Weekend Wife (Sassy in the City 1)

I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. “Let’s do this thing!” I said in an attempt to be casual and instead just sounding flippant and slightly manic. “Is there a butler? Please tell me there’s a butler.” Or was that just a British thing?

“There’s no butler. That’s only at the house in Turks & Caicos.”

“Too bad the party isn’t there.” Now that would be a killer weekend. Especially if it was just me and Grant and a personal butler. Which, of course, would not serve the purpose of him bringing a fake girlfriend to trot in front of his parents.

“We usually have Christmas there.” Grant opened his door and got out. He came around and opened my door, holding out a hand for me.

I rubbed my lips together and smoothed down my hair. “Showtime.”

“Don’t let anything throw you for a curve,” he said. “Just remember my entire family is insane.”

That made me laugh. “Got it.” I lifted up the clutch I’d found in the many boxes of accessories. I couldn’t exactly show up with a backpack on. Not in character.

I sort of expected the door to open and to walk in and find an assembly line of relatives or maybe staff, Downton Abbey style. No one opened the door. No one was inside the foyer when Grant opened it. Not one relative. Not a maid. Not even a dog.

It was monstrously disappointing.

It had the feel and echo of a museum and I was thrust back into grade school when I was excited as hell to take a field trip and get out of the classroom only to learn it was to the historical society and I was expected to be quiet and not touch things. If there are two rules I am destined to break, they are “Be quiet” and “Don’t touch.” I’d ended up in serious trouble on that field trip after Nev Patel dared me to lick the fruit wallpaper and I did.

The same thing was bound to happen here. I was going to break the rules at some point and lick something. Or at least say something I shouldn’t.

“Don’t let my mother steamroll you,” Grant said in a low voice as he ushered me in, our footsteps ringing on the marble floor.

His demeanor had changed the second he’d crossed the threshold. He was agitated instead of relaxed. Frowning instead of that easy smile I had gotten used to seeing.

“Grant.” I touched his arm. “Relax. It’s going to be okay. We might even have fun.”

He eyed me. “Oh, you are an optimist, Leah. Let’s see how you feel on Sunday.”

“I’m feeling good about everything.” I put my arm through his. “What happens now? Do we ring a bell or yell ‘shout at the devil’ or something?”

“No bell ringing necessary,” a man’s voice said from above us.

I looked up and saw a man in his sixties coming down the prominent staircase. It was clearly Grant’s father. I could see the resemblance. In front of him was a very thin and very tall woman. She moved easily down the stairs, like she was used to being the center of attention.

“You must be the infamous Leah,” she said as she hit the marble floor at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m Grant’s mother.”

If I had been expecting a hug, there wasn’t one in sight. I tried to imagine how that lack of affection would feel if I really was Grant’s girlfriend. Not good. She didn’t put her hand out either, or offer her first name. Apparently, I was supposed to refer to her as “Grant’s mother.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said.

Her response? “Uh-huh.” She presented her cheek to Grant for a kiss and he obliged.

“Mother.” He turned to me. “You can call my mother Tiffany, by the way. I think she forgot to mention that.”

His father did offer his hand to me. “Welcome, Leah. We’re happy to meet you. This guy has been hiding you for far too long.”

“Thank you. I’m happy to be here and congratulations, by the way. Thirty-five years of marriage is amazing.”

For whatever reason his mother made a sniffing sound. I had no idea what was so offensive about what I’d said. I was just going to smile my way through this.

“Thank you. It’s been quite a ride, right, Tiff? You can call me Grant,” his father said.

Yeah, that felt weird. It was not going to happen. Considering how often I had said that name while moaning in pleasure I could not look Grant’s father in the face and call him the same.

I just shook his hand and smiled. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Remind me again what you do for a living?” Tiffany asked.