“HOLY SHIT!”Stewart’s face was nearly pressed against the window of the town car. “This is your house?”
“My parents’ house.”
He didn’t bother to look at me, just kept staring. “Same thing.”
“Not hardly.” I shook my head, not that he could see. I was already regretting asking Stewart to be my escort to the benefit. I’d made it perfectly clear it wasn’t a date. However, Mom wanted cultured, handsome, and photogenic. Stewart was all three. Still, there was an air about him I’d not noticed before. From the second the driver opened his door to let him into the town car, Stewart had a different feel about him. Like he was on a long interview.
He turned toward me as we rounded the driveway that led to the house. “Are you sure you don’t want me to pretend we’ve been dating for a while? Make things smoother for your folks?”
“No. Like I said, Mom doesn’t care if I have a boyfriend or not. She just wants me to bring someone pretty and who won’t be embarrassing at such a formal function.” The disappointment that crossed his face increased my worry. “You certain you’re okay with this, Stewart? I don’t want you to get hurt or anything.”
His expression shifted to the carefree, rich playboy I was used to. “Of course. No big deal. I’m here for a good time and to look pretty. With my masseuse who lets me fuck him.”
I jolted upright and glanced toward the rearview mirror to see if there was any reaction from the driver. There didn’t seem to be. I turned back to Stewart, trying to keep the panic from my whispered voice. “That doesn’t need to be spoken of either.”
“I was kidding.” He chuckled, which only served to make my temper spike. “Why? Your folks don’t know you give massages?”
Yep. Totally regretting this. “Yes. They do. They know I went to massage school and know that I still do that part-time to supplement the photography business.”
Stewart’s smile turned wicked. “Ah, they just don’t know that their baby boy lets some of his clients fuck him good, huh?”
Another glance at the rearview, another shot of regret. “Why would they? Do you tell your mom you fuck the guy who gives you massages?”
“Good point.” He leaned back in the seat, looking at the house again as we pulled to a stop.
I nearly told the driver to get us the hell off the island and back to the city. I could come up with an excuse. Not one that would please Mom, but I suddenly didn’t care. In the years I’d known him, Stewart had never acted like this; he’d never treated our situation as if it were leverage over me. And maybe I was reading him wrong, but it sure felt like it.
Before I could fully make up my mind whether we should retreat or not, it was too late. The driver parked the car, and one of the valets opened Stewart’s door. With a sinking feeling, I got out of the car as the driver opened my door.
As I approached Stewart on the other side of the car, he offered me the crook of his arm, as if I were a Victorian woman. I stared at him. “You can quit teasing now. Please. My family will not find any of this humorous.”
What the hell was up with him?
He let his arm fall but flashed me a toothy smile. “As you wish. Lead on.”
I did, moving in front of him as another member of the rented staff opened the front door of the house. I let out a sigh of relief as I peered around the entrance hall and then into the great room. It looked like Mom kept things simple this time around. The only additions to the house were cascades of white flowers and mountains of candles.
Stewart stepped up beside me and raked his fingers through his slicked-back auburn hair. “Damn. And I thought my family had money.” I was glad to hear he’d abandoned his teasing tone. “Your house is beautiful, Randall.”
“Thank you, but remember, this isn’t my house. And it never will be. It will belong to my brother one day. Not me.”
He looked sideways at me, questioningly.
I was sharing more than I needed to, especially to someone who wasn’t a date. “Come on. Mom is having this event in the back.”
At that moment, a tuxedoed butler appeared from the kitchen. He was lucky it was me and not another member of the family. He’d be fired on the spot for leaving his post. “Oh. I do apologize, sirs. May I escort you to the party?”
And he’d called Mom’s benefit a party. He wasn’t going to make it through the evening. “No, thank you. This is my parents’ house. I know my way around.” I started to walk away, then leaned closer. “Just a word of warning. If you’re hoping for a good reference and a decent tip, you’ll not let my mom hear you call this a ‘party.’ Or disappear from this spot, no matter what the reason.” Might as well give him a heads-up.
As we made our way through the house, Stewart continued to stare in amazement. He didn’t make any other remarks about the finery or our relationship, so that put me more at ease.
After passing several other formally clad staff, we stepped out into the terraced backyard. “Ah, this is more like it.”
“More like what?” Stewart turned to me.
I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud. “Oh, nothing. Just where Mom decided to focus on the decorating.”
“Oh. Yeah. It’s spectacular.”
