More, Please(40)

When did I start noticing this type of stuff?

“You were raised here?” I asked quietly as we made our way through a large room and toward the low murmur of voices.

“Partly. My mother had a large estate in Arizona.”

“Had?”

“She had to sell in the divorce.”

“Why Arizona? Talk about landlocked…”

“That’s where she grew up.”

We entered a large room where a crystal chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling. About twelve people were gathered, all in shirts or dresses. Everyone but us were in their later years, something I could tell by the loose folds in their necks or the liver spots on their hands. Faces were a different story, though. Most of the women looked ten years younger, at least, than their bodies. The men were the same, genteel and sophisticated.

“Who has the fountain of youth in their backyard?” I asked Hunter as the butler bowed and slowly left the room. He was like wrinkles on a couple sticks badly held together.

A middle-aged woman in a caterer’s suit with a black bowtie and a blank expression approached. “Can I get you two something to drink?” she asked.

Hunter looked at me, indicating I should answer first. “Champagne, please.”

“Scotch for me. Neat.” Hunter waited for the woman to nod and disappear before he said, “My mother has youthful friends. As you can see, they keep themselves in shape.”

Now that he mentioned it, I saw that he was right. Women and men alike were slim or average, none overweight, and only one on the stockier side. They didn’t loaf around, either, unlike the butler. They moved well and easily, laughing often and smiling most of the time.

I straightened up a little. They also all had great posture.

“Hunter, dear.” A striking lady approached us with a slight smile. Her elegantly spiky hair said “fashionable” and her glimmering black dress screamed “sophisticated.” She had the same trim physique and ageless appearance as the others, highlighting this with mostly nude makeup. Her jewelry was similar in style, size, and cut to mine.

And now I knew where Hunter got his style and taste. He’d learned from a master. Thank God he’d arranged for Pat to come over!

“Mother.” Hunter gave his mom a light kiss to her cheek. He stepped back and turned to me, slipping his arm around my shoulders. “This is Olivia. Livy, this is my mother, Trisha.”

“Hello.” Trisha put out a hand as her hazel eyes sparkled. “It is so nice to finally meet someone that has Hunter’s affection. He doesn’t usually bring anyone around.”

Except Blaire, as she had been invited…

“Hi.” I shook her hand, trying to match her light, soft tone and the grip. I figured mimicking her in manners would be my best bet. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” Trisha looked at her son fondly, patting him on the shoulder. She turned back to me. “Where are my manners? I’ll take you for a tour while Hunter gets his business out of the way early.”

“You know me too well, Mother.” To me he said, “I just want to talk to one of my mother’s advisors about an investment. Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

“Sure. Of course.” Nervous jitters made my hands shake, forcing me to clasp them in front of me so as not to betray my lie. I didn’t want to be left alone with his mom—she’d figure out I was a fraud and probably tell her son to run away screaming.

“Great.” Surprising me, Hunter gave me a light kiss to the temple before he took his arm away.





Chapter Twelve





“Lovely.” Trisha waited for Hunter to move away before politely putting out her hand, gesturing me toward the right. “And where did you grow up?”

I nearly had to lean in to hear her. “Just north of here—San Rafael.”

“Oh yes, of course. Beautiful area, like this one. A bit more removed from the fog and chill of the city.”

“Yes. Summers get warm there, unlike San Francisco.”

We walked down a hall, slowing in front of a painting. Trisha stopped with a patient smile, letting me take a look before walking slowly on.

“Did you decorate?” I asked, uncomfortable with the silence.

“In part. When I first moved, I used an interior designer, but I gave my input.”

“Hmm. Mhm.” I clasped my hands behind my back, searching for something else to talk about. Despite what I’d said, Hunter really hadn’t said much about his mother. I had no idea what she did for fun, if she liked jokes, what she did with her day—I had no basis for a conversation, and asking basic questions might prove my earlier lie.