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Derek again tries to coax me to eat while showering me with public displays of affection. Temple kisses, touching my hair while his eyes travel my face, fingertips massaging the back of my neck or caressing my shoulder. I’m wincing at his touch, trying to shrink into myself. And they’re all ignoring it.
His mother abruptly stands.
“We’d like the final course in ten minutes, Carson. Mimosas in my morning room now, please. I’d like a word with Cleo.”
“Yes, Mrs. Steele,” Carson states, magically appearing in the doorway.
Mrs. Steele grabs her mimosa, the fourth since I’ve arrived, and she wobbles a little as she backs up, then smooths out her flamboyant, full gauzy red skirt. I woodenly rise.
“Chloe. And Grace, too?” Grace asks.
“Grace, too. And Naynay,” Mrs. Steele sings out and I nab my little handbag.
“You don’t need that,” Derek says, snatching it from my hand and placing it back on the table, making his point while sliding his glasses down his nose just enough to look me in the eyes with warning.
I fire back a dirty look, which makes him smile, wide. And this makes me stumble clumsily, but I manage to steady myself before landing flat on my butt. I follow his mom and sisters out of the room, back the way we came in, then down a different hall that takes us deeper into the cavernous house until we’re in a beautiful teal and champagne space filled with art and comfortable furniture.
Mrs. Steele sits on one of four wingback chairs in a conversation cluster. We all take one. Grace and Naomi flank her so I’m directly across, and wondering if I’m about to be cross-examined. Maybe I’m about to get some help with Derek.
Shannon Steele eyes me with concern and hope flares until she speaks, saying, “If you’re marrying into this family, there are things you need to know about, Cleo.”
Carson sets an ornate silver tray with four mimosas and a large cranberry glass jug containing at least one, if not two more rounds of the same in it on the low table between us.
“Thank you, Carson!” she exclaims like she’s dying of thirst and he’s a savior.
Her eyes pin me shrewdly and I know instantly that this is the media speech Grace forewarned about instead of concern for the fact it’s been made clear I’ve been blackmailed into my current situation with Derek.
“Chloe,” I correct. “And I have no plans to marry into this family, Mrs. Steele. If I wasn’t clear enough earlier, I’m not here willingly. Derek has threatened me and held things over my head to get me where I am.”
Grace’s back straightens. She and Naomi exchange alarmed glances.
Mrs. Steele sips her beverage. “My apologies, Chloe. You remind me of my cousin Cleo. First of all, we must be extremely careful about the press and how we handle them. We’ll have you do an on-boarding session with our head of PR. If the press approaches you before then, please don’t engage. Tell them ‘no comment’.”
I blink a couple of times, absorbing how she just glazed over what I’ve said.
She goes on. “You’ll be photographed. Often. They look for unflattering photo ops considering you’ll be dating one of the coveted Steele bachelors, so if you do go out in public in sweats with a messy bun, expect to see it plastered all over social media. Also, everything you say, everything you do reflects on not just you but on us as well. Treat people well everywhere. Tip generously. Use table manners without fail. It won’t matter if you get shitty service, you’ll be judged on how you react to it. That server won’t be. You will be. So please don’t complain about poor service. Be mindful of your appearance at all times so you don’t wind up photographed by a bunch of paps who will glory in catching spinach in your teeth. You’ll get a full briefing as soon as my assistant can arrange it. Sometime this week. What religion are you? Tell me about your parents, please.”
I shake my head profusely. “Mrs. Steele, I’m afraid I don’t want anything to do with any of this. I’m only here because your son is–”
“Persistent, yes. I’m aware of how he can get when he gets his mind set on something. Like his father, there’s no dissuading him. We’re non-active, but if you don’t object, I’d prefer some sort of Christian denomination church. What church do your parents attend? Did you say they live in Ohio?”
I reach for a mimosa and take a healthy sip. Because I need it with what I’m about to say.
The Steele sisters are saying nothing, but they both appear fascinated by this conversation.
“Please forgive me if this sounds rude, but I’m not willing to discuss a church wedding because I’m not marrying your son. He’s not just being persistent. He’s bulldozed my entire life. He’s manipulated me into his apartment and his bed while making threats about bad things happening to people I care about if I refuse or disappoint him. He… I’m afraid he might need medical intervention. He’s been spying on me, stalking me.”
“So much like his father,” she mutters. “Though neither of them would ever admit how alike they are. Marcie?” she bellows abruptly, startling me.
The maid who took our coats earlier appears. “Yes, Mrs. Steele?”
“Please fetch me a bottle of champagne, will you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Marcie slips out.
“We have mimosas already, mother,” Naomi says, sipping hers.
