Chapter Twenty-Five

My Saturday doesn’t start very well.

Aunt Flo still hasn’t come. I’d like to believe she’s a few hours late—it’s probably still Friday night somewhere in the world—but this isn’t like her. If I were a virgin, I wouldn’t care so much, but my hymen was pleasurably obliterated days ago. Pregnancy is no longer a biological impossibility.

Damn you, Aunt Flo. I hate you no matter when you arrive!

If she doesn’t pop up today, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Should I text Michelle and see if she’s started yet? It’s probably TMI, and she’s probably still asleep.

“Hey, you okay?” Matt asks.

“I’m fine.”

His hand warms my tense neck. “No, you’re not. You’ve been tossing and turning for the last fifteen minutes.”

“Just worried about the brunch,” I lie, because I can’t blurt out that my period’s late. It’s only by a day. Not even a full day. Probably a few hours.

Damn it. Starting this month, I’m tracking it down to the nanosecond.

“It’s only a meal. Don’t sweat it. Just be yourself.” He kisses me on the spot between my shoulder blades, then disappears.

A few minutes later, he returns with two steaming cups of coffee. Yum.

“Thank you,” I say, wrapping my hands around the mug and its handle. Nothing like fresh java to get my head screwed on tight. Once I’m thinking straight, I’ll realize I’m fretting over nothing and jump his bones, rather than letting our Saturday morning go to waste.

Bringing the mug closer, I inhale, then stop as my stomach clenches and my head starts to pound. Stomach response is probably okay. It’s probably a signal that Aunt Flo is on her way—which would be great—but the headache? That’s odd. Still, I take a sip, then another.

The pounding at my temples doesn’t ease. I can only finish half the cup. The injustice! I want to stomp around like Godzilla in Tokyo, except I can’t because I have a headache and I don’t want to scare Matt off.

Why is the universe against me? Is this another Jan’s Law day? I really need caffeine. I need to be at my sharpest.

“You sure you’re okay?” Matt asks, peering at me.

“I’m fine. Probably just mildly hung over from last night.” Did I just say that? Argh. I wince. Who gets a hangover from two glasses of merlot?

Matt doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he makes sympathetic noises and rubs my temples and back. It helps some, but the headache lingers.

A little after eight, I head home to get ready for the brunch at Matt’s parents’. As I shower, I mentally flip through my closet…then realize there’s nothing I can wear. A lot of my clothes are too flamboyant or too…something. And I can’t pull the look off the way Alexandra and Ophelia can. I’ll be like an idiot clown, and I’m sure Emily Post frowns upon being too colorful on your first meeting with your man’s parents.

I hurriedly wrap up my shower, then dry my hair as quickly as possible. There’s no time to waste.

What do I do? Is it too late to go shopping? Surely something’s open. Don’t people shop before nine routinely on Saturdays? If not, they should start. Like now.

Michelle’s still asleep. I’m tempted to wake her up and borrow some clothes, except she’s taller than me, and her girls and hips are more bountiful than mine (she has the perfect hourglass body). I’d look like a fashion-challenged donkey in her clothes. Sammi might be able to help, but she’s really into black stuff, which would be, I don’t know, too funereal or something. Why am I fretting anyway? I can’t wear Sammi’s clothes either! She’s positively lanky compared to me, and showing up with my boobs crushed into a top a size or two too small won’t impress anyone.

But maybe Sammi has some insights. Unlike me, she’s done this rodeo before.

“Sammi, SOS!” I call from the staircase.

She looks up from her laptop. “What’s your emergency?”

“Brunch with Matt’s parents.”

She gives me a “you go girl” grin. “Parents, huh?” She props her chin in one hand. “Kinda serious…”

“It’s not,” I say quickly.

“Guys don’t take girls they aren’t serious about to meet their folks.”

“Theoretically, but this is different. Trust me.”

“All right, Miss Luuuurve Expert.”

I roll my eyes, and her cheery tone peeves me because her period came yesterday like it was supposed to, while mine’s still absent. Bitch. I’m probably the only woman in the world who’s irritated she isn’t bleeding like a stuck pig on the day she’s supposed to meet her boyfriend’s parents.

