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How had he managed any sort of a normalchildhood, living here? Legos and marble floors. Rollerblades andornamental gardens. My mind rebelled at the notion of any of thosethings going together.
“This is nice,” I said, relaxing againsthim.
He called my bluff. “You hate it here.”
“It wouldn’t be my choice for a vacation,but it’s fascinating. Seeing how you grew up. What shaped you intothe guy I love.” I nuzzled his cheek above the stubble he hadn’tbothered to shave off that morning.
“You’re making this into an anthropologicalstudy,” he said tightly as he held in a hit.
“Kind of. A study of you.” I waited for himto exhale, then went in for a kiss. I was expecting to have aplayful little taste, but his arm tightened around my waist, andhis tongue slid into my mouth. My head swam, and I squirmed againsthis thigh, my own pressed tight together. I caught his low groanbetween my lips and responded in kind, pressing my hands againstthe front of his crisp linen shirt.
“Oh, for god’s sake.”
I started and lifted my head guiltily at thevoice. It sounded very much like a mom voice.This can’t be howI meet his mother.
But the woman standing below the balcony,glaring up at us in disgust, was too young to be his mother.Although, shewasdressed a lot older than I suspected shewas. Her dark hair was the same shade as Matt’s, but there wasn’t ahint of curl except for the turned-in ends at her shoulders. Herpearl earrings were big enough for us to see from our height, andshe wore a depressingly beige pantsuit.
“Catherine,” Matt said with a heavy sigh,patting my bottom to get me to stand. I rose to my feet and more orless tried to hide behind him, as if we’d been caught naked, notjust kissing.
“Drugs? In Mother’s home?” His sistersnapped.
“I’m not in Mother’s home,” he pointed out.“I’m outside.”
“And I suppose this is your guest.” She saidthe word “guest” like other people would say “hooker.”
“This isCharlotte.” He leanedheavily on my name. “And yes, she’s here as my guest.”
I didn’t even get a sarcastic “Pleased tomeet you.” Catherine scoffed in disgust and marched away.
Eyes rolled skyward, Matt flicked the cherryoff the end of the joint and scuffed it out on the tile with hisshoe. “Come on. We’ll get the introductions out of the way.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to be introduced tohis sister. But I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to make a worsesecondimpression.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
(Charlotte)
Matt took me to a room he called the “silversalon,” where Alan had told us his Mrs. Ashe would meet us. Theroom smelled faintly of cigarette smoke under the overwhelmingscent of the white and black roses arranged in vases on nearlyevery surface.
I sneezed and looked apologetically to Matt.“Allergies. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. And bless you. We’ll getyou some antihistamines.”
At least the roses would cover the weedsmell. And the allergies would explain away my red eyes.
The room clearly got its pretentious namefrom the color scheme; everything from the walls to the furnitureto the massive area rug beneath our feet was a shade of gray. Agleaming silver chandelier and sparkling mirror over the ubiquitousfireplace completed the look. It would have been insufferablybland, if not for the varied textures of fabrics and finishes.
Once again, I was in a place where I feltextremely cautious of breaking something.
We’d only been there for about thirtyseconds before Catherine came in and abruptly stopped. “Where’sMother?”
“On her way down. She was doing somegardening,” Matt explained, dropping onto a sofa. He patted theseat beside him.
Catherine looked me up and down before Imanaged to sit. “What are you wearing?”
I looked to Matt in a panic. I’d thought I’ddressed nicely, in a sleeveless green dress of cotton eyelet with atiered skirt and wide straps that tied at the shoulders. Sophie hadassured me it was a day dress, and it was still day.
“Will you stop being so rude?” Matt snappedat her. “It’s like four-thirty. If you wanted to see us dressed fordinner, you should have gotten here later. Like I was hoping youwere going to. You’re not exactly black tie, yourself.”