“To be seen as a capable adult in your parents’ eyes.”
I inhaled, knowing he was right.
“To achieve that outcome, you need to assert yourself. Show them that you can make your own decisions and let them know that you’re aware of the consequences of those choices.”
“I told them that you found me, that you saved me in the snowstorm. They said you’re a rebound. You aren’t.”
Van nodded. “I know what I am. If I were your father instead of your fiancé, I wouldn’t trust me. Don’t get upset that they’re leery. It only means that they care.” He kissed the top of my head. “I’m not sure I trust them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Wade was going down. How could your parents not know?”
I’d never thought of that.
As Van turned to leave, I called out his name.
He turned back.
“If you were my father,” I asked, “and I came downstairs wearing a man’s shirt, only his shirt, from a man I’d recently met and announced as my fiancé, what would you do?”
His grin returned, bringing gold shimmers to his green orbs. “I’d kill him.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. I don’t mean mortally wound; I mean that I’d ruin him.”
“I won’t do it. I won’t wear your shirt.”
“Your dad can’t ruin me. That’s the difference. I could ruin him.”
“But you won’t,” I said, wanting the reassurance.
“I’ll do whatever you want, Julia. As I’ve said, my only connection or care for Wade Pharmaceutical is you.”
“They’re my parents.”
He nodded. “Hurry, beautiful, they’re on their way.”
Standing in the large closet, I debated my few pieces of clothing. With my hair mostly dried and hanging over my shoulders and a minimal amount of makeup, I ran my fingers over the few pieces of clothes I had at my disposal. I could wear the outfit I’d worn to the interview or dress less formally and more laid-back. As I took in the soft sweaters, I decided for casual. After all, this was Christmas day and I was home.
Isn’t that what Van wants me to think?
He’d said that he’d like me to refer to his home as mine. He’d said as his fiancée, nothing was off-limits.
Slipping on my heeled black boots, I took one more look in the mirror before leaving my suite. My soft black slacks and black tank top were covered with a long pink sweater. My hair was again piled on my head. Standing at the top of the staircase, I peered through the large window over the front door, wondering if my parents had arrived.
From the limited view of trees and sky it was impossible to know for sure. There were no voices below. A final destination called to me, a new curious thought. I peeked down the hallway toward Van’s suite. The double doors were closed.
As my heart rate picked up its pace, I walked up the steps to the third floor.
My heartbeat thumped against my chest as I twisted the doorknob to the one door at the top of the stairs. To my surprise, the door opened inward. With only the waning light from the windows, I saw what Van had described—nothing. The large third-floor room was empty with two closed doors. I went to one, and opened it. The door led to a small bathroom. That too was empty. The fixtures were present, but there were no towels or paper products. Back out into the large open space, I opened the second door and stepped into what was a small room, a closet without clothes racks or shelves.
Flipping the switch within, I stared. Against the wall was a leaning stack of framed artwork. Apprehensively, I went closer, taking in the piece facing the door. I didn’t recognize the artist’s name, but the picture seemed familiar. One by one, I moved the frames, taking in each piece. The artists’ names were different and some I’d heard before. All of the artwork was striking.
Why is it hidden away in an empty space?
Suddenly, my thoughts went back to my parents’ impending visit. Stepping back into the empty room, I turned off the light and closed the door to the artwork, deciding that while I could eliminate one unknown about Van from my list—the emptiness of the third-floor room—I’d also added more questions.