“Excuse me, I like a wide variety of music,” I say, shooting him a look.
“Can’t argue there. You have the wardrobe to prove it,” he says, the edges of his mouth tugging.
We stare at each other for a moment — his eyes burning, my stomach somersaulting, before I look away quickly again. It’s going to be a long night. Ronnie turns the radio to the first station they have on, and a Drake song fills the space. I’m happy for a quarter of a second, until I realize it’s a song about lacking communication and how beautiful things could be if this time would be different.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter.
I look at Lachlan again and we share a laugh. It’s not even a new song, so I don’t know why they’re playing it. I don’t want to be a pain in the ass and ask Ronnie to change it. I wish I could telepathically fast-forward. Oh my God. Each verse makes me more uncomfortable than the previous one. I feel like I’m being emotionally attacked by a rap artist. I bet someone’s already tried to sue him for that.
Two upbeat songs later, we arrive at a gated house. I’m not sure you can even call this a house. It looks like a hotel. The front lawn looks like it could easily be the length of two football fields and the width of, I don’t know what, but it’s enormous. And the house itself? There are mansions and then there aremansions. I grew up in an extravagant home, and have been to plenty more. I’ve never seen anything like this, though, and I’ve seen some shit. I swear it takes two whole minutes to drive up to the estate.
When we reach it, Ronnie opens my door first. I step out and look around, taking it all in. Even if we’d had the money to afford such a place when I was growing up, I couldn’t imagine living like this. My parents were pretty mindful about money. From a young age, I was taught that not everyone was as fortunate to have what we had, and that we shouldn’t go around flashing our privilege. This isn’t flashing; this is floodlighting. I try not to think about it. Not my money, not my problem. I repeat the mantra a few more times.
“Impressive, right?” Lach walks up to me as I finish looking around.
I meet his eyes. “I hate it.”
He laughs, and it’s such a real, uncontrolled laugh that I smile wide, and I’m still smiling when I turn toward the steps that lead to the estate. I’m already by the door when he catches up and reaches for my hand. I look into his eyes as I let him take it, and we thread our fingers together, feeling that instant flutter in my chest that I get when he touches me. I’ve always marveled at the way his touch can both turn me on and bring me comfort. Right now, it’s doing both.
We stand just outside the door for a moment, holding hands and looking at each other, and it feels. . .right, despite where we are and why we’re here. He looks away and taps the door twice with his knuckle. A man wearing a black suit on the other side opens and greets us. We return his greeting and walk into the grand foyer. Lachlan leads me down a hall with the most incredible statues I’ve ever seen, and art on the walls that belongs in a museum.
This entire estate should be a museum. It’s the kind of place your parents take you to, and then threaten to disown you if you touch anything. I’m trying not to even look at anything as we walk by, just in case. The hall opens up to another foyer, just as big. This one has natural light seeping in from the dome glass up top. It’s actually quite beautiful. Standing around the circle are three clusters of old men. We say hello as we walk past them. All I see are men and more men. Huh.
“Is it called a cocktail party because of the amount of cocks in the room?” I ask quietly.
Lachlan laughs, his eyes twinkling as his grip tightens on my hand. “God, Lyla.”
He grins, shaking his head as we keep walking. I guess he thinks I’m asking as a joke. I’m not. As we walk, we say hello to more people, smile at their congratulations, and I finally see one woman amongst the men. She’s older, but not as old as most of these men, who are easily my dad’s age and beyond. They’re obviously his father’s friends. I smile politely and pretend to listen, as Lach speaks to one of the men about golf. This is his third golf conversation. Some of them asked about hockey, which is understandable, but golf? I’ve only been here ten minutes and I’m already falling asleep. As they speak, the woman excuses herself and walks over to me.
“Congratulations, dear,” she says. “I’m Laura.”
“Thank you.” I smile. “Lyla. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“All of the women are in the tea room. You should join us,” she says, smiling as she walks away.
“Thanks,” I say, the smile frozen on my face.
Oh my God. The tea room. Kill me now. There’s no way in hell I’m going in there, unless there’s some kind of hallucinogen in the tea. After a couple of minutes, my cheeks begin to hurt from fake smiling, so I drop it. We receive a slew of congratulations before we finally see his mother, who’s the only familiar face in the room thus far. She’s smiling as she walks over wearing a beautiful navy dress, with her dirty blonde hair picked up in a classy low bun. Lach lets go of my hand just as she reaches me.
“Hey, Valerie. You look amaz—” is all I can get out before she wraps her arms around me in a tight hug.
I have to awkwardly lift my hands and pat her, in order to sort of return it. This wasn’t the greeting I was expecting, considering we’ve only met once, but I’m grateful for it. She pulls away and takes me in.
“Oh, my God. You’re even more gorgeous than the last time I saw you.” Her eyes flick to Lachlan. “Isn’t she?”
“She is,” he says, taking me in slowly from head to toe and back. His eyes are dark when they reach mine again. I feel myself shiver and look away quickly, my attention back on his mother.
“I’m thrilled about your engagement. You don’t know how happy I am that I finally get a daughter,” she says.
She still has that wide smile on her face that reaches her eyes, so I know she means it. Her statement hits me in the center of my chest and travels to my throat, but I manage to push past it and smile. Maybe it’s the fact that I lost my mother at such a crucial age, but it feels good to hear that. Not that anyone could ever replace my mother, but having the support of a woman is unmatched.
“Thank you so much,” I say, smiling. “That means a lot to me.”
“I know this is a lot to take in, but you’ll sort of get used to it,” she says quietly.
“Yeah. I’m not sure about that,” I say, laughing lightly as I look around.
She looks at my hand and focuses on her son. “Lachlan. Where’s her ring?”
