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Zoey smiled, which strangely caused a sense of unease to fill my chest. I caught the flicker of an inflexible expression etched into her face before she replaced it with an appreciative gleam.
“Thank you, Matthias.” She lifted an eyebrow. “You look rather fetching yourself tonight. I can see why both women and men gravitate toward you.”
Well then. Leading in with a low blow was one way to do this. Zoey clearly didn’t know how to play this game. You should never let an enemy know your true feelings.
I hadn’t noticed it before, but Zoey’s determined mouth was a lot like Coach Anderson’s. Certainly, in Zoey’s more feminine lips, it was less grim, but there was still an essence of ruthless ambition held in that pink-hued smile. Maybe the apple hadn’t fallen too far from the tree in the Anderson family.
Still, I was a Vaulteneau and preferred knowing where I stood with an adversary. Zoey appeared to be intractable and wasn’t shy about conveying it.
“You make it sound like a bad thing,” I said, inflecting my reply with a light dose of charm. I could turn it on or off at command. “I’m comfortable being everyone’s type.”
“Hmmm,” she said. Perhaps she expected me to be defensive.
Less confident in my ability to sway Zoey to my side, we made small talk as I escorted her into the main house and into the formal dining room.
Zoey inspected the space with polite decorum. I’d never invited her to the big house before, so she was taking stock of the gold-enameled woodwork in the ceiling and the columns that flanked the crackling fireplace.
Miss Paulina ensured the space was elegant enough to entertain royalty. The three-tiered chandelier was programmed for a romantic setting, with dim, warm lights that cast a soft glow upon the table’s floral centerpiece, crystal glasses, and tableware.
Decorating the walls, tasteful pastoral paintings and gilded mirrors were bookended by electric candle wall sconces. The doors that led to the wide veranda were thrown open, which let in the gentle ocean breeze, the musical cacophony of bird warbles, and the hum of a million insects going about their business.
The tranquil scent of firewood and ocean air mingled with the delicious smell of food emanating from the kitchen, the latter which provided evidence of the Vaulteneau chef’s excellent culinary skills.
If this were a romantic dinner with Ciaran, it would be perfect.
But it wasn’t. Ciaran was in his bedroom talking to his friends. I was sharing a three-course meal with my blackmailer’s daughter with the intent of making my problems go away.
I led Zoey to a chair at the table and saw her comfortably seated. I moved around the table and sat across from her. I caught her uncertainty on how to act or behave in such a formal setting. Her eyes darted to the number of forks and knives, to the different glasses, to the folded napkin placed atop the plate. Miss Paulina did not play around with her setup.
If Zoey wanted to rub shoulders with the big dogs, she’d need to be a quick study. I was curious to see how the evening would progress. I’d already noticed that she smoothed her hands down her hair as a sort of “tell” for her nervousness or uncertainty.
I motioned toward the far corner. The sommelier approached with white wine. Waiting in the wings, Chef Clementine detailed what would be on tonight’s menu—oven-fresh bread, just-caught fish with an assortment of sauces, vegetables, and a summer salad to start. Normally, soup would be on the menu, but I wasn’t a soup fan, so Miss Paulina already knew to remove it from the lineup. Dessert would be a decadent blueberry tart that would pair well with a flute of sparkling champagne.
With the bread, butter, and wine between us, I navigated our conversation away from the weather, surfing, and upcoming competitions by saying, “You’re probably wondering why I invited you to dinner tonight, Zoey?”
She was silent a moment as she took a sip from her wine glass.
“Is it not to apologize to me?” There it was, that sweet-and-sour tone to her voice. Zoey was angry and doing her best to keep it reined in. Our “relationship” was always a business arrangement. How could she possibly be angry at me? Her intense eyes bore into mine. “I presume you plan to end your…fling with your stepbrother.” She let out a little laugh as she nibbled on a slice of bread. Off-handedly, she asked, “What’s his name again?”
Beneath the table, my hands clenched into fists. I didn’t care if she or anyone had negative things to say about me. Curse me up a storm and I’d be fine.
But to insult Ciaran when he’d been the best thing to ever happen to me was enough to scorch my blood. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of reacting to her words.
I was a Vaulteneau. Insults bounced off our armor.
Show no emotions.
Be a statue.
Throw money at the problem.
Isn’t that how Dad instructed me?
“Apologize? No,” I said before taking a leisurely sip of my wine. “I was hoping we could make our own arrangements. I’ll make it worth your while, Zoey. I know you have professional goals.”
“If you think you can bribe me, Matthias, you have another thing coming.”
“What have I to bribe you with?” I asked honestly. “I barely know anything about you, and what I do know, none of it is negative. Sure, I doubt the press would appreciate being made into complicit fools. The press and the media are self-licking ice cream cones. They’d get amazing ratings on reporting how we’d duped them into believing a fake relationship. But none of that appeals to me.”
