"How?"
Hannah blinked. No way was she going to cry while she was driving. "Like she'll say that he never should have been a cop--he was killed in the line of duty. She says he put his family at risk by putting himself at risk. And she never talks about what a hero he was anymore. He died saving a woman who'd been held hostage by a drug dealer. That used to make her so proud. Now she says it's a waste. And every time she says it, I can imagine her mentally sorting through all of her various bank and brokerage account statements. Because she and Ernest have told me more than once that he was such a talented man to have wasted it all on such a base occupation. Not even profession. They can't even grant him that. Shit," she added, then wiped away the tear that was tickling the tip of her nose.
"I'm so sorry."
Hannah shrugged. "Yeah. Me, too." She sniffled. "I blame Ernest, but all of that must have been in my mom somewhere, you know? And even though she says that she loved my dad with all her heart and always will, she still completely discounts what he did. Guess it's a good thing I went to law school, right? Otherwise she'd probably completely disown me."
She sniffed, then forced a smile. "And speak of the devil," she said brightly, more to change the subject than for any other reason. "We're in Waco. This is where I went to school. Baylor Law, right over there."
She pointed vaguely to her right, indicating the entire Baylor campus.
"Did you like it?"
"What? Law school? I loved it. Not the mock trial stuff--Easton's the showman who thinks on his feet--but I loved the research and the analysis and the legal arguments. I mean, Constitutional Law? I jammed on that class." She glanced at him. "That's one of the things that I disliked about my old job. I was in-house counsel. Everything was paper-pushing. Very little thinking. Very little that felt like I was stretching myself. You know?"
"Honestly, no. Academics really aren't my thing."
"But you still get it. I've seen you at the gym. The way you push your clients. And you've opened other branches. That's stretching. Doing. You're not just going through the motions."
She glanced sideways at him. "Right?"
"Maybe. But--"
An electronic ringtone interrupted them, the display revealing that the caller was Hannah's mother. With a sigh, she pressed the button to accept the call.
"Hey, Mom."
"Sweetie, so good to hear your voice. I just wanted to make sure I understood you. The young man you're dating will be joining you this evening?"
"Absolutely."
"Oh, good. Is he with you?"
"Right beside me," Hannah said. "But he's got his headphones in, and he's asleep. So you'll have to wait to grill him about his intentions until you meet him."
"Funny girl. I'm not going to grill him or embarrass you."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
"My daughter the smart ass."
Hannah grinned. "I take after my dad."
"Speaking of your father," her mother said, and Hannah bristled, "Ernest and I are dying to know more about this young man. You said his name was Matthew? What does he do?"
She changed lanes, and when she glanced over toward the man in question, she saw that he was fighting a smile. "Business," she said with an apologetic shrug. "He owns his own business."
"That's wonderful. What type of business?"
"He's in health."
Matthew's brows rose, and she mouthed, Well, it's true.
"A doctor?"
"No."
"No?" Her mother's voice practically dripped with disappointment.
Matthew leaned over and hit the mute button on the console. "Tell her I dropped out of med school. That I realized I was too entrepreneurial to play it safe being a doctor."
She lifted a brow in question, and when he nodded, she shrugged. If he was getting into the spirit, then she sure as hell wasn't going to argue.
"Not a doctor," she said after unmuting the call. "But that's because he left med school to go to business school."
"Is that so? Well, he sounds like exactly the kind of man your father wanted for you."
Hannah clutched the steering wheel tighter but didn't comment, even though she knew damn well that her father only wanted her to be happy. Ernest was the one with the revisionist memory.
"We'll see you when you get here. Drive safe."
"We will," she promised before wrapping the conversation and then exhaling loudly. "Thanks for that," she said. "Definitely easier to pull off a conspiracy if my co-conspirator's on the same page."
"Who knows? If I keep getting deep into character, I may run an entire pharmaceutical company by the time we actually get to Dallas."
