Istraighten the tie I’m wearing as I walk up the massive driveway at Poppy’s parents’ house in the Belcaro neighborhood of Denver—the wealthiest neighborhood in the whole city.
My gaze snags at the massive two-story house that looks like something out of a 1930s manor. It’s gotta be at least five thousand square feet.
“Your parents’ house is huge. Jesus,” I say.
Poppy sighs. “It’s definitely big. And way too much house for just two people.”
“Why’d they buy it if it’s too big for what they need?”
“Status symbol. It’s important for my parents to look well-off.”
I nod like I understand, even though I don’t. I’ve never been poor, but growing up, my parents were working class. My mom stayed home to take care of my sister and me while my dad worked two jobs so that he could support us.
When my big brother Ryker got drafted into the NHL and started playing pro hockey, that’s when things changed. He started making tons of money and took care of us financially. He paid off my parents’ old house, then bought them a bigger, nicerone that they live in now. He bought brand new cars for both Anna and me when we graduated from high school. He pays my rent and Anna’s rent because he wants us to focus on school and not have to stress about bills.
I know how lucky I am to not have to worry about money, thanks to my rich hockey pro brother, but Poppy’s parents are in a whole other league.
“I know meeting my dad was stiff and unpleasant, but my mom will be nicer to you,” Poppy says. “She’s a lot friendlier when she first meets people.”
“Good to know.”
“And if you want to get on her good side, compliment how she looks. She loves it when people tell her she looks young or when you notice her outfit.”
“Noted.”
As we make our way to the porch, I notice Poppy fidgeting with the buttons on her long wool coat. She’s nervous.
There’s a soft pang in my chest. I hate that she feels this way when she’s about to go home and see her parents. I think about my family, how happy and relaxed I am whenever I go to their house and spend time with them. It sucks that Poppy doesn’t have that.
I stop walking, take her hand in mine, and turn her to face me.
I cup her face in my hand. “You look fucking incredible in that dress,” I say softly. “I can’t wait to see it on my bedroom floor later.”
The worry in her eyes melts away, and she chuckles softly. “We’re about to have Thanksgiving dinner with my snooty parents, and all you can think about is fooling around?”
“Can’t help it. My girlfriend is gorgeous.”
She beams and kisses me. When we break apart, I wrap my arms around her and hug her tight. “It’ll be okay,” I say softly.
She lets out a breath. “Thank you for coming with me.”
I lean back and look her in the eyes. “I’d do anything for you, Poppy.”
I take her by the hand and walk up the porch steps. She opens the front door and glances around the massive foyer, which looks like it’s made of all marble. The floors and the staircase are so damn shiny. I glance up at the huge crystal chandelier hanging above.
“It’s obnoxious, I know,” Poppy says.
I hear the soft sound of conversation coming from down the hallway. With her hand in mine, she leads me down to the main part of the house, which is a huge open-concept living room, kitchen, and dining room.
Damn. This space is bigger than my parents’ house. About thirty-five people are standing around, drinking cocktails while chatting.
A guy in a white dress shirt and silver tie holding a tray of champagne flutes walks over to us.
“Welcome to Mr. and Mrs. Wylder’s Thanksgiving luncheon. Can I interest you in a cranberry champagne cocktail?”
“Uh, sure,” I say. I grab a glass and thank the server. Poppy says no thanks, and he walks off.
I notice a couple other servers milling around with trays, offering people drinks and appetizers.
