So conversation time was over. Now it was face the music time. Meet the parents time. Try to act sweet and charming so the scary rich people don’t hate me and set the dogs on me time.
I cursed myself for not slipping a hip flask into my handbag.
Jackson unloaded me from the car like a piece of luggage. When I was steady on my feet, I looked up into his grim face and poked him in the chest, which nearly broke my finger. Maybe he was wearing a bulletproof vest.
“Hey. Boudreaux. Down here.”
His lips pressed to a thin, pale line, he looked down at me.
I said firmly, “I’m your friend. Don’t forget that. No matter what you’re dragging me into here, what psychotic ex-girlfriends or crazy relatives or dead bodies rotting under the rosebushes that you’re not admitting to, I’m on your side. Got it?”
He swallowed. His eyes went all melty. He tried to cover up his emotion by scowling and looking away, but it was too late.
Mama was right about him. The man was crème brûlée. Tough on the outside, but on the inside all soft and gooey sweet. It made me feel good to know that secret, and also surprisingly protective.
These rich SOBs better watch out, because if one of them even looked at Jackson sideways, I’d go full Rambo mode and shoot their heads clean off. Only with my mouth.
“All right, then,” I murmured, taking his arm. “Now pretend like you’re madly in love with me and introduce me to your parents.”
The inside of the house—and I’m using that word loosely—was exactly what you’d expect a castle would be. Hanging tapestries, oil paintings of grim-faced ancestors, lots of elaborate stonework and beveled windows. The herringbone inlaid wood floor was polished to a mirror sheen. Bouquets of flowers were arranged in delicate Chinese porcelain vases that were probably three thousand years old. The ceilings were cathedral. There was an overabundance of carved mahogany paneling on the walls, and I’d never seen so many branched candelabra outside of church. The entire effect was one of stately, distinguished elegance.
I said, “What a dump.”
Standing beside me in the octagonal-shaped foyer, Jackson snorted. I took it as a win.
The limo driver followed us in with the luggage. “To your rooms, sir?” he said.
Jackson nodded, and the driver disappeared down a corridor to our right.
“You know that guy?” I asked, surprised.
“He’s been on staff since I was . . . ten, I think. Charles.”
“I thought he was a driver from a service. The two of you acted like you’d never met before!”
Jackson looked around with his mouth pinched. “Did you expect he’d throw his arms around me and give me a big hug?”
“But there wasn’t even a ‘nice to see you.’ There wasn’t even a hint he recognized you at all.”
Jackson jabbed both hands through his hair and said roughly, “Rayford was the only one who ever liked me.”
Oh boy. Minefield. I had a bad feeling the entire weekend would be filled with them. I quickly changed the subject. “So where’s the lineup of servants?”
Jackson sent me a strange look.
“Just kidding. But . . .” I gazed around the empty room. “Um. Shouldn’t there be someone here to meet us?”
At that moment, a sharp bark echoed off the walls. I turned to my left and froze in horror. Two enormous, muscular black dogs stood in the passageway, stock-still, staring at us.
My horror turned to relief when Jackson sank to his knees and opened his arms. “Zeus! Apollo! Come here, boys!”
The dogs leapt forward and crashed into Jackson’s arms, a whirlwind of barking, licking, tail-wagging joy.
I took a step back, not completely convinced they wouldn’t turn and rip me to shreds. They were bigger than a pair of wolves and had an equally formidable appearance.
“Don’t worry, Bianca,” said Jackson, roughhousing with the dogs, “wolfhounds aren’t usually aggressive to strangers.”
“Usually doesn’t give me the greatest feeling of confidence, Jax.”
“They’re sweethearts.” He stood. The top of the dogs’ heads came up to his waist, which almost put them at eye level with me. He said, “Hold out your hand and let them sniff you.”
Or eat me, I thought, but decided this was my first test at Moonstar Ranch, and I wasn’t going to fail it. I gingerly stuck out my hand, then held perfectly still as two enormous heads swung around to inspect it.
“Nice doggies,” I whispered, terrified. “Good doggies.”
The dogs nosed my hand, then started to happily pant at me. Apparently I’d passed the smell test.
“You’re early,” said a deep male voice from across the room. Jackson went stiff.