Since I’m annoyed with myself for being less than gracious to my friend, I explain, “He didn’t want to go, but he had to because his mom came to our table last night and basically invited him—and then me, when she thought it’d convince him more easily.”

“Huh.”

“So. Clothes?”

“How formal is the brunch?”

“I don’t know. I’m guessing it’s just family since it’s him and me? She didn’t say anything about other guests.”

Sammi taps her lower lip. “Okay. Then you need something that’s conservative, feminine and can work for both casual and formal.”

“How do I pull that off?”

She puts her laptop aside, comes up the stairs and goes right into my closet, pulling out a cream maxi-dress with a colorful autumn leaf print on the skirt. “Here. Pair this with a light sweater if it’s casual, and a jacket if formal. You can take both and decide when you get there.”

I study it critically. She’s right. It can work, especially if I put on a pair of cute nude wedge heels.

“Thanks, girl.” I start putting it on in the closet, while Sammi parks her butt on my bed and keeps talking.

“De nada. I’m sure you’re going to impress the hell out of your future in-laws.”

I choke. “Shut up.” My voice is muffled by the dress.

“Just saying. But I am going to be your maid of honor, and you better throw the bouquet my way.”

I come out of the closet, pushing my hair out of my face. “You gave Michelle shit about wanting to get married.”

“That’s different. I already know who I’m going to marry.”

Sighing inwardly, I start putting on my makeup. “What are you going to do if David marries his current girlfriend?”

Sammi hisses. “Blasphemy!”

“They’ve been together for five years. That’s a long time.”

“Fine. In that case, I’ll become a nun.”

“You know they eat nothing but white bread and water?”

She waves a hand. “As long as there’s Wi-Fi.”

I shake my head. Her obsession with David just kills me because it’s so weird. If I were hung up on a guy, I don’t think I could date anyone else, but she does. As she put it, she’s not shelving her life for a man. So what’s up with her desire now to marry him and no one else?

I put on the shoes and decide to wait for Matt on the massage chair. Sammi and I share the chocolate I got from Matt. It’s so rich, it melts in my mouth like buttery clouds.

“Damn, this is good,” Sammi says.

“Yup.”

“You really lucked out.”

“Yup.”

No matter what happens, I can’t ever regret what I have with Matt. A smart man who makes you laugh and orgasm multiple times a night?

He’s a keeper.

I flinch at the sudden thought. Well. He’s a keeper if he wants to be kept, but we only said we liked things about each other. And it’s too soon. And we’re neighbors and coworkers, and it’s always best to go slow. Isn’t life a marathon? I bet romantic relationships are too.

Just as the massage chair’s full-body cycle has finished, Matt shows up. He’s dressed semi-casually in a V-neck shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off his delicious forearms, and slacks. I feel immensely relieved about my outfit.

“How’s the headache?” he asks me after a soft kiss on my forehead.

“Much better.”

“Glad to hear that, but if you aren’t feeling well, you don’t have to go.”

Despite the concern in his gaze, his lips are set in a tight line. Sudden awkwardness makes me shut up. Contrary to what he said, he’s probably unhappy I accepted the invitation—sort of. I mean, eating with his parents means we aren’t doing a marathon. Even if it isn’t fast enough to be a sprint, it’s at least a middle-distance event.

“Maybe after the brunch, we can do something fun together,” I say with a lascivious look, waggling my eyebrows.

He laughs, then leers back at me. “Deal.”

Matt’s parents’ house is in McLean. It’s a stately stone and brick building. The roof has a couple of pointy peaks. Like other homes in the subdivision, this one has two chimneys, probably to make extra sure Santa doesn’t miss it on Christmas Eve. I can see kids in the neighborhood getting double the presents of everyone else. McLean has some of the most expensive and luxurious homes in the entire country. It caters to diplomats, members of Congress and other high-ranking government officials.

Matt leads me to the house. The foyer is grand, with lots of smooth stones, a soaring ceiling with a chandelier and arched doorways. The entire place is spotless, as though it’s being shown on the market.