"Yeah, well we're not even in Hillsboro yet. We still have about two hours to go, and we've already converted you from a gym owner to a med student to an MBA."
"We just said business school," he protested.
"Trust me. By the time we hit Dallas expectations will be high." She let her eyes rake over him again, remembering the way he'd filled out the jeans as he'd carried his duffel to the car. He looked hot, no doubt about that. But did he look like a business mogul who worked in healthcare?
"What?" he asked, warily.
"It's just--don't get me wrong, you look great. But--"
"I'm not the guy we just invented."
"Sorry."
He ran his fingers through his hair. "We'll pass North Park Mall before we hit your mom's place."
"Maybe we should stop and do a little shopping?"
"Probably should," he said. "After all, your parents want a certain kind of guy, right? A different kind of guy."
"Maybe they do," she said. "But I want you." She did, too. Who else would go through all this for her? The guy was like a miracle who'd walked into her life.
"You mean you need me."
"Well, yeah," she said. "That, too."
Chapter Six
This, Matthew thought as he looked around the huge house nestled in the middle of one of the metroplex's most prestigious neighborhood, was not what he'd expected.
He knew that Hannah's stepfather was a prominent attorney-turned-businessman--much like the role Matthew was playing--but considering that Hannah had told him on the drive about how her mother had scraped together pennies to get an education and raise Hannah, he'd expected a much more modest home.
This place was a mansion. A huge mansion. On a massive yard. A multimillion-dollar oasis in the middle of urban sprawl. He'd been uncertain about stopping at the mall for new clothes. Now he was relieved they had. He had a feeling he was going to fit in better with the blue blazer, khaki slacks, and pale gray knit shirt he now wore.
"You ready?" Hannah asked as she steered the car in front of a valet, then shifted into park.
"I hope so," he said. He wanted to ask her what kind of mother denied her daughter life insurance proceeds when she obviously didn't need the money, but why ask rhetorical questions?
He hated the fact that Hannah had to come crawling back, but seeing the house made him all the more determined to play his role perfectly. Whatever it took, Hannah should have her money.
"The reception is on the back patio, through the main hall," the valet told her.
"Thanks, I know. This is my mother's house. Could you ask Clarence to see about the bags in the trunk? We're staying overnight."
"Of course. And welcome home."
He saw her smirk, but she didn't comment. He knew she didn't consider this luxurious property her home, so he said nothing either. Not about that. He did ask who Clarence was.
"The butler," she said. "A nice guy, though I don't know him well. Obviously all of this--" She waved to encompass the entire property, "--came after I'd moved away from Mom."
"Butler," he said. "I didn't realize when I said I'd come with you that we'd be dining at a castle."
"Yeah, well, I like to plan spectacular first dates." She flashed him a teasing grin, but his mind was locked on that one word--date. This wasn't a date, and he needed to
remember that. But the truth was, he liked Hannah, and if he wasn't careful, he might find himself in too deep. Because he knew damn well that this wasn't about them. This was about her work. Her ambition. And he really wasn't a part of that.
They crossed a granite plaza that led to the front door--a huge glass and iron entryway that stood wide open at the moment, giving them a view of the marble-floored entrance hall that was lined with various cocktail stations. One for martinis, one for wine, one for Scotch and whiskey. He noticed a few of Selma's labels on the whiskey table and resisted the urge to pull out his cell phone and take a picture.
"Wow. This is..."
"Ostentatious?" she supplied. "Yeah, Ernest isn't one for subtle. But the nice thing is that it's easier to blend in. If we were just coming to meet the parents, you'd be on stage every second."
She made a good point.
"Hungry?"
"I could eat." If nothing else, it would give him time to get settled. After his early years of nomadic poverty, he'd grown up comfortably in a well-to-do Austin neighborhood. But the Herrington family home was a pup tent compared to this place.
