty and spoke with a faint Southern accent as she fawned all over Nathan like she hadn't just seen him moments before.

The tall man beside her, who looked like a silver-haired version of Nathan and Carrick, just grunted and shoved a pair of glasses up his nose while the younger blond man beside him appeared to whisper a snarky remark to Carrick.

"And who's this you've brought with you?" the woman asked as she turned to me. Her brown eyes, so like her son's, were sharp and slightly chilly despite her friendly demeanor. Her tone was sweet, but I couldn't help feeling like a subpar dessert someone had brought for a potluck. It was the same tone Nonna gave her friends when they bought pans of cheap tiramisu from CTown instead of making the real thing at home.

"Mom, this is Giovanna," Nathan said.

"Oh, so it's back to Giovanna, now," Carrick snarked, though when he received a daggered expression from Nathan, he quieted.

"This is my mother, Lillian, my father, Radford Hunt, and that's my youngest brother, Spencer. You already know Carrick."

"I do," I said with a short nod his way.

That chilly gaze made my spine prickle. Carrick was the definition of a loose end.

"My, my, my," said Lillian as she openly looked me over. "What a pretty girl. She is a beauty."

I accepted an air kiss in greeting. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hunt. You can call me Joni. Everyone else does. Except Nathan sometimes."

I expected her to say something back like "Just call me Lillian, dear," but she stayed silent as she shook my hand. The polite warmth in her smile still didn't reach her eyes.

"Nice," concurred Spencer, who looked nothing like his older brothers, having clearly taken after his mother's blond hair and blue eyes. He flashed a smile that rivaled my own as he looked me over. "Very nice, brother."

I shifted uncomfortably, feeling a bit like livestock being examined for sale while I received nothing more than a curt nod and a quick handshake from Nathan's father, who looked like he wanted to wash his hands afterward.

"That's quite a dress," Lillian said as she looked over my gown. "I don't believe anyone in the room has quite such…pizzazz."

I fought the urge to burrow into Nathan. It sounded like a compliment, but it definitely wasn't.

Nathan, unfortunately, didn't seem to understand.

"She is beautiful," he seemed to agree with his mother as he smiled down at me. "In every way."

Lillian blinked as if her son's agreement wasn't exactly what she was hoping to get out of our particular exchange. I, however, was thrilled.

"Thanks, babe," I murmured, allowing him to pull me into his side.

"I see the de Vrieses over there," Radford said suddenly, as though he couldn't take one more minute of niceties. "Spencer, come with me. They've got a stable on Long Island, so they might be interested in a stud."

With a gleeful eye roll, Spencer followed his father through the crowd.

"I'd best join them," Lillian said. "My husband is very good at business, but he always needs a bit of extra help with the pleasure."

Before I could wonder what she meant by that, she was gone, leaving Nathan and me alone with Carrick, who seemed completely uninterested in leaving.

"They seem…nice," I offered.

Nathan raised one brow.

Carrick snorted. "Our parents are many things, but ‘nice' is not one of them."

"Then, what would you call them?"

"Conniving, controlling, and manipulative all come to mind," he replied.

"Sounds like someone is projecting," I muttered.

Nathan chuckled, and when he received a dirty look from his brother, he only shrugged. "She's not wrong."

Carrick's eyes flared at me as he grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing server. "Hey, Mac, get me a scotch, will you? The bubbly's not gonna cut it."

The server, a kid who probably wasn't even my age, just bobbed his head and scurried away with his now empty tray.

Carrick turned to me and grinned, looking again like the wolf—or maybe the snake—he claimed he was.

I didn't know what else I'd been expecting, really. Obviously, things were going to be weird. He'd made himself scarce since the gambling night, and I hadn't had a chance to make peace. Or decide if that's even what I wanted with Nathan's jerk of a brother.

"Did you tell him?" Carrick asked as he swirled his drink and raised it in a silent greeting to another guest.

I pretended to smile at someone as well. "Of course I did."

Nathan scowled. "Don't, Carrick."

"Don't what?" Carrick asked. "Don't make sure Little Miss Striptease isn't about to take you for a ride?"

"Stop." This time, I was the one to speak.

"Make me, sweetheart," Carrick cut back before finishing the champagne and setting the glass on the nearby table with an audible crack. "I dare you."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came not. Not a sassy comeback, not a flirty retort. Nothing.

I was done for.

Again, Carrick faux-greeted someone else before turning back to us with a face like steel. "Wrong answer," he said before striding away.

Fear sliced through me. What did that mean?

I turned to Nathan. "He's…he's not going to tell anyone, is he?"

Nathan's hands cupped my shoulders and rubbed my arms. "You don't have to worry about that. But even if it did, would it matter?"

I thought about that for a moment. "I don't know…I mean, I didn't come here to keep secrets, but let's be real. I wasn't exactly prepared to be introduced as your stripper girlfriend, you know?"

I flapped a hand at the dress, the jewelry, the whole costume I was wearing. It was one thing to be confronted with the realities of my life in my own skin, another completely when I was essentially playing a role to help Nathan out.

Or was I? The dress and jewelry weren't things I planned to get used to. But if this was his life, and our relationship was for real, shouldn't I be preparing myself for more events like this? More polite conversations with his coworkers, meeting with his family, moments where I needed to represent…what, exactly?