Melodie comes out of the kitchen to greet us. She’s dressed in a chic pearl gray dress that brings out her eyes, and her sleek hair is unbound, shimmering like gold over her shoulders. She hugs Matt, kissing him on both cheeks. Then she hugs me and gives me air kisses. Even though it isn’t that strong, the cloud of perfume on her brings my headache back. Still, I force a friendly smile.

“So glad you could finally make it.” She turns to the kitchen. “Honey, Matt’s home!”

“Coming.” A tall, broad-shouldered man comes out with a mug of coffee. Dark hair. Big muscular body. Deep blue eyes. Yup. Matt wasn’t kidding when he said he took after his father. The man’s in a navy polo shirt and dark brown pants. He and Matt do the man-hug, each putting an arm around the other and slapping the other’s back once or twice.

I look at both, then my eyes almost bug out when I spot the black letters on Matt’s dad’s white mug:

A

R

S

E

I choke.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Melodie asks.

There’s no way I can tell her. It could be that Matt’s dad doesn’t know what “arse” means.

No, he’s a lawyer. Of course he knows. He probably knows how to say that in Latin too. Our previous legal dick—the one Matt replaced—certainly did.

“Let’s get her something to drink,” Matt’s dad says. “I’m Steve, Jan. I’ve heard a lot about you from my wife.”

He has? What does Melodie know about me? “Nice to meet you,” I say, since I can’t think of anything else.

He shifts, and I see the rest of the mug. It’s not ARSE written on the outside. It’s actually Aston Richter Spencer Emerick, one name per line, which is why I only saw the ARSE at first.

Steve grins. “Cool mug, huh? The firm.”

“It’s a great mug,” I say. “Perfect size for coffee.”

“Exactly! That’s what I said when I chose this style.”

“We really need to have Spencer and Emerick switch their names,” Melodie says with a small frown.

Steve snorts. “Good luck with Spencer’s ego in the way.” He gestures. “Come on. Let’s eat. We have pancakes, bacon and eggs, plus tons of pastries.”

My mouth waters. Pancakes sound fantastic.

Except when we actually get to the dining room, and I see the food spread out, my appetite dies a painful death. Everything looks pretty…unappetizing. It’s not because the presentation is horrible. The food is laid out with a generous amount of fresh berries, powdered sugar, whipped cream and maple syrup. It can’t get much prettier than this.

Maybe it’s the décor. The room looks like a miniature St. Peter’s Basilica with intricate murals on the paneled ceiling, although Michelangelo probably had nothing to do with it.

I’m probably just not used to this kind of…grandness in most people’s homes. Everyone else seems fine. “Serve yourself,” Melodie says. “We have plenty, so take as much as you want.”

I take a plate and hesitate. Why couldn’t she have made just enough for us and then served a set portion? But no…

How much am I supposed to take? Not taking any would be an insult, but I don’t want to waste food either. Is she going to think I’m a picky eater or…worse? God, I wish I had an app that can tell me so I don’t end up making an ass out of myself in front of Matt’s parents.

“Everything’s going to be good,” Matt whispers into my ear. “Mom’s an excellent cook.”

Right. He had to get his cooking skill from somebody.

The weight of the Astons’ gazes pressing upon me, I help myself to one of everything plus a small spoonful of scrambled eggs, then take a seat next to Matt, who has brought a mountain of food to match his man-ppetite.

“Coffee?” Melodie asks.

I should have some, but the idea makes my stomach turn in an ugly way. What’s wrong with me? “I’ll have some orange juice, if you don’t mind.”

Steve brings out a pitcher and serves me. I sip my OJ, which goes down smoothly, then start moving food around on the plate, hoping nobody notices I’m not actually eating.

“Is anything not to your liking?” Melodie asks me after a few moments.

“Um. No. It’s all good.”

“You haven’t had a single bite.”

Oh my God. Has she been watching me that closely?

Gad. This is probably how she taught the little Matt all the ways to break a witness. The skill is something you have to learn as a child, I suspect because I can’t do it.