"Then come on. If history is any indication, Mom catered every food imaginable. Personally, I'm a hot dog and barbecue kind of girl. And even though she always has tons of frou-frou food, she never skimps on the brisket and link sausages."
"Lead the way," he said, startled when she slid her hand into his. His surprise must have shown, because she offered him a sweet smile. "We're engaged, right?"
He nodded, hoping he looked casual. But the truth was that her fingers twined with his felt a little too good. Too right.
Which was ridiculous, because if he was thinking along those lines, he was all wrong.
They'd just stepped from the ornate entrance hall through the open French doors and onto the flagstone patio when a slender woman in her late fifties hurried up to them. She wore a white gown, and her hair--the same color as Hannah's--was piled on her head and partially concealed under her veil.
And her smile when she saw her daughter rivaled the sun.
"The blushing bride," Hannah said, then turned to Matthew. "I forgot to tell you. Mom and Ernest repeat their vows to each other every year. They do that in private, but then this party is essentially a wedding reception. And we're here to celebrate the bride and the groom."
"That's lovely," he said, meaning it. He wasn't sure he'd want an annual party, but a private vow renewal on a wedding anniversary was the kind of tradition he could get behind.
"Maybe the two of you can adopt our tradition," Hannah's mother said before turning to her daughter. "Sugar, I'm so glad you're here."
She pulled Hannah into a monster of a hug, her affection for her daughter so obvious it shocked Matthew. Considering the money she was withholding, he'd been expecting a cold, calculating woman. And now he had to hold in his surprise as he watched Hannah return her mom's embrace with obvious enthusiasm.
When they broke apart, Hannah reached out her hand for his, and the simple gesture tugged at his heart. That sense of being a team. Of having a partner in the world. Someone you loved and who loved you back.
For this weekend, apparently, it was his to enjoy.
Too bad it was all fake.
"Mom, I want you to meet Matthew Herrington. My boyfriend. And," she added as she squeezed his hand, "my fiance."
"You're engaged! Oh, darling that's wonderful." She swooped Hannah into a hug, causing her to release his hand. Then she turned back to him and clutched his hands in hers. "I'm so thrilled. And thank you so much for coming to our celebration. I'm all flustered. And please call me Amelia. Or Mom."
"It's a pleasure, Amelia," he said, then caught Hannah's eye as she squeezed his fingers. He stepped closer, releasing her long enough to slide his arm around her. Without hesitating, she leaned against him, the scent of her shampoo as intoxicating as the whiskey he needed if he was going to get through this day without going completely insane.
"Hannah's been so busy I haven't had the chance to get all the details about you from her."
"And there's no time now, Mom. You've got over a hundred guests wandering around. Don't you have to go play hostess?"
From what Matthew could see, a hundred was probably an understatement. The back yard was huge--probably two acres of well-manicured land with a pool, tennis courts, and a cabana. Not to mention the massive patio on which they were standing. And everywhere he looked, people were mingling.
"When you told me it was a backyard barbecue, this really wasn't what I had in mind," he told Hannah after Amelia had wandered off.
"Wishful thinking," she said. "When I was growing up, Mom and I used to grab barbecue from this local dive, then take it back to the duplex we rented and have a party on the back porch. If it was summer, we'd lounge in one of those blow-up pools, too. We didn't have money for anything else. My aunt kept telling Mom she should just go on welfare, but that wasn't an option. She worked her but off, saved, and made it." Again, she flashed a smile. "And some of my best memories are things I wouldn't have had if we'd had money. Like the blow-up pool picnics."
"This was when you were really little, then?"
She laughed. "Nope. Probably sixteen. I used to love that stupid pool. I think I read every novel ever written while sprawled across one, my butt in the water and my head resting on the plastic. So awesome." She sighed. "Guess Mom's got it better now, though."
He squeezed her hand. "She seems happy. And from what I see she really loves you. I don't know why she's holding back the money your dad left for you, but I don't think it's out of spite."
