It was amazing—although Sandra’s expression never changed, Ryan could practically feel an ice-cold wave of horror pour out of the woman and slam into him. Oh, she totally minded, and he suddenly wished he could disappear into a puff of smoke. Damn it. Why the hell did he offer to come here?
“Oh, how nice.” Sandra’s voice was polite, but the fury under the surface was unmistakable. She flicked her gaze to the maid hovering discreetly nearby. “Magdalena, why don’t you show Mr. Evans up to one of the guest rooms so he can freshen up and get ready for dinner. I’d like a word with my daughter.”
Ryan reluctantly followed the dark-haired maid up the spiral staircase, forcing his jaw to stay closed as he stared at his surroundings. Pieces of art, mostly oil paintings, hung on the cream-colored walls in the hallway, and he could have sworn he saw one that looked a hell of a lot like one of the Monets he’d seen in a book once. He followed the maid, and they passed nearly a dozen doors before she paused in front of one and opened it for him. “Right this way, sir,” she said politely.
“How many rooms does this place have?” he asked curiously.
“Twenty-eight,” she said in a brisk voice. “And fifteen bathrooms.” Magdalena pointed to a door a few feet away. “The restroom is in there. Enjoy your visit, sir.”
After the maid left, Ryan looked around the guest room in wonder. It was twice the size of his and Matt’s living room, with a huge bed, a gleaming hardwood floor and a large armoire near the window that looked like it belonged in Queen Elizabeth’s bedroom. It’s just a f**king house, a little voice said. Relax.
Okay, he could relax. Taking a breath, Ryan headed into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. He wished Annabelle would hurry the hell up and come find him, because he had no clue how to find his way back downstairs. The second floor was a freaking maze.
Fortunately, he heard footsteps just as he left the bathroom and a moment later, Annabelle bounded in the room, looking extremely frustrated. “Let me guess,” Ryan quipped. “She’s not happy.”
“Not happy at all,” Annabelle confirmed. “But she’s also the best actress on the planet, so don’t worry, she’ll pretend to adore you during dinner.”
He laughed. “I can’t wait.”
Annabelle stepped closer and lifted her arms, wrapping them around his neck. “Seriously, though, don’t worry,” she said softly. “My parents are all bark and no bite. And I’m so happy you came here with me. My mom just told me Bryce and his parents will be here in an hour.”
“Do your families know you broke up yet?”
She nodded. “Apparently Bryce told them last week. My mother didn’t even call me to find out what happened.”
“Maybe she thinks it won’t last.”
“Well, she’ll be wrong.” Annabelle stood up on her tip-toes and brushed her lips over his. “I have no interest in getting back together with that jerk.”
Ryan kissed her back, rubbing the small of her back then pulling her closer. His groin tightened, desire rising inside him, and he forced himself to break the kiss. He needed to bring his A-game tonight, to stay alert, and Annabelle was too damn distracting sometimes.
“I wish you’d told them I was coming,” he said ruefully. “I feel like a party crasher.”
“You’re my date,” Annabelle said firmly. “And they’re just going to have to deal with the fact that I want to be with you.”
Ryan’s heart nearly stopped, then sped up in sharp beats. “You want to be with me?” he echoed. A pang of discomfort filled his body, along with a strange jolt of pleasure. He didn’t know how to react to her confession. He should’ve been scared shitless. He didn’t do relationships, never had. So why wasn’t he scared? And why were the words I want to be with you too biting at his lips?
“I haven’t left your side in two weeks,” Annabelle said, oblivious to his distress. “Doesn’t that say something?”
“It says…a lot.” He swallowed, then took a step backwards. “I think that suit you made me pack isn’t fancy enough, babe. Last time I wore it was to Garrett’s wedding, but that was a casual beach thing.”
“It’s fine,” she assured him. Her eyes twinkled. “I’ll just rip it off you tonight anyway.”
He looked around the extravagant room. “I won’t have to sleep here alone, will I?”
“Don’t fret, I’ll sneak in here later to keep you company.” Annabelle headed for the door. “I’m going to get dressed. So should you. I’ll come back and get you in twenty minutes?”
He nodded, then watched her go, suddenly longing for his bachelor pad in San Diego. Fuck. This was so not his scene. He’d grown up in the slums of LA, in a seedy two-bedroom apartment across the street from a liquor store that got robbed at least twice a week. His parents were pathetic excuses for human beings, and his childhood was one he wanted nothing more than to forget. Sure, his life was great now. He’d joined the Navy, found a family with the guys on his team, had his own place. But that didn’t mean he belonged here, with Annabelle’s wealthy-ass parents in their wealthy-ass castle.
Shit, would there be ten kinds of silverware at the dinner table tonight? He suddenly felt like throwing up.
It was a relief when Annabelle finally returned a half an hour later, taking his breath away in a long, emerald-green dress. The neckline was modest, but the skirt had a slit that revealed a lot of thigh. Her hair was swept up in a complicated-looking updo, she wore very little make-up, and her only piece of jewelry was a sparkling diamond pendant nestled in her cle**age.