Chapter 3 - Dinner With the Enemy

Annie

I’ve decided this mansion needs a map.

Preferably one with a little red dot that says You are here, because I’ve been wandering around the second floor for several minutes, and I’m beginning to suspect I’ve passed the same marble statue twice.

“Don’t suppose you know where the dining room is?” I ask it.

The statue stares straight ahead, apparently too important to acknowledge me.

“Yeah, that’s about what I expected.”

I retrace my steps, eventually finding the main staircase. At the bottom, I follow voices through a set of double doors and discover a dining room large enough to host a wedding reception.

Douglas sits at the head of an enormous table in a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Mom sits beside him in a fitted cream dress, her hair arranged in an elegant twist.

And Wes…

Of course.

He’s lounging in his chair wearing dark jeans and a black Henley.

I stop in the doorway.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Three heads turn, and Douglas smiles. “Annie. There you are. We were beginning to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

“I did, actually, but that’s not the problem.” I point at Wes. “He’s wearing jeans.”

Wes looks down at himself. “Excellent observation.”

I turn toward Mom. “You spent the entire afternoon telling me to dress appropriately for dinner, and he’s wearing jeans?”

Her gaze drops to my black dress, lingering on my hips.

“Annie, please sit down.”

“Oh, this is fantastic. Apparently, the dress code only applies to people without a Y chromosome.”

Wes snorts as I pull out a chair across from him.

I smooth my dress beneath me. It’s one of my favorites, black with a fitted waist and a neckline that shows just enough cleavage to make Mom uncomfortable. I’ve paired it with ankle boots and left my honey-ginger hair loose.

I think I look pretty damn good.

Mom disagrees.

“It’s a little revealing for a family dinner, don’t you think?”

I glance down. “Nope.”

“Annie.”

“You told me to dress up. I’m dressed up. If you wanted a potato sack, you should’ve specified.”

Douglas clears his throat. “Is there a problem with your wardrobe, Annie?”

Mom gives me a warning look.

Oh, absolutely not.

“Well, funny you should ask. My mother bought me an entirely new wardrobe. Beautiful clothes. One tiny problem.”

Douglas frowns. “What problem?”

“None of them fit.”

Mom sets down her fork. “Annie, I thought we agreed to discuss this privately.”

“We did. You told me to lose weight.”

“Pamela?” Douglas asks.

She laughs nervously. “It’s not nearly as dramatic as she’s making it sound. I thought having some lovely clothes might encourage Annie to take better care of herself.”

I stare at her. “By shrinking?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“You bought size-eight clothes when you know I’m a fourteen or sixteen.”

Across the table, Wes leans back, watching with an unreadable expression. I can practically feel his judgment.

Douglas looks uncomfortable. “If the clothes aren’t the right size, we can certainly exchange them.”

“Thank you. That would be great.” I turn toward Mom. “Because right now, my options are wearing my own clothes or coming downstairs in my underwear.”

Wes chokes.

Violently.

Water goes down the wrong pipe, and he bends forward, coughing into his napkin.

“Wes? Are you all right?” Douglas asks.

He raises a hand, his face red. “Fine.”

Apparently, the idea of me showing up without clothes is so horrifying that he nearly dies.

Fantastic for my self-esteem.

“Relax,” I mutter. “It was a joke.”

Wes clears his throat, refusing to look at me. “Good to know.”

I resist the urge to throw a bread roll at his head and butter it aggressively instead.

Douglas attempts to redirect the conversation.

“I hope you’re hungry, Annie. Mrs. Whitcomb prepared quite a spread.”

The roasted chicken, vegetables, and potatoes smell incredible. I haven’t eaten a proper meal since leaving New Mexico.

“Starving, actually. Thank you.”

“Help yourself.”

I reach for the potatoes, catching Mom watching me.

“Perhaps start with the vegetables, Annie.”

I slowly turn toward her. “Perhaps let me decide what I want to eat.”

“I’m only suggesting a healthy choice.”

“Potatoes are vegetables, Mom.”

“You know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, I do. It’s the same conversation we’ve had for years. I scoop a generous helping onto my plate.

Douglas asks about our flight, and I mention the amount of luggage Mom insisted we bring. I leave out her near-meltdown over an overweight suitcase.

“I’m glad you both arrived safely,” he says. “I know the move happened quickly.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

Mom gives me another look.

Douglas smiles apologetically. “I realize this is an adjustment. I hope you’ll feel comfortable here.”

“Thank you. The house is beautiful, although I might need a tour.”

He chuckles. “It takes some getting used to.”

“I passed the same statue three times trying to find dinner. If I disappear, someone should check the west wing.”

Douglas laughs.

Even Wes’s mouth twitches behind his glass.

For a few minutes, dinner resembles normal conversation. Douglas asks how I like California, and I tell him how strange all the greenery feels.

Mom keeps adjusting her napkin and watching me like she’s waiting for me to embarrass her.

Apparently, that’s her favorite hobby.

“So, Annie,” Douglas says, “you should explore the area.”

He turns toward Wes.

“Why don’t you take Annie around tomorrow? Show her the city.”

Wes stops chewing.

“No.”

Douglas blinks. “Excuse me?”

“I said no.”

I sit back. “Wow. Don’t strain yourself with all that enthusiasm.”

Wes ignores me. “I have work.”

“You can spare a few hours,” Douglas insists.

“Actually, I can’t.”

“Wesley, she’s new here.”

“And?”

“It would be a nice gesture.”

I raise my hand before another argument starts.

“It’s fine, Douglas. I’m twenty-two, not twelve. I can explore California without a babysitter.”

“Nonsense. It would be good for you two to spend time together.”

