The Billionaire Takes a Bride (Billionaires and Bridesmaids,(48)

“It’s nice to meet you, Eula,” Chelsea said sincerely, and pulled her hand from Sebastian’s. She offered it to Eula.

The elderly woman gave her a quick smile and hugged her. “You’re so pretty! Oh, Mrs. Cabral’s not going to like you.” She chuckled. “Or Lisa. Come on in, then. Do you want coffee? I just made a pot. Your mother’s in the kitchen, Sebastian.”

“Then that’s where we’ll head. Thank you, Eula.” He patted the woman on the back and then offered his hand to Chelsea again. “Come on, love.”

Love? The endearment surprised her, as did the feeling of warmth that flooded through her as a result. Maybe it was just for the cameras. She shouldn’t have gotten so excited about it.

Keeping her feelings in check, Chelsea eyed the lavish penthouse as they headed in deeper. It didn’t look very lived in. Pop art in a Warhol-esque style covered the walls, and each painting seemed to be one of Sebastian’s mother. The walls were bleach-white, with bleach-white carpets. The living room was a step-down, the sunken floor decorated with an artsy glass-top table that looked as if it was made entirely from broken shards. The sofa was bleach-white as well, with a few bright red pillows tossed on it, and curved around the edges of the room. There was no television, and she guessed the living room was mostly for filming. Actually, she wondered if most of the house was for filming instead of living in.

As they entered the kitchen, the bleach-white motif continued, this time for the cabinets, countertops, appliances, and flooring. Sebastian’s mother sat on a barstool at the kitchen island, a coffee cup raised halfway to her lips, a curler in her pink bangs. She narrowed her eyes at Sebastian and Chelsea. “What are you doing here, Nugget?”

“Family meeting,” he said, releasing Chelsea’s hand. He moved in and pressed a kiss to his mother’s cheek, then gestured at Chelsea. “It’s time for the rest of the family to meet my wife, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s f*cking early,” she said, and frowned when the sound assistant approached with the boom mic. “We’re filming?” Her hand went to her hair. “With no warning? Sebastian, Mama Precious is not happy.”

“Well, Mother,” he said easily. “I thought you might like a taste of your own medicine after what you did to Chelsea yesterday.”

The woman’s eagle-eyed stare went to Chelsea and she shot her another withering look.

Chelsea waved.

“Your family is not going to like this,” Mrs. Cabral repeated. “Not one bit.”

“I didn’t ask them. Where’s Dad? What about Dolph and Amber? Cassie?”

“Cassie’s visiting a friend in Europe. Dolph and Amber are upstairs. Your father’s in bed because it’s early.”

“Come on, Chelsea,” Sebastian said. “You want to go wake up everyone with me or stay here with Mother?”

Chelsea’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m going with you.” She moved to his side and slipped her hand back in his.

Mrs. Cabral snorted and took a sip of her coffee.

Sebastian seemed to be having too much fun surprising his family. He was practically bounding up the stairs with Chelsea at his side, heading for the bedrooms. He moved to the first one and knocked. “Amber’s the youngest,” he said to Chelsea, then looked embarrassed. “You knew that, right?”

“I haven’t watched the show,” she admitted. Though everyone pretty much knew who the Cabrals were. She was pretty sure she’d recognize Amber if she saw her face.

Sure enough, the door opened a few moments later and a sleepy girl in an off-the-shoulder designer sweatshirt and sleep pants yawned. “What the hell, Sebastian?” She peered at Chelsea. “Oh. This the wife? Mom is going on and on about her.” She gave a little wave, her hand covered by the long sleeve of her shirt. “I’m Amber.”

“Hi. Chelsea.” She pointed at Sebastian. “His wife. Surprise!”

She giggled. “’Bout time someone bagged his ass.”

“All right, now,” Sebastian said, teasing her back. “We’re gonna go wake up Dolph and meet everyone downstairs. Can you be there in five?”

“Sure, just lemme put my face on.” She yawned again and shut the door. “Tell them not to film me in natural sunlight,” she bellowed through the door.

“Noted,” Sebastian called back, and headed farther down the hall, pulling Chelsea along with him. “Let’s get Dolph, then.”

As they headed down the hall, Chelsea could hear faint rock music coming from under one of the doors. Sebastian paused at it and knocked. He waited, then knocked again. Then he looked over at Chelsea. “Probably drunk again.”

Again? “Should we leave him alone?”

“Hell no. I’m waking him up.” He knocked one more time and then pushed the door open.

Dolph’s room was a mess of posters, junk, and dirty clothes. It looked more like a teenager’s room, though the man in the bed was easily college age. And slipping out on the other side of the bed in an old T-shirt?

Lisa Pinder-Schloss, her hair in a rat’s nest.

Her eyes went wide at the sight of Sebastian. Dolph just rolled over in bed, hugging a bottle of vodka.

“Well, this kills two birds with one stone,” Sebastian said drily. “We’re having a family meeting downstairs in five minutes. You’re both invited.”