Andy Carter
Ican’t stop fidgeting as we turn up the drive to my parents’ home. Coming here always makes me feel like a disobedient schoolgirl. Although it doesn’t help that I’ve been on edge since I overheard Mateo’s conversation this morning. Who was he talking to? And why was he discussing our marriage?
Something’s up. I just know it. But there’s no way I’m going to confront him about it. He’ll probably just come up with some way to deceive me. The way all men do. Thank God I heard what I did. I needed a reminder to keep my heart safe from this man. Although why I needed a reminder is beyond me – men are pigs. I’ve had that drummed into me.
My father is waiting on the stairs as we drive in.
“You’re late,” he says, glancing at his wristwatch.
“One minute,” I reply, raising my own. Twelve-oh-one. What an ass. “Hello, Daddy,” I murmur, brushing cool lips past his cheek. He ignores me and peers over my shoulder to where Mateo is standing behind me, looking preppy yet dangerous in beige dockers and a pale blue golf shirt that pulls taut across his chest.
“And you would be?” my father asks icily. Shit. I hadn’t thought of how to approach this.
“Richards,” Mateo says smoothly, extending his hand. “Matthew Richards. Good to meet you, Mr. Carter.” I blink. Matthew Richards? I watch as my father takes his hand. This is generally where the power struggle begins, but for once, my father’s fingers are engulfed by a far bigger hand. Mateo towers over him. I suspect it’s not the only way he dwarfs my dear Daddy. If it came to a dick-swinging competition, Mateo would win, hands down. For a second, I sense the tension. I have no doubt that my father is trying to apply a death grip, but Mateo’s not blinking.
“Darling!” my mother’s voice dispels the moment. “How lovely to see you.” She draws me into a tight embrace, and I stiffen.
“Mother,” I reply, waiting as she blows air kisses past my cheeks, then steps back and runs her eyes down me.
“You’re looking…nice,” she says in a way that makes me feel like I don’t look nice at all. I guess she’s not impressed with the little black dress and low heels I picked up at the boutique near Mateo’s apartment.
“Thank you,” I murmur politely regardless. “So do you.” It’s not a lie. In her mid-fifties, my mother’s still breathtakingly beautiful. Sleek white capri pants with a matching tailored blouse offset her tan. Her hair is expertly highlighted and layered into a platinum blonde cut that skims her shoulders and frames her face perfectly. God alone knows what her natural hair color is – it probably started as auburn, like my own. Paired with my tall, silver-fox of a father, they make an incredibly good-looking couple.
Sometimes I wonder if I was adopted. Although I have his shrewd hazel eyes, so there’s that.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your…friend?” my mother says, eyeing Mateo. He steps forward with his hand out.
“Matthew Richards, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he says. My mother gives a light laugh.
“Matt! Don’t be silly, darling,” she reproaches him, then steps in and plasters herself against him. “We’re all friends here. Call me Steph.” She presses her lips to his cheek – actually touching flesh this time. Unlike the cool whiff of a kiss that I got from her.
“You never told us you were bringing a guest, darling?” my mother says to me.
“Your mother’s right, Andrea,” my father says. “We weren’t expecting an extra person.” He scowls at Matt. The scowl deepens when my mother threads her arm through Mateo’s and guides him up the stairs.
“Nonsense, dear,” she throws over her shoulder. “There’s always room for one more. I’ll have a word with Chef.” She presses closer to Mateo. “You’ll sit next to me, darling. It’ll be lovely.”
I trail behind them, trying not to feel sullen as they head through the double doors that lead into the sprawling foyer of my parents’ Southhampton home. It’s been redecorated since I last visited. Today, it’s all in crisp white tones with blue and silver accents. My mother trails a finger over a table as she leads Mateo through.
“Mind my Babette, darling,” she calls back to me. “You know how clumsy you can be.” I roll my eyes. My mother’s furnishings all have names. Starck, Chambron, Moore, and Bow probably all have more of a place in her world than I do.
Suits me fine.
“Sure, Mommy Dearest, I’ll do my very fucking best,” I mutter under my breath.
“Don’t be churlish, Andrea. It’s unbecoming,” my father says as he glides past me. I feel myself cringe.
For fuck’s sakes.
It doesn’t matter how much time passes or how successful I am, these people still have the power to make me feel worthless.
And then it happens.
Mateo extracts his hand and turns to look for me. I see my mother raise a perfect eyebrow as he steps away from her.
“You’re too far away,” he says, reaching for my hand. My parents are facing us as he pulls me up against his side and slides an arm around my waist. “I don’t like to let her out of my sight,” he says to them. “She’s precious.”
Well, there goes my fucking heart.
