She turned toward him unexpectedly and must have caught the look on his face. She gave him a dry little smile. “I’m used to it.”
Peter couldn’t help but laugh. Deanna was a lot like Kelly in some ways—in that straightforward practicality and ironic, intelligent humor. She was pretty in an obvious manner, which wasn’t as appealing to Peter as Kelly was, but she had the same sort of hard-working patience and commitment to family that all the sisters had.
They really were a remarkable family. And Kelly was the most remarkable of the three.
“Used to what?” Mitchell asked, lowering his fork before he took his first bite.
“Used to everyone drooling over my husband.” Deanna gave him a teasing smile that made it clear she wasn’t genuinely annoyed or resentful. “It’s a cross I have to bear in long-suffering silence.”
“You might want to remind yourself about the silence part,” Mitchell teased, reaching over cup his wife’s face gently.
Any question Peter might have had about whether Mitchell’s charisma really bothered Deanna vanished at the look on the man’s face. She could have absolutely no doubts about how much her husband loved her. Peter was immediately uncomfortable, as if he’d intruded on a private moment.
He looked over to Kelly automatically, and their eyes met for a moment. He didn’t have a chance to interpret the look in her eyes because she broke the gaze almost immediately.
“I thought we were supposed to be the newlyweds,” she said in a bland voice.
Deanna laughed and Mitchell dropped his hand. “That’s right,” he said. “What’s that about, anyway?”
“Crazy things happen in Vegas,” Peter said, making sure to keep his voice light and mild.
“I guess so.” Mitchell looked between the two of them. “You’re not going to live in that old house for very long, are you?”
He didn’t have to say it. Peter knew he was referring primarily to living with Grandmother Beaufort.
“It makes sense for now,” Peter said, since Kelly’s eyes had flashed over to him. “At least until we graduate.”
“What are you going to do then?” Mitchell asked.
“Peter is in hotel management,” Kelly said. “He wants to do the same thing you do.”
Peter would have said it differently, but he couldn’t help but like the fond admiration on Kelly’s face—as if she really appreciated his dreams for the future.
“Really?” Mitchell asked. “Why didn’t you tell me before? I might be able to get you a position here, if you’re any good.”
“He’s great,” Kelly said, before Peter could respond. “He’d be amazing, working for you here. He’s working at East Bourne House right now.”
“Really? That’s a good property.” Mitchell pulled out his phone and appeared to make a note for himself. “Send me your stuff, and I’ll take a look at it. When do you graduate?”
“In May,” Peter said, before Kelly could chime in again. She looked so pleased and proud of him that he could hardly begrudge her for interfering, but he felt incredibly uncomfortable by this conversation.
He didn’t want to work for Mitchell, any more than he wanted to work for his father. Whatever he did in life, he was going to do it on his own.
Searching for a diplomatic way to pull back some, he said, “I’m still figuring out what I’ll do after graduation, but I sure appreciate the offer.”
Mitchell nodded, as if the issue were resolved in his mind, and Peter saw Kelly and Deanna giving each other pleased looks.
He sighed.
Maybe his mother was right. Maybe he shouldn’t be so independent. Maybe he should accept help when it was offered. It would make life so much easier.
But easy wasn’t him. It had never been him. He’d resigned himself to that years ago.
“So how are things going?” Deanna asked, obviously making an effort to change the subject. “Living with Grandmama, I mean?”
“It’s fine,” Kelly said. “It’s totally fine. We moved downstairs, so we have a little privacy.”
“Not much,” Mitchell muttered, a spark of amusement in his eyes. “Does it feel like those horrible cats are always breathing down your neck?”
Peter and Kelly laughed, while Deanna gave her husband a glare of mock indignation. “Don’t bad-mouth the Pride. You’ll hurt their feelings.”
“Their feelings—and their creepy, flea-ridden stuffed bodies—can all go to—”
“Hey!” Deanna cried, interrupting her husband. “They don’t have fleas.”