Then there’s Louis’s father. He’s the last to rise from his seat—an oversized armchair set closest to the fire—and the rest of the family angles toward him without seeming to realize it. That includes Louis, whose spine stiffens as his father approaches.
I study him over Louis’s shoulder. He’s a tall man, even taller than his sons. His hair and beard are almost entirely gray, but if anything it only lends a stately air to his classic good looks. A silver fox, for sure, especially when he’s dressed in that tailored gray suit. It makes me feel underdressed, despite my carefully selected, designer wool dress.
The Kohler patriarch catches my eye for just a moment and then pulls Louis into a hug, thumping him on the back.
“Good to see you, Son,” he says.
Louis’s posture relaxes, like he’s been granted approval in some way. Onlythendoes he turn to me, holding a hand out. Istep forward and take it, looking at him instead of the rest of the family.
“Everybody,” he says, though his eyes are on mine, his encouraging smile just for me. “I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Diana.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I murmur, keeping my eyes downcast, as if I wasn’t just judging them silently a minute ago.
Eyes crawl over my skin like the feet of a dozen creeping insects.
“I’m so glad wefinallyhave a chance to meet you,” his mother says. “I wish we would’ve had the pleasure of your companybeforethe engagement, but we’re so happy to have you here now.”
I smile like I didn’t catch the dig, or the side-eye she shot her son as she said it. “I’ve been so excited to meet you all after hearing so much about you.”
“Oh?” Louis’s brother steps in next, studying every inch of me aside from my face. “Please, I’m dying to know what he said about me.”
I accept his handshake with a wan smile. “Oh, you’ll have to ask Louis. I would never betray his confidence.”
Adrian’s eyes finally meet mine. His grin is wide and toothy. “How very loyal of you.”
The second he releases my hand from his constricting grip, I turn to his wife with a far more genuine smile. “And you must be Anna.”
“Done your research, have you?” Her fingers barely graze mine. They feel almost brittle.
“What can I get you to drink?” Louis’s father asks before I can muster a response. “I heard you’re a whiskey drinker. I’m quite a collector myself.” He steps behind the bar and gestures to a shelf of bottles. Glittering crystals containing rich amber liquid that screams wealth.
I bite the inside of my cheek, resisting the urge to glare at Louis for passing that tidbit on. Iama fan of whiskey, but I doubt asking for Jack Daniels on the rocks will go over well with his highbrow family. Now, my fiancé is off talking quietly with his mom, leaving me to fend for myself. “Yeah…” I say. My eyes dart over the shelf of unfamiliar bottles. I’ve never seen any of these, except maybe when I ogled the bottles behind locked doors at the liquor store, far out of my price range. “What do you recommend?”
My future father-in-law’s lips dip slightly, like I’ve failed some sort of test. “Well… I’m having the thirty-four-year-old Laphroaig tonight.”
The name sounds vaguely familiar. Scotch is not my usual thing, but it can’t be terrible if it’s expensive, right? “Sounds perfect.”
He sets a small crystal glass on the counter and grabs the bottle. My palms are already sweating as I stare into the cup; even that seems too expensive to belong in my hands. He pours me a couple fingers of golden liquor and nudges it across the bar to me.
The moment I lift it to my nose, an intense smokiness hits me. I hold my breath as I take a sip.
The moment it slides down my throat, I know I’ve made a mistake. I blink rapidly to keep my eyes from spilling over, and suck in a breath through my nose that only intensifies the flavor. And it wasintenseto begin with. Like a mouthful of campfire ashes. Like I just took a shot of liquid smoke. I swallow again, and again, but my tongue is shriveled, my nose and throat full of soot.
Louis’s father is studying me. I force a smile through the pain.
“Lovely,” I croak.
He smirks. Did he give me something that tastes like straight coal on purpose? The thought makes me want to throw this glass of gnarly whiskey straight into his eyeballs, but I force myself to take a second sip. It’s just as vile, and I will probably never get the taste of smoke out of my mouth. But if this is a game we’re playing, I refuse to lose so easily.
Louis’s father pours himself a glass of the same stuff and takes a long sip. He smacks his lips. “I’m impressed by your appreciation for it,” he says. “It’s a complex flavor, but I love a nice, peated Islay.”
“Mm-hmm.” I can’t tell if he’s making fun of me, but I maintain my smile and force myself to take another sip. “So… smoky.” Like biting into a burned tire.
“Almost a meaty taste, right? Such an interesting flavor profile.”
Ew, ew, ew. Now that I’m thinking of meat, the lingering flavor reminds me of ham, and it makes me want to gag. “Mm-hmm,” I manage. I glance at Louis, silently begging him to save me, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
Thankfully, his father takes mercy on me. He claps me on the shoulder, squeezes me, and says, “I should go make sure dinner is coming along. Enjoy the rest of your drink.”
