The Reluctant Heiress: A Novella(43)

With deceptive mildness, Benedict Hughes says, “Interesting choice of joke, Charles.” My father’s gaze veers to me, then to Sebastian. “Is there something I need to know?”

I’m paralyzed, mind completely blank. Thank God Sebastian has a black belt in improv, because he’s the picture of calm when he answers. “Yes, sir. I’m in love with your daughter and as soon as I’m sure she won’t throw the ring in my face, I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

“What?” I blurt, gaping at him, while the dining room erupts with cheers of congratulations—Nona, Vera, and Thea—and shouted expletives from Deacon and Charles. Alex just grins, smug and satisfied that he predicted this moment.

My father calmly wipes his mouth with a napkin, then places the linen carefully beside his plate. “Candace, are you in love with Sebastian?”

“Yes,” I say artlessly. “I have been for the last fifteen years, give or take.”

His face melts in shock. “Then why on earth have you waited this long?”





28





Much later, after obligatory, food-coma naps, the entire family descends on the kitchen. We work for an hour packaging up a stunning amount of secondary dishes for a local charitable organization, then haul it all outside when the van arrives.

Nona greets the driver with uncharacteristic stammers and blushing. The jaws of the Hughes children collectively unhinge with glee as the man embraces Nona and kisses her cheek. I recognize him from Nona’s surprise party—a distinguished-looking man with a salt-and-pepper beard named Adam Cartwright. He teaches sociology and African American history at the nearby, private high school.

I whisper-squeal at Sebastian, “Nona has a beau? How did I not know this?”

He grins, lips grazing my ear as he whispers, “It’s relatively new. And it means the guesthouse is ours tonight.”

When the van is loaded, Nona hops into the passenger seat. We all wave, grinning stupidly, as they drive away. When the taillights have faded into the distance, Deacon and Charles announce intentions for their usual bout of bloodthirsty poker. Vera rises to the challenge, vowing to wipe the floor with them. Alex and Thea, sharing a private smile, make excuses and disappear inside.

“Sebastian, you in?” asks Deacon, then frowns at the arm around my shoulders. “It’s gonna take a second to get used to this… situation.”

Sebastian chuckles, gazing down at me. I can see the eagerness—and question—in his eyes. I press my lips to the stubble on his chin. “Go play. It’s tradition.”

“You don’t want to join?” he asks quietly.

“I’ll come in a bit.” I look at Vera. “You okay on your own with these jackasses?”

Vera arches a brow. “Child’s play,” she affirms.

Charles rolls his eyes, while Deacon growls through a grin, “Bring it on, Barbie.”

Vera hisses. Literally. “Oh, you’re going down, Jockstrap!”

Given the amount of time Vera’s been spending with my single brothers—and how well they’re getting along—I’m suddenly very glad she’s still attached to her model boyfriend. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen either of my brothers this relaxed and natural around a woman who isn’t family. The fact that Vera’s not hunting for a rich husband is no doubt a contributing factor. That, and she’s just as foul-mouthed as they are.

Still lobbing insults at each other, Deacon, Vera, and Charles disappear into the house. Sebastian and I follow more slowly. As we reach the front door, he pauses, lifting my chin with a cold fingertip.

“Time to clear the air?” he asks gently

I smile half-heartedly. “I swear to God, you and Thea are siblings switched at birth or something. She cornered me after dinner and suggested it might be—and I quote—‘time to clear the air.’” I sigh. “I thought I was doing a good job at pretending everything was fine, but apparently not.”

His lips quirk. “Although Thea and I share a tendency to watch and listen more than participate—”

“Voyeurs!” I interject.

He ignores me. “—you’re about as subtle as a bulldozer, Candy. You’ve barely looked at or spoken to Benedict since you got here.”

I groan. “You’re right. I know, I suck at acting.” I study his dark eyes. “I’m not good at being honest about my feelings, am I?”

His fingertips graze my jaw. “You’ve recently gotten better at it.”

Grabbing his fingers, I kiss the cold skin. “I love you, Bast. Let’s go inside. I don’t want your balls to fall off. I like them right where they are.”

Chortling, he plants an all-too swift kiss on my lips, then draws me into the warm house. We say goodbye outside the game room, shouts already ringing out behind the heavy door.

“Wish me luck, Candy.”

I laugh past the rising anxiety in my chest. “You won’t need it. You always win.”

He winks and disappears inside.

My feet drag as I head down the hallway to the other wing of the house. As much as Thanksgiving-night poker is a tradition, so is my father spending a few hours alone in his study. No one bothers him—not since the year Charles found him passed out drunk in an armchair, an old VHS with home movies on the television. The video had been paused on our mom’s young, smiling face. Since then, we’ve left him alone.