Page 117 of Boyfriend of the Hour

“You’re looking well,” Mom said finally. “Other than…” She waved a manicured hand toward his clothes. Today, her nails were the color of the pink seashells he and his brothers used to collect on the North Carolina beaches.

Nathan glanced into one of the many mirrors mounted on the walls, if only to determine what she saw. Aside from his disheveled appearance, he looked identical to when she’d seen him only two weeks ago. Worn out and dirty, but otherwise, there was the same brown, curly hair that flopped over his forehead because he hated the feel of hair products. Same brown eyes he’d inherited from Lillian and the long, straight nose with the crooked bridge granted by Radford. Same large body maintained at the gym every day except Thursdays.

Same, same, same.

Except right now, everything felt different. And Nathan still didn’t understand why.

Joni’s green eyes blinked in his mind’s eye, and his lips burned a bit more in response.

“You’ve got to take better care of your wardrobe, Nathan,” Lillian said as she took a sip of her mimosa. “Denim’s for the farm, dear, not Bergdorf’s. Those jeans belong in a donation bin. Where are the Stefano Riccis I sent?”

“I have no idea. Probably in my closet with everything else you sent.”

Nathan already knew there was no way he would ever get rid of the jeans Joni had approved for him last night. Jeans he had never worn before then.

His mother sighed but wisely didn’t press. She probably knew this line of questioning wouldn’t go anywhere.

Nathan looked around the table expectantly. His parents had invited him to brunch this morning because the family was all arriving early before the gala at the end of the week. He’d expected his brothers to be there too. But there were no other jackets on the backs of chairs, and the table was only set for three.

“For God’s sake, Nate,” Radford said as he turned a page of his paper. “You obviously have a question. Just ask it.”

Nathan frowned. He didn’t have a question. Maybe some musings. Generally, he didn’t ask questions unless he really needed to know the answers. Sometimes, he still forgot that it was a typical part of a conversation.

His father knew this, but Radford Hunt had never been a particularly forgiving man. Nor a patient one.

So Nathan asked, “Where are Spencer and Carrick?” mostly to put his father at ease. He honestly didn’t care where his brothers were.

“Carrick arrives Monday night.” Behind the paper, Radford took an audible sip of his coffee. “He’s whipping votes for the next bill that includes some important earmarks.”

Despite having retired from Huntwell, Radford seemed to have his fingers in the business more than ever. According to Carrick, Radford had left before the board could vote him out, but not before installing an interim CEO he could manipulate from home.

It wouldn’t last forever. Which further explains his parents’ sudden intensified desire to bring Nathan back into the family fold. Despite his best efforts, he had a feeling they wouldnever give up hope that he might take his father’s place at the company, if only as a puppet.

“And Spencer’s in Warrenton until Friday,” Lillian added. “There’s a new stallion arriving. You should come down and see it, hon.”

Nathan nodded. There wasn’t much about Virginia he cared about anymore, but he did miss the horses. The occasional ride in Central Park couldn’t compare with a gallop across Huntwell Farm’s fifteen hundred acres. It was the largest original patent left in Virginia, land that had passed undisturbed through generations of Hunts since granted in the wake of the Revolutionary War.

His family all still lived on the old plantation that had been converted to a thoroughbred breeding operation near the last turn of the century. Thanks to Spencer, what had originally been a family hobby had become profitable enough that he was able to make it his full-time job while Carrick worked on behalf of Huntwell Corp. in Washington. In that way, at least, Nathan was grateful for both his brothers. Their willingness to take on parts of the family business was why Lillian and Radford had begrudgingly allowed their eldest son and assumed heir to become a lowly doctor.

For a while, anyway.

“Cary said you got yourself a new roommate,” Lillian said after the server had brought Nathan’s drink and refilled his parents’. “And that you’re bringing her to the gala.”

Radford emitted a groan, though Nathan wasn’t sure if it was in response to Lillian’s question or to something he’d just read in the paper, which he set back on the table.

“Girlfriend,” Nathan corrected her. “She’s my girlfriend. Not just a roommate.”

“A girlfriend,” Lillian repeated. “That you’re living with.”

His parents shared a look that he couldn’t read. He hated it when they did that, mostly because they knew exactly how difficult it was for him to interpret their faces.

Not like Joni, whose face was an open book. Like Nathan, she almost always said what she was thinking. He had learned her expression faster than anyone he’d ever met, and while she seemed to think her lack of self-censorship made her a “mess,” it was honestly one of Nathan’s favorite things about her.

Joni was Joni. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Perfect.

“Well, go on. Tell us about her,” Lillian prompted.