Least of all my father.
I give a slight wave, and the gate unlocks, sliding open. Pulling through, Jonas drags a hand through his hair, tousling the strands so a few curls droop down over his forehead.
“Never went to university,” he says, parking behind a line of vehicles in the circular driveway. “Wasn’t a very good student, so the thought of going into debt for a degree I wasn’t interested in never really appealed to me. Took a couple courses in business management and biotech at Roxbury after I got released from… well.” He pauses, a thin smile stretching over his face. “I don’t think you need a rundown of my criminal record.”
My fingers toy with the door handle. “Is there a record? I mean, you told me once that the stuff the media says about you isn’t true, so… what is?”
Leaning over the console, Jonas balances on the armrest between us, one hand coming up to capture my chin. He tugs, forcing me to look up at him. The tip of his thumb swipes across the bow of my bottom lip, and he smirks when my nostrils flare at the contact.
“How did I propose?”
Flustered with the subject change, I shake my head. “What?”
“Something tells me your mum will want to know. So, how’d I do it?”
“Um.” I pull away, flattening my clammy palms on my thighs. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, little puppet. Level with me here. What did you dream about as a girl?”
Pressing my lips together, I shrug, too embarrassed to admit that there’s a binder full of wedding ideas stuffed away in my old room somewhere, collecting dust like all of my other memories here. Pink-and-white color schemes, bouquets of lilies and dahlias, and a host of Mediterranean destination venues come to mind, but I realize that isn’t what he’s asking for.
“I didn’t dream about a proposal,” I admit, and the surprise that registers on his face makes my heart sink to my stomach.
“Not at all? I thought that was commonplace for girls.”
“Guess I was a little busy being married to Primrose Realty.”
“You don’t work for them.”
“Wrong.” I smile, hooking my fingers in the handle and pulling until the door pops open. “All I’ve ever done is work for them.”
Cash and Mama greet us at the door, which I find alarming right away. Normally, she likes to be set up somewhere inside that the guests have to find her. It’s disorienting to people who have never been to a venue before, which is how she asserts her dominance.
Otherwise, she’d never have any.
She’s in a green dress that makes her blonde hair somehow brighter, and she beams as Jonas and I exit the vehicle, clasping her hands together.
“My, look how you’ve grown!” Pulling me in for a tight hug immediately, she retreats just enough to give me a once-over, rubbing her cool palms up and down my biceps.
I force a laugh, anxiety swelling like a rain cloud in my stomach. “Mama, I haven’t grown since I was fifteen.”
“Well, that’s just not true. Vertically, maybe, but you didn’t always have C—”
“Mrs. Primrose, I presume?” Jonas interrupts, stepping forward with his hand extended. He stops at my side, just close enough for discomfort, and Mama releases me to put her hand in his. “Jonas Wolfe. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Her mouth flattens for the briefest second, and then she seems to shake it off, plastering a wide smile on her face. “Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart. Not every day you get to shake hands with the man who almost took your husband from you.”
Cash and I exchange a look, and he reaches up to tug at the collar of his red sweater.
“Our relationship did start off a bit rocky, didn’t it?” Jonas removes his hand from hers, then wraps his arm around my waist, fitting me against him. His fingers dig into my hip, tiny sparks of pain resonating down the length of my leg.
“Just a tad.” She looks between us.
“But,” Cash adds, throwing his arm around Mama’s shoulders. “We’re willing to look past that, aren’t we? The Primroses are a very forgiving sort.”
“When pressured.” Daddy’s voice comes from behind us, his large frame filling the front doorway. His jaw clenches when he sees me, and his face grows red when he notices Jonas’s arm.
“Maybe if we didn’t have our fair share of fuckups, we could afford not to be.” Cash steps away from Mama, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his gray dress pants.
“Yes, yes, we’ve all made mistakes. Some pay more extensively than others, but that’s a story for another time.”
“The important thing is that Mr. Wolfe makes our baby girl happy. Right, Thomas?” Mama says, nudging him with her elbow.
But he won’t even meet my gaze. “Certainly, Erin.” Clearing his throat, Daddy throws open the front door, revealing the empty foyer. “Let’s eat while it’s hot.”
He holds his arm out for Mama, and we follow them through the house to the courtyard in the back. A wave of nostalgia turns my stomach on its axis, the realization that I went from never leaving this house to not seeing it in weeks making me long for simpler times.
“What do you think that’ll cost me?” Cash asks, hooking his arm in mine to mimic our parents.
Jonas trails close behind, his presence a constant source of heat at my back. The only thing keeping me from puking all over the floor right now.
“Be prepared to lose your inheritance,” I tell my brother.
“About time I join the likes of you and Palmer.”
I snort. “Where is Palmer, anyway?”
“Running late, I’m sure. You know how he loves his grand entrances.”
When we get to the glass doors off the dining area, the nostalgia evaporates and gets replaced with violent disgust.
Preston Covington sits at the end of the long, rectangular patio table, a cloth napkin tucked into the collar of his polo shirt. Surrounded by a hoard of men in varying states of dress—two in suits, and two who look like carbon copies of my ex.
Men I wish I didn’t recognize, but that automatically send my body into a state of frenzied panic.
They aren’t the only nonfamily guests, either. In fact, that table is among several others, all with chairs filled. Strangers, but by the looks of it, important people in Daddy’s life that I’m sure he’s invited for publicity’s sake.
Jonas’s hand finds my lower back, guiding me to the seats we’re instructed to take.
Right across from Preston.
19
“So. How’s business?”
Daddy’s question makes the rest of the table pause, looking up from their plates. It’s directed at Jonas, who smirks behind the lid of his champagne flute.
As if anything about this situation is funny.
Placing the flute on the table, Jonas clears his throat. “The pub is doing quite well, actually. More consistently in the summer and fall months, but there’s not been a shortage of patrons throughout the year in a long time.”
Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Daddy nods. “I see. And your other business… ventures? Surely, you’re aware that my little girl is accustomed to a certain lifestyle. How do you plan to manage that on a bar owner’s salary?”