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“You could say no.”
I finished the croissant, put the coffee down, and pushed off the bed. I started undressing but left on my briefs as I went into my closet.
Turning back to Franky, I said, “It’s not that easy. If I say no, then there go my Olympic dreams. Poof. Ten years of training vanished overnight.”
“He’s a swim coach.” Franky crossed her arms over her chest. “You are a Vaulteneau. You’ve got like a billion dollars.”
More like seventy-three billion, but who was counting?
I donned jeans and a T-shirt, the action of which made my shoulder throb.
“Which means absolutely jack shit when I’m in that swim lane trying to beat the times of nine competitive swimmers.”
“Matty—”
“Franky! The man is a former gold medalist swimmer. Let me handle this the way I know how.”
“Fine.” Franky’s mouth flattened. “You’re the boss.”
“Am I?” I couldn’t help but laugh and Franky joined in. “What time is it?”
She checked her phone. “Close to ten.” A nagging feeling tickled the back of my brain. What was I forgetting? Franky helped me remember. “Mrs. Vaulteneau and her son will be arriving shortly.”
“Fuck, that’s right,” I groaned.
It all came back. Theresa. Ciaran.
“That’s partially why I’m here. Feed you and offer a pep talk to motivate you not to murder your new stepbrother.”
She cocked an eyebrow and I felt the wrath of her judgment as if she’d thumped me on the nose.
“I really wish people would stop calling him that. Besides, I reserve the right to make the decision to murder or not to murder once I meet him. Until then, it’s all a hypothetical.”
“Fair point.” A smile played on Franky’s lips. “Mr. Vaulteneau said to be out front in twenty-five minutes to meet the new Mrs. Vaulteneau and her son, Ce-Ke…what is it?”
“Ciaran,” I pronounced for her.
“Hm, I like it.” Her voice was chipper. Franky was a people person. “Sounds like an Irish wildflower or something. I’ll text you in twenty minutes. Mr. Vaulteneau gave all staff a half holiday, so I won’t be back until tomorrow. Toodles.” She bounced down the stairs and I heard the front door close.
I had no intention of pissing off my dad or showing disrespect towards Theresa. I finished dressing, styled my hair, gulped down the rest of the coffee, and headed outside.
When I walked to the front of the property, Dad was nervously pacing the driveway. He reminded me of a high schooler who wasn’t sure if his prom date would arrive to pick him up. He’d dressed for the occasion in a custom dark gray suit. He only stopped moving when Davies pulled into the drive.
The blond woman who exited was even more beautiful than her photo.
“Hello, my love,” my father said, taking her in his arms. “Welcome home.”
“Stefon, darling,” Theresa breathed.
All elegance and grace, Theresa moved like a ballerina and sounded like Grace Kelly.
While I was curious about the woman who’d captured my father’s heart and soul, I was mostly interested in catching a glimpse of Ciaran.
Would he look different from his photo?
When he stepped out of the town car, I took him in. Yes, he was tall, probably my height. His hair was blond like his mom’s, and a bit longer and curlier than his school photo. He was suntanned, which wasn’t surprising since they were coming from Vegas. He wore sunglasses like I did, but I took in his angular face, long thin nose, strong brows, cut jawline.
Fuck me, he was better looking than his school photo let on.
