“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—thingswith 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.”
“I do,” Charlotte says.
Everyone’s head swivels in her direction, including mine. I’m surprised by her show of support when we don’t even know each other.
She offers me a sly smile in return, her attention returning to my mother, her blue eyes going wide. Hmm.
Little Miss Innocent is putting on a show.
“That’s—wonderful,” my mother says stiffly as she sits up straighter. She doesn’t like to be called out or proven wrong. Not that Charlotte proved her wrong, per say. More like she’s agreeing with me when Mother is used to everyone agreeing with her. “Sounds like you two do have something in common, then.”