Addicted: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance(66)

If Mom hadn't had me meet Johnathan Castelbon before the wedding, I would have taken him for a stuck up man. But to my surprise, he was really a great guy. He and Mom had met while she was taking her once a year vacation to New Hampshire, where Grandpa Max had the Hepburn Estate, which just happened to be nestled among some of the best skiing in New England near Bretton Woods. Mom always was an avid skier, and had met John Castelbon while they were both resting in the lodge during a heavy flurry that took visibility to nothing.

It was love at first sight, according to Mom. I could see why too the first time I met John, after Mom insisted he visit Chicago to see our home. I was in my senior year of college at the time, and he reminded me a lot of Dad, with the same driven yet compassionate personality, and the same open heart. He and Mom are close in age, which I think was part of what allowed John to relax around her. He'd been burned twice in marriages before, both times to younger women, and having Mom around who didn't expect him to be a sugar daddy, allowed him to be himself. For the two years plus that he and Mom dated before he popped the question, I'd really gotten to know the man, and I couldn't have been happier that they were getting married.

Still, I was worried about one thing as I climbed the steps to the front door, my backpack over my shoulder. Supposedly, Julian was coming home for the wedding. The proverbial bad boy, Googling his name gave you more hits than his father's. I know, I'd checked one time. Of course, the results of that search weren't positive either. Drunken escapades in LA nightclubs, being seen with more starlets than I could remember, and being arrested seemed to be his favorite hobbies. The little bit the manor staff had told me, he was the same as a teenager, all of it beginning when Julian's mother and Johnathan parted ways when Julian was only seven.

Part of what worried me was that in every picture of Julian Castelbon I'd ever seen, physically he was the sort of guy I was into. Tall, dark haired, with the same sort of Nordic skin and features that made me think that in the Castelbon family tree there was a distinct Viking bloodline somewhere. The picture of him throwing down with that rapper's pose, his tank top torn off and his muscles rippling, had sat uncomfortably in my mind for weeks. If I had any safety, it was in the fact that by all accounts, he was a total selfish asshole. I'd worked around enough of those in the culinary world that I didn't need to worry about dealing with that in my personal life as well.

Ringing the doorbell, I was greeted by Yuki, John's . . . well, I never have quite figured out what to call Yuki. A beautiful Japanese woman, she in a lot of ways would be considered a butler, if her name were Alfred, if she were British, and if she were a man. Still, she ran the house well, and John depended on her to take care of keeping Castelbon Manor in top condition. "Ah, Krystal, how are you?" Yuki greeted me. That was another thing I liked about John, he never insisted on formality unless it was some society function sort of thing. Yuki had extended the same comfortable familiarity with me, a sign that she respected me. It was only with people she didn't like that she used the words mister or miss. "I hope your flight from Chicago went well?"

"Of course it did Yuki, thanks for asking. And how is Lizette?" By the way, Yuki is a lesbian. Kudos to John for hiring a Japanese lesbian as the person to run the manor in super conservative New England.

"We're both ecstatic. With the new court rulings, well, you know." I did know. The culinary industry has a high percentage of gays and lesbians too, and there'd been a lot of proposals and stuff like that over the past few months. "It is good to see you. How long after the wedding will you stay?"

"Only a few days," I said with real regret. Yuki was a little more than ten years older than me, and she really was nice. I wish I could have gotten to see her more often. "I got selected to be on a team for Iron Chef America."

"Really? Congratulations! If you can, can you get Masaharu Morimoto's autograph? My uncle in Kyoto is a big fan of his, even back in his days competing in the Japanese version."

"I'll see what I can do. Is John or my Mom around?"

"Yes, of course. John is in the back talking with the wedding planner. Sandra is in town, however. She's getting last minute adjustments to her dress. By the way, what will you be wearing?"

The two of us walked through the foyer to the entrance of the main garden. In my opinion, calling a property that is roughly the size of Central Park a garden is the height of understatement, but they've done a great job with it. Once you get past the first hundred and fifty feet or so of English manicured garden style stuff, John's let the area be a mix of hardwood maples and open patches of grass. John was standing in the middle of the manicured area, chatting with who I assumed was the wedding planner. On that note, why is it every wedding planner I've ever met wears a polyester blend suit, even if they're going around outside? "John!"