Vanessa had spent entirely too much time and energy on Mark and Hilary’s wedding. Maybe she wanted to live vicariously through them, since she herself had eloped. If she wanted, she could have a ceremony as grand as she desired. Her immensely rich husband Justin was whipped—for the time being, at least—and the curmudgeonly Barron Sterling, patriarch of that family, would give her anything she wanted because she was carrying his great-grandnephew.
Dane finally reached the grove. It’d been in his family for a few generations. Not because anybody farmed, but one of his ancestors had married a farmer’s daughter and wanted to indulge her. Apparently he’d loved her.
Amazing that a Pryce man was capable of love.
Dane got out of the car and inhaled fresh air heavy with the scent of citrus. He looked over at the huge brick house that had originally come with the orchard. It stood like a monolith, blocky and imposing.
Salazar and Ceinlys had modified all their properties so that the master bedroom suite in each had a separate bedchamber for the mistress of the house. Dane didn’t know why they’d bothered. It would’ve been easier just to get separated—certainly cheaper than going through all the renovation and re-furnishing.
Iain came out of the house, brows pinched and jaw tight. Dane shook his head inwardly. Iain didn’t like conflict or getting involved in emotionally tense situations, and he should’ve stayed home if he’d wanted peace. Dane already regretted having come, even though he’d promised Hilary he’d attend. Eating takeout, drinking scotch and running would’ve been a more satisfying use of his time.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, against his better judgment.
“Dude, everything.” Iain took a long calming breath while pressing his fingertips together—some sort of yoga intervention, no doubt. “Mom’s here.”
“Obviously. Mark is her favorite.”
“Aunt Geraldine, too.”
“She was invited. Why is this a problem? Did she forget to RSVP?” That wouldn’t surprise Dane one bit. Their aunt was notoriously flaky and self-absorbed at times.
“And she’s here.”
Dane raised his eyebrows and waited.
“Dad’s date.” Iain gestured at the house. “Sophia Reed. Aunt Geraldine almost passed out at the sight of her.”
Dane pressed his lips together, fighting not to betray a reaction. What the hell was Sophia doing there as Salazar’s date? Was this some kind of fucked up revenge for the night before and the morning? “Is he drunk?”
“Nope. And Mom’s being super extra-gracious. It’s like they’re back to their old selves—nice and polite to each other while…doing what they do best.”
A spot behind Dane’s right eyeball began to throb. “Where are they?”
Iain pointed at the house. “In the tea room. Man, I’m outta here. I need to…” He did the breathing thing again. “I gotta take a walk.”
Dane took a moment for patience and control, then made his way to the tea room, which was ridiculously named since no one ever drank tea there—just various alcohols mixed with freshly squeezed orange juice.
The long hall to the room had numerous windows that faced south, opening onto the neat rows of citrus trees. There were a few limited-edition prints on the walls between them. Thankfully, Dane thought as he strode past, none of them were paintings Salazar had chosen.
As Dane got closer, he could hear his aunt’s voice.
“I thought tonight’s dinner was family only,” Geraldine said loudly.
“You’re mistaken. Even if you weren’t, she is family,” came Salazar’s voice.
Dane stood by the open door and watched the scene unfold.
Despite her age, Geraldine was still stunning with her long jet-black hair and dark blue eyes. A flimsy sundress showed off her perfectly tanned-and-toned body as she crossed her arms in front of Salazar. Nobody would believe she was the mother of three grown-up children.
For his part, Salazar was dapper in a custom-tailored silk shirt and slacks. Sophia stood beside him, her back straight. A modest cream sheath dress and ballet flats made her look even younger and more radiant.
I shouldn’t want her, Dane thought. Salazar was right. Dane had ruined everything she’d worked for, and there was nothing he could ever do to make up for that. Still, he couldn’t keep himself from desiring her. His senses heightened until he thought he could almost smell her sweet feminine scent from the distance. What a stupid delusion. Obviously he needed some scotch.
Salazar put a hand on Sophia’s shoulder. Dane clenched his jaw, stomping on an urge to rip the offending hand off Salazar’s wrist. “Even if she weren’t, it doesn’t matter. She’s here as my guest.”