“Lord Middleton, Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas…”
“Julian.”
Someone opens the door on the other side for Gael, and he hops out, looking up at the house like a little kid with his arms spread wide. “Oh my God, this is the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen before in my life,” he says, loud and overly excited.
I love it.
My mother makes an appearance at the door. “I am so glad you approve.”
Gael smiles at her like a lunatic and grabs one of the packages of slippers before beelining right for her. “Mrs. Middleton!” He pauses, hand to his chest. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. You have such a beautiful home. It is so wonderful to meet you. My name is Gael Hernandez. Merry Christmas,” he says, handing her the thoughtful gift.
My mother hesitates, sending me a look as she takes the box, her expression a combination of amusement and judgment. After handing it off to Julian, she turns her sights back on Gael. “Welcome, and thank you for the gift. I wasn’t aware that my son was bringing a guest. I’ll have the servants set out another plate for lunch.”
There’s a certain coldness to the way she lets him know that he is not an invited guest, but that she would make do with his presence.
Gael looks back at me, his smile all wrong. “Should I have stayed with Adrian and Dimitra?”
I shake my head. “No, this is my home, and you are the love of my life. You are welcome wherever I am welcome,” I say, serenely glaring at my mother.
Two can play that game.
“Of course,” she says smoothly. “Come in out of the cold weather.”
“Thank you,” Gael says on a nervous laugh, stomping his snow boots on the mat before walking in. “My Mexican ass is freezing.”
She stares after him then pivots to me. “Son.”
“Mother,” I reply, leaning in for a small peck on the cheek.
This should be interesting.
10
GAEL
The difference between Adrian’s and Dimitra’s welcome versus Duchess Middleton’s welcome was more than night and day. It was the difference between human and a cold, strange alien.
Tolly’s mother has her hair rolled like an old lady. She can’t be older than my mom, but she’s wearing an outfit I had once seen the Queen wear, I’m certain of it.
Regal on an elderly woman, but rather dowdy on a woman who is maybe fifty. If I’d aged myself that badly with cosmetic choices, I’d be upset too.
Despite my genuine wonder at the beauty and size of the manor, I’ve picked up on the fact that any expression other than thin-lipped neutrality is unwelcome.
So, while I walk into the towering marble foyer with art adorning every available space and rugs which are plusher and more beautiful than any I’ve ever stepped on in my life, I say nothing.
Tolly puts his hand on my shoulder, the placement considered and appropriate.
Leaning in, he whispers, “Now you know why I wasn’t thrilled to be here.”
“Tolly!” exclaims the female version of the man I am in love with.
Tall and lively with even brighter blonde hair, I know this has to be Beatrice.
Given the greeting I had from the Duchess, I was unsure what I’d get with his sister. Turning to me, she thrusts her hand out.
“Hello. My name is Bea, and you must be Gael. My brother has talked so much about you.”
