Accidental Knight: A Marriage Mistake Romance(89)

“Annabelle, you’ve barely touched your meal,” Mom says, glancing at my plate. “Do you want me to have it sent back to the kitchen?”

“Nope! It’s just the pasta, so filling.” I give the alfredo sauce a desperate stir with my fork.

“It’s all the carbs. They’ll make your blood sugar crash right into a coma.”

I nod, even though I know carbs have nothing to do with what’s knocking around my head every time I look at Drake. Food of any kind is the last thing on my mind right now.

“Well,” Mom says, blotting the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “I just have to lay this out on the table, so here it goes...”

Oh, no. Things were going so perfect. What now?

“Has there been an official announcement about your wedding?” she asks.

“I don’t believe that’s necessary,” Dad says. “We talked about this, dear. Annabelle has other things to focus on right now, and so do we. Specifically, what she intends to do with North Earhart Oil.”

“She’s selling it to Mr. Briar,” she snaps, sizing my father up. “Clearly the only solution.”

Dad shakes his head. “Not for the price he offered. North Earhart is worth five times more than his offer.”

“It is?” Mom blinks, and I can practically see the dollar signs in her eyes. She lays her hand on Dad’s arm. “Gary, you never—”

“Mentioned it?” He smiles at her. “No, my dear, I didn’t. I wanted to see just how bad that man was trying to lowball us so I’d have a baseline for a real offer. None of this has been pleasant, of course, but it turns out Annabelle may have just done us a favor by being so stubborn.”

Mother looks at me and nods slowly, thoughtfully before leaning back to Dad and asking, “Five times, Gary? You’re sure?”

Dad takes a drink of wine to hide his smile. “At least.”

Mother picks up her glass and takes a sip. “Well, then, we’ll just have to quit wasting our time and go shopping around, won’t we?”

Dad smiles and holds his glass to hers. “Patience is a virtue. And frankly, the sooner we cut strings with Avery Briar and his...unseemly reputation in this industry, the sooner we’ll have better, well-respected companies returning our calls.”

It’s my turn to smile back. I know what he’s doing. Buying us the most precious thing of all – time.

If we can just get Mom off pursuing any deals with Jupiter, then he’ll be able to talk her down in other ways over the next couple months. Drake and I will finally be left alone to solve the rest without my parents in the way.

“Five times!” Mom chirps again, clinking her glass against Dad’s. Then she turns to me. “You know, Annabelle, perhaps I have been rather...hasty with all of this. I still don’t understand why you had to be so rude or ambush me with this strange, awkward arrangement with your companion.”

She pauses, her eyes shifting to Drake.

“However, I see you had your reasons. Both of you, perhaps.”

For a second, I glance at Dad. He needs me to play along if this is going to work.

“Um, yeah, Mom. I did my homework, saw the valuations Gramps had done the last couple years. He left them with Roger Jones. If we’d folded and taken the Jupiter offer, we’d all be kicking ourselves for years. I had to put a stop to it. I was going to tell you, but...”

“Nonsense. I was far too hasty,” she says, softening into her usual flattery when she thinks things are going her way. “You’ve saved me from myself, Annabelle.”

I smile, but not because she thinks I’ll ever sell out.

It dawns on me how wrongly I’d always perceived things. How I’d thought Mother was always in control, when in fact, Dad can mastermind some truly brilliant things.

My parents clink glasses again. I reach under the table for Drake’s hand. He laces my fingers through his and squeezes.

“Annabelle?” Mom again.

Her and Dad are holding their glasses over the center of the table, waiting. I lift my wine glass, and so does Drake, and we all clink them together.





Dinner with my parents is always a lengthy affair.

Mom insists on having a five-course meal and drinks afterward, so it’s nearly ten by the time we’re finished. The four of us walk to the entryway, where Mom holds my hands and once again kisses the air next to my cheek.

I honestly don’t know if her lips have ever touched me. Not that it matters. Not tonight.

Rome wasn’t built in a day, and having a normal, non-standoffish relationship with my own mother might take longer.

“I’ll admit one thing, he did a good job with the ring,” she says, still holding my hand and examining it more closely. “It reminds me of a Turtleman.” Without looking up, she asks, “Drake, where did you find such a ring out here?”

He grins at me. “I didn’t. I ordered it from Phoenix. It’s a Turtleman, sold by Black Rhino.”

The names mean nothing to me, but I’m not into jewelry designers.

“No! It can’t be,” she says, almost aghast.

Before I realize what she’s doing, Mom jerks the ring off my finger and is examining the inside like a demented jeweler.

She gasps. “Dear Lord! It is a Turtleman.” Looking at Drake, she says, “But that’s impossible. It takes years to get just the perfect design sometimes, regardless of the money. How could you possibly have it done in a matter of weeks? Movie stars have waited longer!”