Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Two people in uniforms brought in some champagne on a fancy bar cart, which all seemed very Downton Abbey. When Grandpa Edmund raised a toast to us, the family’s response was fairly enthusiastic—except for Fallon. He sat in a corner single-handedly murdering a bottle of whiskey, one cut crystal glass at a time. Grandpa shut him down when he tried to start something during the toast, but I knew he was going to keep stirring the pot.
All in all, I felt like I’d landed on another planet. I had no idea how I was going to get through these next few days. When they tried to strike up a conversation with me, I barely knew what they were talking about, so I did the only thing I could think of. Smile and nod, Embry, I told myself. Smile and nod.
That evening, as Bryson and I got ready to join his family for cocktails, I said, “Just to give you a heads up, I plan to be very lovey dovey tonight. I think real honeymooners would be all over each other. Don’t you?”
“Yes and no. My family isn’t big on public displays of affection, so we don’t want to overdo it.”
“So, I shouldn’t blow you between rounds of martinis?” He frowned at me, and I flashed him a smile and changed the subject. “Seriously though, what are you going to wear? I borrowed some clothes from Lark and Hal, but if I go for the fanciest stuff right off the bat, I’m going to run out of options toward the end of our visit.”
“I’m just wearing a sweater. Some of my family will be overly dressed up in suits and ties, but I want to be comfortable.”
The sweater turned out to be a very nice, dark red V-neck, which he layered over a white button-down shirt and paired with black pants and loafers. The overall effect was casually elegant, which I wasn’t sure I was capable of. I gave it my best shot, though.
I straightened my hair, which was my way of showing I’d made an effort, and held it back with a black headband. Then I put on a pair of slightly cropped black pants, a slim-fitting baby blue T-shirt and matching sneakers, and one of Hal’s signature long cardigans. He was about five inches taller than I was, but after I folded back the cuffs, it was a pretty good fit.
I turned to Bryson and asked, “Is this good enough? I could go with a button-down shirt, but I only brought three and wanted to save them.”
He ran his gaze down the length of me and murmured, “You look beautiful.” That was surprising. I’d expected some general feedback, not a compliment. Then he cleared his throat and added, “We should get going.”
We took the dog for a walk, and I gave Dusty his dinner and got him settled in our room before we went to join Bryson’s family.
They were starting to gather on a huge brick terrace at the back of the house. It was well past sunset, but it was so brightly lit that it looked like daytime. The terrace was dotted with clusters of chairs and small sofas, each with its own patio heater, and there was a built-in bar, along with a bartender, which again added to the hotel feel. It was hard to imagine Uncle Charles rattling around this place all by himself when his family wasn’t visiting.
We joined Edmund Baudelaire, who was sitting alone at the far end of the terrace. When Bryson took a seat, I sat on his lap and draped my arm around his shoulders. I’d warned him I was going to lay it on thick this evening, but I wondered if this might be outside his comfort zone. Then I felt his body relax as he rested a hand on my thigh, and that made it easier for me to relax, too.
“Now that we have some time to talk, I want to hear all about the two of you,” Edmund said, “starting with how you met.” The rest of the family was clustered into two seating areas at the other end of the patio, leaving us alone with him. I wondered if he’d arranged that, to give us some time to talk.
I jumped in with our agreed-upon story. “We met at a Starbucks on Halloween. I took one look at him and knew I had to strike up a conversation. The rest is history.”
Edmund turned his sharp gaze on his grandson. “I’m curious why you didn’t mention Embry when we chatted on Thanksgiving.”
“It was overwhelming when I realized how I felt about him,” Bryson said. “I needed time to process it, instead of trying to put it into words.” That sounded so real that even I wanted to believe it.
“And why did you choose to get married in Las Vegas?”