Style? Smarts?

Whatever it was, I had the sinking feeling it wasn't me.

I didn't like that feeling. At all.

"Carrick won't say anything," Nathan broke through my thoughts. "For one primary reason: CEO."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Whether or not my brother thinks our relationship is appropriate, he would still like this to fail," Nathan said calmly, though his voice walked a razor's edge. "Because Carrick wants the title my parents are hell-bent on giving me: CEO of Huntwell."

My mouth dropped. "He does?"

It made sense, as did his obvious resentment toward Nathan. Carrick was the only one of the brothers who actually worked for the company and had for years. And yet his older brother was supposed to be named his father's successor?

Unless he wasn't. Unless Nathan was too happy and settled to move. Unless he was too much of a success in his own life for them to think of dragging him back to Virginia.

Which was where I came in.

"I don't understand," I said. "Why would he torment me, then? Why not just let me continue doing what we're doing?"

"Oh, I think he will," Nathan replied. "But like everyone else in my family, Carrick thrives on control. He definitely wants me safely stowed away in New York. But he doesn't like liabilities. And you seeing him at a place like that is definitely a liability."

"Well, then," I said. "I don't really want to help Carrick, but I guess that's another reason to be the best damn couple in the room, isn't it?"

"Are we back to pretending?" He looked almost worried.

I popped up on my toes and delivered a kiss to his mouth. "Definitely not. Just…on our best behavior."

His lips quirked before he kissed me back. "Well, in that case, what would a good boyfriend do right now?"

I looked around the room, where people were mingling and drinking, and several others had taken to the dance floor before dinner was served.

"He would ask me to dance," I said with a grin. "Right now."

Nathan blinked. Then a slow grin spread across his face. "Would you like to dance?"

His happiness warmed my heart. "I would, thank you."

I let him lead me to the dance floor, where only a handful of couples were currently enjoying the smooth big band sounds blasting through the room. I knew a lot of them—partly because Nonna loved Dean Martin, but also because a lot of jazz standards doubled as musical numbers.

"I did a solo to this once," I said when the band started playing "Someone to Watch Over Me." "My high school did a Gershwin review. The choir sang the song while I danced."

"Didn't you want to sing too?" Nathan wondered. "You said you could well enough to be on Broadway."

"I'm no soloist, but I have powerful lungs, and I can carry a tune," I said and then began to sing along with the lyrics while he moved me around the floor. "‘There's a somebody I'm longing to see…I hope that he…turns out to be…someone to watch over me.'"

Nathan led me through a simple turn, then pulled me back into his arms, almost like he couldn't stand for me to be away from him for more than a second.

"I like your voice," he said, his own suddenly rough. "I think I like everything about you."

I chuckled, even as I lay my head on his chest. "Even my horrible pasta? And my mess in the bathroom?"

The hand at my waist traveled up my back, tracing the groove of my spine with those dexterous fingers. We whirled around again, but this time, he kept me pressed to his chest.

"Everything," Nathan murmured, so low I wasn't sure if he meant for me to hear it.

But I had heard. And it took my breath away.

The song ended, and we broke apart just enough for our eyes to meet. Nathan's hand at my back kept me close while he peered down at me, brown eyes fathomless, immeasurably deep.

"Joni," he said. "I…"

"Yes?" I asked.

This time, I could feel it. A word, deep in my heart. One I'd never said to anyone. Not Shawn. Not any other short-term boyfriend or lover or whatever you'd call them. Not a one.

But I wanted to say it to him. This peculiar man, with his quiet ways and particular rules and shy looks. Four letters. One syllable. Barely a sound at all.

Love.

Nathan opened his mouth to speak again, but suddenly, like he was overcome with whatever he was feeling, he took my face and kissed me.

It was a new kiss. One I'd certainly never experienced. Gentle and rough at the same time, insistent in its pressure yet questioning in its depth. His tongue touched mine, and I opened for him right there on the dance floor, clutching his lapels, uncaring about the people around us.

Would you love me? the kiss seemed to ask. Would you love me if I loved you?

Yes, I wanted to cry. I already do.

When our mouths finally broke, another song was playing—a rendition of the Charleston that had at least a few people breaking out the familiar moves.

I smiled, stuck in place. My heart was thumping, my hands still in a death grip on Nathan's jacket, my eyes unable to move from his swollen lips and the sight of his pink tongue peeking between them.

More. I wanted more.

And like any addict, I was going to get it.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured as he brushed a strand of hair out of my face, then cupped my cheek. "Christ, Joni, I…" He glanced down to where his own need was somewhat apparent against my leg.

I nearly bit my lip through.

"I don't…" I whispered as I gripped his jacket tighter. "I don't think I can wait until we get home."

At first, he didn't respond, but when the meaning behind my words sunk in, Nathan's eyes popped open. "Oh."

I smiled. "Oh."

He glanced around. "But…where would we…"

"Nathan." I pulled his attention back to me. "Your family is the biggest donor in a room full of very big donors. I assume you can find one private room the museum would be willing to let us use, right?"

He swallowed and tugged at his collar. "I—yes. Yes." Then something appeared to occur to him. "Come with me."