The Reluctant Bride (Arranged Marriage #1)(13)

I do everything Mother says. I always have. It’s why I’m her favorite. Everyone else blows her off. She had plans for every single one of my siblings at one point or another, and they all did whatever the hell they wanted.

She fully expects I’ll deliver. I always do.

For once, I don’t want to.

“My mother couldn’t give a shit about what I’m doing,” I say, lying through my teeth.

“Uh-huh.” Charlotte doesn’t believe me.

Of course she doesn’t.

The mothers start asking her about her color preferences, engaging her in conversation and leaving me to think about…everything.

I don’t want to get married to this woman.

Not at all.

I also don’t want to piss my mother off. Something I never do. For once, I should grow some balls and stand up to her.

Tell her no.

I’m finally feeling confident in life. At Halcyon. And this situation has to come along and fuck everything up.

This summer was one of the best I’ve ever had. I was in the Hamptons every weekend sharing a house with friends and coworkers from Halcyon.

It makes Winston crazy, that I “fraternize with the help,” but damn, I’ve made friends there. I want to hang out with them. I want to belong.

Something I’ve rarely felt like I do. I don’t necessarily belong with my family. I’m the odd one out, always have been. My friend groups were pretty small and tight knit throughout my school years, and most of those guys went off to college and never came back.

I don’t like to acknowledge it but I feel…lonely. Then I tell myself to get over it and end up at a club, dancing and drinking with nameless, faceless women, flirting with them. Sometimes I even go home with one of them.

Not lately though. And I guess not for a long time, thanks to my recent engagement.

I remember what Mother told me. How I could go about my business eventually, as long as I was discreet. Just the idea of cheating on this beautiful woman fills me with disgust.

Not that I want to marry her, but damn. Is that really the situation I’m going to end up in? Trapped in a loveless marriage, seeking affection and attention from another woman? Keeping a mistress for the rest of my days?

That sounds fucked up.

“I think we should stay in the city once we’re married,” my fiancée suggests to my mother, her voice raising so I can hear her. “Perry works at Halcyon, correct?”

My gaze goes from my mother to Charlotte, back to Mother again.

Looks like she did a little research on me.

“He does,” Mother says haltingly.

“We could stay in my apartment,” I suggest, earning a hard stare from my mother.

“I don’t think so,” she says, her voice clipped. “It’s far too small for the two of you. That’s why you need a house.”

Huh. Maybe she is right. We’d get in each other’s way, and I’m definitely going to need some space if I have to live with a stranger.

“It would probably be more convenient if he stayed here, then, don’t you think?” Charlotte turns to her mother. “We could move into the apartment Grant used to keep…”

Grant. The oldest brother. One of the assholes.

Louisa Lancaster grimaces. “But it’s so old and drafty.”

“Father had it redone, remember? And I don’t mind old and drafty. I love old stuff. You know this,” Charlotte tells her.

She loves old stuff? I wonder if she’s a collector. Or worse…

A hoarder.

A shimmer of disgust washes over me. I like my things new and shiny and expensive, with one exception.

Cars. Oh I like them shiny and expensive, but I prefer them on the older side. Like my Chevelle.

“Charlotte, you can’t bring all of your—things with you when you move in with your husband.” Her mom shoots me a look, and I smile at her, trying to be polite. Her gaze turns heavy lidded and flirtatious, just like that and I briefly glance down at my lap, vaguely disgusted.

What the hell was that all about?

“If he’s to accept me, he should accept all of me.” I glance up to find that Charlotte is now looking directly at me. “Right, future husband?”

“Of course, future wife.” I can play along with this game. “What sort of things are we talking about that I need to accept?”

“Perry,” my own mother admonishes, but I ignore her.

“Books and…oh, I don’t know. Knickknacks. Photos. Little glass dishes and vases. Candlesticks. Statues. Busts.” Charlotte shrugs. My gaze drops to her tits. She has a decent bust all right. “I’m a bit of a collector.”

“So am I.” I lean forward, suddenly eager to talk about my car collection when I realize my mother is sitting right next to me and she really doesn’t know anything about it. I clear my throat and settle back in my chair once more. “I mean…I want to be. Someday.”

“A collector of what exactly?” Charlotte asks, seeming genuinely curious.

“Classic cars,” I answer. “Those souped-up sports cars from the eighties are so—dope. I’ve got a 1969 classic Chevelle that’s orange and badass—”

“Perry.” Mother’s sharp voice silences all of us, including the server who has just approached our table. He slinks away to the table next to us, never saying a word. “No one wants to hear about your so-called car collection right now.”