"I don't either. It's--never mind." She started to turn away, but he took her elbow.
"What?"
"It seems like she lost herself when she married Ernest. Like with my dad--and with his memory--she was the person she really is. But with Ernest, she's playing a part. And I think...I don't know...sometimes I think that's the danger of a relationship. You end up losing yourself because you try to squeeze into a mold."
"Is that why you're not in a relationship?"
"Maybe. I don't know. Probably."
"Well, for what it's worth, I think you're wrong. Honestly, I believe it's just the opposite. A good relationship can help you be the person you really are."
Her mouth quirked as she considered the words. "Maybe. I don't know. I guess I haven't had a really good relationship--not romantically or professionally."
"Meaning?" A waiter came by offering margaritas, and he grabbed two, then led her to a small stone bench at the edge of the patio.
"Obvious, don't you think? I've never found someone I can completely be myself with."
"Huh," he said. "Have you been looking?"
She laughed. "Not really. And I don't intend to start. Not now when I'm diving into building a business. That's a terrible time to try to have a relationship."
Matthew had to agree. In fact, he was going the opposite direction. After spending more hours than he liked to think about working on his business, he was seriously considering cutting back. Because he wanted the family. A woman he loved. Kids. Maybe a dog. And it was too damn hard finding someone while he was wrapped up in work. And even if he did find her, how the hell could he build a family if he was bouncing between locations and setting up franchises?
"What?" he said, realizing his rambling thoughts had overlapped something she'd said.
"All I said was that I'm sticking with friends. Romance can wait."
"Because you can be yourself with friends."
Her smile was like an arrow to his heart. "I'm being myself with you, aren't I? Even though to the rest of the world it's an act."
"Method acting?" he said, then immediately regretted it. But she didn't seem to mind. Instead, she took his hand, then lifted it to her lips. He shivered as she brushed a kiss over his knuckles, then leaned sideways so that her mouth was just millimeters from his ear.
"Pretend I'm saying something ridiculously naughty and X-rated," she said
. "My mom's watching, and my dad is beside her."
"Your dad?" he murmured, while he reached over and cupped his hand on her thigh over her skirt. She inched closer, and he slid his hand up just a bit higher, all the while thinking that it was a good thing the skirt was long, because since they were method acting, he would have happily pulled up the material of a shorter skirt just to feel her skin burn beneath his hand.
"They didn't get married until I was in law school, but he likes me to call him Dad when I'm home." She shrugged. "I didn't at first, but it made things uncomfortable between him and my mom, so I gave up the battle and tried to make it a habit. I figure it's a small price for peace."
"Wise."
"I guess." She'd been toying with his hand as they whispered, and now she released him. "They've moved on. We can quit the young lovers routine."
"Do we have to?" The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to call them back. The comment had just come out--heartfelt, maybe, but not something he would have said to her if he'd been thinking.
But he hadn't been thinking, because this woman tended to steal all his thoughts away.
"I didn't--"
"We don't have to stop," she said softly, turning her face just enough so that he could see her eyes. "Method acting, remember."
"Right." He swallowed, and maybe it was his imagination, but he thought she leaned just a bit closer. Her lips parting for a kiss. And all he had to do was--
"Oh. My. God. Hannah! Look at you! I haven't seen you since last year!"
"Aunt Beatrice! So great to see you." She stood and gave the sixty-something woman a hug, then introduced her to Matthew, who'd been trying to decide if she was as disappointed as he was that their almost-kiss had been interrupted.
"A pleasure to meet you," he said, standing and trying to recall his manners.
"Beatrice is my mom's older sister."
"And I need to steal you away, dear. Amelia says you two are engaged and I want to hear everything. But I want all the dish," she added with a wink. "That means you're not invited, young man. But surely you can live without her for a few minutes."
"I don't know that I can," he said, playing the role.
But as she walked away with her aunt, he couldn't help but think that there might have been a bit of truth in those words after all.