Chapter Seven
Nash leaned his elbow against the window and covered his eyes with his hands. The sporty charcoal-gray car purred along the highway faster than was allowed in LA traffic.
Kensington had explained about her father’s will and her plan to seize control of the family company as she maneuvered her way through traffic like an Indie 500 driver on steroids. He wanted to roll into a ball until his stomach stopped aching. But since he just signed a marriage contract, he may have over a year before that happened.
His whole goal with this marriage was to rebuild his reputation. By aligning himself with Hazel’s Dairy Delights, a company that had a spotless past, he could claim that he turned over a new leaf. But he couldn’t do that if he was involved in a hostile takeover. Without knowing anything more about the family than what he could find online, he had no idea how they would react to Kensington’s brash actions.
They arrived at the estate in record time. Kensington tore off her seat belt and was out of the car before the engine shut off. Nash turned the key and pulled it out of the ignition. He tucked it into his pocket and made his way through the door left hanging open.
If the outside of the building had any impression on him, the inside of the home would have blown it out of the water. Stain moldings framed each wall, marble from exotic places lined the floors, and light was everywhere. There were windows over the main doorway, allowing light in from the west. There were windows across the open foyer, allowing light in from the east. And as if the natural light wasn’t enough, a giant chandelier hung in the center of the entry. The modern piece was made with rust-covered pipes and glass.
The swish of Kensington’s skirts overhead threw his attention and he caught sight of her disappearing up the curve staircase. Not wanting to have to explain himself for having walked into a stranger’s home, he chased after her.
At the top of the stairs was a large sitting room with formal chairs and sofas in shades of white and cream. The same rusty, hip fixtures were mounted on the wall. He followed the sound of his wife’s footsteps and nearly ran headlong into a maid. She wore the traditional gray dress with the white apron and sensible black running shoes. Her hair was drawn into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and her bright brown eyes took him in.
“Excuse me.” He dashed around her and came up short outside of what must be the master suite. In the large four-poster bed lay a round-bellied man. He had hair the same color as Kensington with gray at the temples. His skin had probably been olive toned once upon a time, but now it was white with gray undertones. The red bedspread was pulled up to his chest and his arms lay on top.
Kensington sat on the side of the bed, holding one of his hands. They spoke in hushed tones. Whatever was happening in there was between father and daughter, a family affair. No matter what his marital status was, he did not feel he had permission to enter into their private moment.
Just as he was about to turn and find a seat on one of the overstuffed couches, Kensington shot to her feet. “This is your fault. If you had any sense of self-control, if you’d even tried, you wouldn’t be in this bed right now. You’d be at work where you should be. But you had to be stupid and drink your liver to death.” She flipped away from the bed, her dress and her hair flying out around her and reminding Nash of those wild horses.
She got to the door and stopped. Looking pointedly over her shoulder, she grabbed the doorknob and slammed the door on her father’s quiet pleas for her to return to his bedside.
Nash stared in shock at his new bride. What kind of a crazy woman had he married? Nash had spent the last three years living with the last words his mother had ever said to him. For all he knew, they were the last words she would ever say. And they ate him like acid on skin. “Are those really the last words you want your father to hear from you?”
Kensington seem to shrink inside of herself. She swallowed once, the heaviness of it loud enough for Nash to hear. “I—”
A tall, beautiful blonde woman stomped up the stairs. Her hair reminded Nash of corn silk. “No lawyers.” She glared at Nash. “Dad said family only once the call was made.”
Kensington stepped in front of him. “He is family. He’s staying.”
“Who is he?” the woman asked with the sneer.
“He’s my husband,” Kensington said with finality. “Nash, I’d like you to meet my sister, Raquel.”
He held out his hand, feeling like a complete heel and an idiot for getting into this situation in the first place. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Raquel.” He quickly made the connections between the story Kensington had told him on the drive over, and the woman standing before him. Evil sister number one. How long would it take before evil sister number two made an appearance?
”You arenotmarried.” Raquel folded her arms and glared at Kensington, ignoring his outstretched hand.
“We are. You can ask Harrison when he gets here. He was a witness.”
”I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to. Just because you don’t believe something doesn’t mean it’s not true. The world doesn’t turn according to Raquel’s wishes.”
Raquel flipped her long hair over her shoulder. ”I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m here to see Dad. He should be your focus right now. I can’t believe you would do something like this. And you think I’m the selfish one?” With that final jab, she softly opened the door for her father’s room and slipped inside.
“That went better than I’d hoped.” Kensington crossed the plush carpet to one of the large sofas and collapsed, leaning back into the cushions as if they were the only thing that could hold her up.
“Then maybe you could catch me up on what’s happening here? Why were you yelling at your dad?” Nash sat on the other cushion, keeping some distance between him and his wife. The story she told was believable, but up until this point her behavior wasn’t much better than what she’d claimed her sisters capable of. He wasn’t sure who was the good guy in the situation, and he needed to find out—because if things didn’t go well, he’d be the first casualty.
She threw an arm across her eyes. “Have you ever been to counseling?”
“Not that I’d admit to,” he half joked. In all honesty, he did six months with the shrink in the slammer to earn points toward good behavior. The time had done him well, though he was loath to admit it to anyone else.
“Well, Dad made us do grief counseling as a family once he found out his diagnosis was terminal. He wanted to be here to go through it with us. On one level, I think that was really sweet of him. On another level, it was kind of sick. I mean, we sat and talked about him as though he had already died while he was in the room. The whole point was so that we would pre-grieve his death, supposedly making it easier for us when he actually dies.”
Nash held his tongue. There was no right answer or comment to make at the moment, but there were a trillion wrong things to say.
