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I wish that were enough to quell my nerves.
My stomach is in knots, standing outside of the daunting Monica Parker’s house. The Santa Monica mansion is huge, though not nearly as big as the old Paker estate.
When Mason asked me to come with him to a family get-together, I’d thought surely, he’d lost his fucking mind.
I mean, his mother. The dowager queen of theI hate Hannah club.
He helps me down and I teeter from the anxiety rushing through me, as I try to keep my pale green sundress from showing everyone,includinghis mother, my ass and the very prominent bite mark on it. Suddenly, I feel stupid in my dress covered in daisies. I mean, these are the Carpenters. The epitome of Los Angeles fashion.
I may as well have worn a paper bag.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
Mason stops, stepping forward and taking my face between his hands.
“It’s you and me, right?”
“It’s a big step,” I whisper and he chuckles softly, his rough calloused thumb stroking over my cheek. Normally, I’d be a puddle at his feet, but right now, it barely takes the edge off.
“It is.”
“It could create a big rift between you and your family.”
“It could.”
“And you’re sure you want to do this?”
“Yep.”
I work my brain to come up with any excuse that could get me the hell away from Monica Parker’s swanky mansion and cold stare, but nothing comes to mind. Not when her son’s looking at me like he’s planning all the ways he’s going to devour me later.
“You and me?” I repeat after him, my voice squeaking when it comes out.
“You and me, baby,” he nods, pressing the softest kiss to my lips that makes my knees feel noticeably weaker. “I don’t fit into my mother’s world, but . . . I’d like to show her mine.”
My eyes go wide, my heart stalling in my chest, but before I can speak, he presses a rough kiss to the top of my head, takes my hand, and tugs me toward the backyard.
God, I hope he can’t feel how clammy my palm is.
Monica’s house is nowhere near as extreme as the Malibu fortress that was the Parker estate, but it’s damn near close. The place is huge and straight out of an old Hollywood film.
Parker Estate felt cold. Desecrated and bloodstained. What had once been a grand mansion had been turned into a breeding ground for drugs and rapists.
Now, this new house feels brighter. Less formidable. There’s still a stone wall surrounding the house—make no mistake about that, but the sun shines a little brighter here. The air seems breezier coming in off the Pacific. Things just feel . . . calm. Light.
The back yard is full of chatter when Mason pulls me through the gate, his hand tightening as if I’m going to tuck and run as soon as I set foot on the terrace.
“You and me, little doe,” he murmurs quietly and he’s right.
If I can make it through this, I can make it through anything.
“Mason!” Bailey Carpenter screeches, darting forward and throwing her arms around him for a hug. I attempt to step back and let go of Mason’s hand, but he remains steadfast, his fingers only tightening.
So, I stand there awkwardly.
“I’ve missed you so much,” Bailey groans, pulling back.
And then her eyes land on me.
