Settling into one of the chairs by Scott’s desk, I watched Gideon as raptly as the others in the room with him. It never ceased to amaze me how self-assured he was for a man who was only twenty-eight. The men he was meeting with looked to be twice his age, and yet their body language and focused attention told me they respected my husband and what he was saying.
Yes, money talked—loudly—and Gideon had tons of it. But he conveyed command and control with subtle actions. I recognized that after living with Nathan’s father, my mom’s first husband, who’d wielded power like a blunt instrument.
Gideon knew how to own a room without thumping his chest. I doubted the setting made any difference; he would be a formidable presence in anyone’s office.
His head turned and his gaze met mine. There was no surprise in those brilliantly blue eyes of his. He’d known I was there, had sensed me just as I often sensed his approach without looking. We were connected somehow, on a level I couldn’t explain. There were times when he wasn’t with me and I just wished he was, but I still felt him nearby.
I smiled, then dug in my bag for my phone. I didn’t want Gideon to feel like I was just sitting around waiting, not that doing so would pressure him at all.
There were dozens of e-mail messages from my mother with photo attachments of dresses and flowers and wedding venues, reminding me that I needed to talk with her about Dad paying for the ceremony. I’d been putting off that conversation all week, trying to steel myself for her reaction. There was also another text from Brett, telling me that we needed to talk … urgently.
Standing, I looked around for a quiet corner where I could make that call. What I saw was Christopher Vidal Sr. rounding the corner.
Gideon’s stepfather was dressed in the khakis and loafers I’d come to expect, with a pale blue dress shirt open at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves. The dark copper waves he’d passed on to Christopher Jr. were neatly cut around his neck and ears, and his slate green eyes were capped with a frown behind old-school brass-framed glasses.
“Eva.” Chris slowed as he neared me. “How are you?”
“Good. You?”
He nodded, looking over my shoulder at Gideon’s office. “Can’t complain. Do you have a minute? I’d like to talk to you about something.”
“Sure.” The door opened behind me and I turned to see Scott stepping out.
“Mr. Vidal,” he said, coming toward us. “Miss Tramell. Mr. Cross will be another fifteen minutes or so. Can I get either of you something to drink while you wait?”
Chris shook his head. “Nothing for me, thank you. But if you have a private room we could use, that would be great.”
“Of course.” Scott looked at me.
“I’m good, thanks,” I answered.
Leaving his tablet on his desk, Scott led us to a conference room with a sweeping view of the city. A long, polished wood table gleamed beneath the recessed lighting, with a matching cabinet covering one wall and a large monitor lining the other.
“If you need anything,” he began, “just dial one and we’ll take care of it. There’s coffee in the cabinet there, and water.”
Chris nodded. “Thank you, Scott. Appreciate it.”
Scott left. Chris gestured for me to sit, then took the chair to the right of mine, spinning it to face me.
“First, let me congratulate you on your engagement.” He smiled. “Ireland speaks very highly of you, and I know you’ve been instrumental in bringing her and Gideon closer together. I can’t thank you enough for that.”
“I didn’t do much, but I appreciate the thought.”
He reached for my left hand, which was resting on the table. His thumb rubbed gently over my engagement ring and his mouth curved ruefully.
Was he thinking about the fact that Geoffrey Cross had selected the ring for Elizabeth?
“It’s a beautiful ring,” he said finally. “I’m sure it meant a great deal to Gideon to give it to you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. It meant a lot to my husband because it was a symbol of the love between his parents.
Chris released my hand. “Elizabeth is taking this very hard. I’m sure there are a lot of complicated emotions a mother must feel when her first child decides to get married, especially with a son. My mother used to say that a son is a son until he gets married—then he’s a husband—but a daughter is a daughter for life.”
The conciliatory explanation rubbed me the wrong way. He was trying to be kind, but I was tired of all the excuses, especially when it came to Elizabeth Vidal. The pretending had to end or Gideon would never stop hurting.