I glance at Wes, who looks equally thrilled.

“Trust me, we’re both happy avoiding each other.”

“Finally,” Wes mutters. “Something we agree on.”

Douglas sighs. “Just show her around.”

Wes laughs bitterly.

“Sorry, Dad, but I have better things to do than play chauffeur to the gold digger’s daughter.”

The table goes silent.

My fork freezes halfway to my mouth.

Gold digger’s daughter.

I slowly set it down.

“Excuse me?”

Wes looks directly at me. “You heard me.”

I laugh once, sharp and humorless. “And here I thought you were an ordinary asshole. Turns out you’re a judgmental one, too.”

“Annie!” Mom gasps.

“No. Absolutely not.” I turn toward Wes. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“I know you and your mother moved into a multimillion-dollar mansion pretty damn fast.”

“Because she married your father! I didn’t even know about the wedding until five days afterward, and I certainly didn’t ask to move here.”

“Convenient story.”

I stare at him. He has every right to be angry about his father’s marriage. Hell, I’m angry myself. But somehow, he’s decided I’m responsible.

“You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to pack up my life in forty-eight hours and move across the country to live with strangers?”

Wes folds his arms. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Because I didn’t have a choice!”

“There’s always a choice.”

“That’s easy to say when you’re sitting in a mansion you didn’t pay for.”

His jaw tightens.

“Careful.”

“Why? You don’t seem concerned about what comes out of your mouth.”

“Annie, that’s enough,” Mom snaps.

I turn toward her.

“Seriously? He’s accusing us of being gold diggers, and you’re telling me to stop?”

“I’m telling you not to make a scene.”

I throw up my hands. “God forbid I embarrass you by defending myself.”

Douglas slams his palm against the table.

“Enough!”

We fall silent.

He turns toward Wes.

“Pamela is my wife, and Annie is part of this family. I will not tolerate you insulting either of them in my home.”

Wes laughs bitterly.

“Your home? Funny. I thought this was our family home.”

“Wesley.”

“You married some woman you’ve known four months, moved her and her daughter in without asking, and expect me to pretend we’re one big happy family.”

Douglas takes a slow breath. “I should have handled things differently. I should have told you sooner, and I’ve apologized.”

“An apology doesn’t change anything.”

“No, it doesn’t. But Annie didn’t make those decisions. Taking your anger out on her won’t solve anything.”

Wes’s gaze flicks toward me, something shifting in his expression before he looks away.

Then he pushes back his chair.

“Whatever. I’m done.”

Douglas’s voice hardens. “Sit down.”

“I’m not hungry anymore.”

“You owe Annie an apology.”

Wes looks at me.

I hold his gaze.

“Don’t bother. I’d hate for you to strain yourself pretending to be a decent human being.”

His jaw tightens. He grabs his plate and heads toward the doorway.

“I’m eating in my room.”

Something inside me snaps.

“For the record, I didn’t ask to be here either, asshole.”

He stops.

For a moment, he looks back, something flickering across his face before his expression closes.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He walks out.

I stare after him, wondering whether dumping his dinner over his head would be worth the consequences.

Probably not.

But tempting.

Douglas sinks into his chair.

“Annie, I’m sorry. That was unacceptable.”

I swallow. “You don’t have to apologize for him.”

“He’s my son. I should’ve stopped it sooner.”

Mom sighs. “Well, that was certainly unpleasant.”

I wait for her to acknowledge that Wes was out of line.

Instead, she straightens her napkin.

“I wish you hadn’t argued with him, Annie. This is difficult enough without you making things worse.”

I look at her, wondering why I expect anything different.

“I’m going upstairs.”

“You haven’t finished dinner.”

“I’m not hungry anymore.”

Douglas looks concerned. “Would you like Mrs. Whitcomb to bring something up later?”

His kindness almost undoes me.

“No, thank you.”

“Please don’t let Wesley make you feel unwelcome. You have every right to be here.”

I nod, although it’s difficult to feel welcome when someone has already decided you’re an intruder.

“Thank you for dinner, Douglas.”

I leave before Mom can say anything else, keeping my shoulders straight until I reach the staircase.

By then, my throat is burning.

I hate that Mom dragged me here without a choice. I hate that Douglas is trying to make me comfortable while his son resents my existence. Most of all, I hate that Wes Hargrove makes me feel unwanted in a house I’m supposed to call home.

His ridiculous good looks only make it more irritating. What a waste of a handsome face on someone with the personality of an infected hemorrhoid.

I reach my bedroom and close the door before the tears escape.

“Fuck him,” I whisper, wiping my cheeks.

I know I shouldn’t care what Wes thinks. He’s a stranger who knows nothing about me. But knowing that doesn’t make the humiliation hurt less.

I’ve spent years hearing that I’m not thin enough, polished enough, or ambitious enough. Apparently, I’ve traded one person who thinks I’m a disappointment for two.

At least Douglas seems nice.

I sit on my bed, trying to pull myself together. My phone lies beside my pillow, and I reach for it.

There’s only one person I want right now.

Me: I’m having a horrible night.

Carson responds almost immediately.

Carson: I’m sorry, beautiful. Want to talk about it?

I consider explaining what happened, but I’m exhausted from thinking about Wes Hargrove.

Tonight, I don’t want another conversation about my mother or my new family.

I want Carson.

His voice, his attention, and the way he makes me forget the world.

Me: No. I don’t want to talk about them anymore.

Carson: Okay, baby. What do you want?

I bite my lip, warmth spreading through my chest.

Me: You.

Carson: You’ve got me, beautiful.

I smile through my tears.

Me: Then make me feel better and forget about this awful fucking day.

Carson: Gladly.