We hit a little bit of traffic, and it was after seven when we arrived.The uniformed guard at the gate checked our names against what was probably a guest list on his pad, opened the gate and motioned for us to go on.The drive was at least a quarter mile, bordered by a perfectly groomed lawn, old growth hardwood trees, and flowering shrubs.
I didn’t see the house until I was almost on it.I pulled into the circular driveway and whistled.With the gate, long drive, and incredible grounds, I probably should’ve anticipated the house.Mansion?No, mansion didn’t quite do it justice.Maybe the only slightly smaller and a little more conservative cousin to The Biltmore.Yep,TheBiltmore.
“Whoa!This place takes 9-figure real estate to a whole new level.”
“Yep.”Emma sounded sad.
I reached for her hand, squeezing gently.“I’ve got you.”
A valet—of course—stepped up to the car and opened the door.“Good evening, sir, ma’am.Name please.”
“Donahue.”I handed the valet the fob as I got out of the car, even more sure I’d made the right choice to use the Beemer.
“Donahue,” the valet repeated as he wrote it on a ticket, accepted the fob, and handed me the stub.“Please go on up.”
I walked around the car and cupped Emma’s elbow.We climbed the elegant granite steps and were met at the top by two people with pads who were dressed like Secret Service agents.I didn’t miss the bulge just under each one’s left arm.Umm…yeah…“Invitation, please.”
Emma pulled up her invitation on her phone.“Thank you, Ms.Palmer, and your guest?”
“Asher Donahue,” Emma said softly.
The man typed on the device.“Thank you.Please, enjoy.”
I guided Emma inside.No metal detectors, but there were two more of the Secret Service types standing on either side of the entryway.
We barely had time to make our way to the middle of the foyer when an older woman rushed over, arms extended.She was wearing an elegant, obviously custom made evening gown, not a single snow-white hair out of place, jewelry that, while minimal—necklace, bracelet and earrings—was definitely of the Harry Winston variety and probably cost more than my house.
In a voice that was as refined as the woman herself, she cupped Emma’s shoulders.
“Emelina.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Emma
“Emelina,” Mother said as she came up to us.She must have been watching the door.We weren’t that late.
“Mother.”She pulled me closer and air kissed my cheeks, then looked at Asher.
“And who is this?”Her gaze went over him from head to toe.The Assessment.
“Asher Donahue, meet my mother, Victoria Palmer.Mother, this is Asher.”
Asher took her extended hand.“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs.Palmer.”Then, in a move like a gentleman of the Old World, with the slightest bow he kissed the back of her gloved hand.
I stood there in shock as my mother fluttered her eyelashes at him, and her cheeks pinkened.
Slickest move I’ve ever seen in real life, straight out of Jane Austen.
“Mr.Donahue.”
“Asher, please.”
Mother’s gaze turned back to me.“Your father is around here somewhere.”
“Right here, dear.”My father walked to my mother’s side.I made introductions once again while my mother’s gaze took in my outfit from head to toe more than once.I steeled myself for her negative comments.It never mattered what I wore; there was always something wrong with it
“Emelina, I’m not sure that dress was a wise choice.”
