Except every fiber of my being rebels. I’m thirty-fucking-seven, damn it. I don’t need her acting like I’m a child incapable of making good decisions or knowing his own mind, much less trying to impose something as significant as who gets to share my bed and life. I’ve set my life up exactly the way I want it. I don’t need anybody disrupting my status quo—work, work, and work some more, plus time set aside for my brothers. There’s no room for anything else, including romance and marriage, which are doomed to fail anyway, unless I choose a woman who loves my money so much that nothing else matters. Andthat, I can’t tolerate.
But Grandmother is persistent. She wouldn’t have become the top ballerina at the Mariinsky otherwise. There’s no way I’m letting her alter my existence to suit her need for control, though.
“That won’t be necessary. I already have someone on my mind,” I lie to throw her off. Hopefully she’ll be too busy figuring out the mystery woman’s identity to bother me.
“Who?” Grandmother’s eyes light up. “Perhaps Lady Catherine from—”
“No. She’s not my type. Besides, she looks like a horse.”
“Gotta agree with you there,” Dad says. “But at least she looks like a handsome horse.”
“But is shemountablyhandsome?” Mom muses out loud.
I clench and unclench my hands.Somebody invent a mute machine!My parents should never be allowed to speak when someone else is in the room. Ever.
“Rhys doesn’t need your input,” Grandmother says.
Or yours, I think. At the same time, Max mutters, “Or yours.” It’s startling, but brings a small smile to my lips.
“I’ve said my piece and you know what needs to be done. I won’t take up any more of your time,” Grandmother says stiffly. “But you really need to do better than models and starlets. Pretty faces fade, and breasts sag.”
“Botox and boob jobs,” Dad says, shrugging.
She gives him a look that would make a lesser man shrink in shame, but he just smiles, used to such silent rebukes.
She stands, moving like someone half her age, and turns to my parents. “You two, get up. It isn’t like you have anything to contribute. I’m sure I don’t know why you tagged along.”
She leaves, my parents following. The door shuts behind them.
Max and I sit for a few moments. Only the sounds of sipping coffee and the rustling of the napkins fill the office. My brew is hot and a bit too rich for my taste. But I don’t complain because I really need extra caffeine. The Danish adds some sweetness—the perfect complement to jack up my blood sugar after that clusterfuck of a visit.
The calm after the storm settles over me, although my nerves still bristle with adrenaline. My grandmother and parents have that effect on me—fight or flight.
“That wasinteresting,” Max says finally, then takes another swallow of her Americano.
“But you didn’t have to make tea for my grandmother.” I try to find something positive, although it isn’t easy. My attempt to spare her the scene failed badly. Or perhaps I just wanted to spare myself the shame of having her witness it.
“I wouldn’t have anyway. I don’t work for her, and she doesn’t have an appointment. Want me to lay out your day?”
Before I can respond, the door opens with a bang and Mom and Dad return, plopping back down onto the chaise longue. I grit my teeth.What’s wrong with these two?No wonder the Greeks thought of a three-headed hound to guard a door.
“What are you doing back here?Again?” I don’t bother to hide my irritation. Grandmother requires delicate handling, but not these idiots.
“Don’t worry. We made sure your grandma left before coming back up,” Dad says, all confident reassurance, then turns to Max. A megawatt smile appears on his handsome face. “Could we have some coffee, love?” He winks, all suave charm, the kind he probably employed to seduce countless women.
My fingers flex around the cup. I have an overwhelming urge to throw the unfinished java in his face.
Max gives Dad a cold look. “The name is Max, and no.” She makes a show of checking her watch. “Rhys has a meeting in three minutes. Less, actually.”
“Fine, we’ll make this quick.” Mom turns to me. “The Vescovis are poor. Try someone else on the list.”
“Get a prenup drafted and signed.” Dad’s advice is ironic, since he didn’t bother before marrying Mom. But maybe he felt secure, since she’s from a skincare and dermatological empire. “Her money is her money, your money is your money. Just get her pregnant and take custody of the baby. Once your grandmother has a chubby little newborn to bounce on her knee… Actually, just the news of the pregnancy will get her distracted.”
“I’m not a baby-making machine,” I grind out.
He shrugs. “It’s the best way to get her off your back.”
“You mean get her offyourbacks.”
