“I think lasagna bribery is a misdemeanor, if that even, so I’m willing to risk it.” He took the bottle of wine from her, then opened the door. “After you.”
All her life until coming here, she’d been Skye. It was how she thought of herself. The day she’d discovered she knew the police chief intimately—a man who’d whispered her name in her ear while his body was wrapped around hers—she’d introduced herself as Skylar so she wouldn’t have to listen to him call her Skye. He called her Skye anyway.
As soon as she stepped into the foyer, she stopped, barely stifling a gasp. Ahead of her, matching curved staircases on each opposite wall led upward. A massive crystal chandelier hung between the stairs from the third story. And this was only the entry. What did the rest of the house look like?
She’d grown up middle-class, her parents able to provide the essentials and keep food on the table for their three children, but sometimes struggling if there was a surprise big-ticket expense. This was the kind of place one drove by and wondered what it was like to live in. The brothers had inherited it from their aunt, but that was all she knew about their family history.
Tristan stood by, watching her gape at the entry, and she couldn’t read his expression. He probably thought she was a real bumpkin, but seriously, who lived like this?
“It is a bit ostentatious, isn’t it?”
“Maybe, but it’s really beautiful.”
“Wait until you see the rest of the house. I’ll take you on a tour after dinner.”
“I’d like that.”
“Uncle Tris.” Parker’s daughter ran into the foyer. “Did you cook my hot dog?”
He reached down and put his hands on her shoulders, stopping her in front of him. “Everly, say hello to Miss Skylar.”
“Hello, Miss Skylar. Do you want a hot dog? Uncle Tris said I could put one in my lassanoa.”
He chuckled. “Lasagna.”
“That’s what I said.”
Heavens, the girl was loud for such a little thing. Skye smiled. “Hello, Everly. Can I wait and decide about the hot dog in a little while?”
“Okay. Are you hungry? Do you want a pickle?”
“Ah...”
“She thinks if you want a pickle, that will mean she can have another one,” Tristan said. A large orange-and-white cat ambled in, sat, stared at them, then let loose with a mournful drawn-out meow. “It sounds like Jellybean’s hungry. Did you feed him?”
Everly shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Go do that now. Our dinner will be ready soon.”
She danced off with the cat running after her.
“She’s adorable,” Skye said.
“Yes, she is. She’s also very loud.”
Skye laughed. “I noticed.”
He reached for her hand. “Come on.”
As he led her through the house, she wondered if he even realized they were holding hands. She should take her hand back, but she didn’t. They walked through a formal dining room, and she tried to take it in as they passed. The table was a beautiful dark wood with ten upholstered chairs in a soft cream fabric. A large and stunning mountain sunset painting was on one wall. “Is that one of Parker’s?”
He glanced at the painting. “Yes.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“He shows promise.”
Was he serious? “I think someone who’s had showings in New York art galleries is a little more than just ‘shows promise.’”