“She hasn’t been feeling well since this morning,” Matt says.

“Ah.” Melodie raises both of her eyebrows. “Problems at work?”

If you want to consider possible promotions and a relocation I don’t want problems… “Something like that.”

“What do you do?” she asks, leaning slightly forward.

Geez. I thought she told a lot about me to her husband. On the other hand, not everyone has a friend like Sammi who’ll do all the digging for you. “I’m an assistant to a marketing manager at Sweet Darlings Inc.”

“Oh.” She frowns, then gives Matt a subtle look. I can’t quite decipher it, but it isn’t full of approval. More like surprise and something else unflattering. “An assistant.”

“It’s a great job. I love my boss.” Except when he gives me lots of homework or puts me up for a promotion I don’t want. But Melodie doesn’t need to know that part. Nobody does.

“I’m sure. Which marketing person do you work for?”

“David Darling.”

“Not a terrible choice. I hear nice things about him. An ambitious young man. He went to Harvard, too, just like Matt. We keep up with the alumni news.”

If this is a subtle dig that I didn’t go to Harvard like David, she missed the mark. I’ve already accepted that I’m never going to be as cool as my cousins. “He’s a good guy.”

“How did you meet my son?”

“Mother,” Matt says.

I give him a small smile. “It’s okay.” Her questions are nowhere as intrusive as Sammi’s would’ve been. Besides, I’m sure his mom didn’t invite me to just feed me. Don’t parents want to know what’s going on with their kids? She probably wants to make sure I’m not a bad influence, the kind of girlfriend who’ll lead her son to do drugs, get wild tattoos—or get dogs, joint custody.

“In New York,” I say at the same time Matt says, “At work.”

Her eyes sharpen. Uh-oh. Is this where she starts cross-examining me? “Which is it?” she asks sweetly.

“We met in New York briefly right before I was leaving, and then we ran into each other at Sweet Darlings Inc.,” Matt clarifies. “It’s like fate.”

Steve merely grunts, while Melodie laughs. “You can be so funny for a lawyer.”

“I’m not being funny.”

“Oh, shush.” She waves at him, then turns her attention back to me. “Surely, you don’t plan to be an assistant forever? Maybe move up to another, more meaningful track?”

My jaw drops. Et tu, Melodie? Why are people so interested in my career?

Did Alexandra hire her to talk to me about doing something else? My grandmother has undoubtedly heard about me and Matt. Izzy isn’t the type to keep gossip to herself. And if she couldn’t have him for herself, being the first person to know who he’s dating would be a pretty good consolation prize.

“She will, when it’s time,” Matt interjects. “After all, she’s Alexandra Darling’s youngest grandchild.”

One of Melodie’s expensively shaped eyebrows arches. “Reeeeally?” When she opens her mouth, the doorbell rings. She frowns, but gets up anyway to see who it is.

I sip my juice and inhale deeply. Maybe Melodie won’t be asking any more questions. This breakfast was a terrible idea. What was I thinking? The headache, lack of appetite and the anxiety over Aunt No-Show Flo aren’t helping.

But I should’ve known better than to assume things were going to improve. Melodie comes back into the room with Emma Beane behind her in skyscraper heels and a clingy jersey dress in baby pink.

“Emma, what a surprise!” Steve says.

“Hi, Steve. Melodie invited me and Daddy last night, but he forgot about a business meeting this morning, so he couldn’t make it,” she says with a grin that could be called impish…if you enjoy seeing barracudas smile. She spins around, then puts a hand over her chest with a gasp. “Matt! I didn’t know you’d be here. Your mom didn’t say.”

Yeah, right. Everything just coincidentally aligned to help her out. Besides, last night? Why in the world would Melodie invite her last night…

Then I remember. Melodie said she was with a client… Zack Beane. He must be Emma’s father. Olivia said Emma’s family’s a client.

My head throbs harder. I should’ve just told Matt I was too sick to come and asked him to play doctor—clean or dirty, whichever version he wanted. Now it’s too late, and I’m stuck in this ostentatious hellhole until we can make a graceful exit.