Cruel Fortune (Cruel 2)

“Good. I want everyone I care about to know and love you.”

And I surprised myself by not only believing him…but also agreeing.

Natalie

21

“There’s no reason to be nervous.”

I warily glanced over at Lewis as we took the elevator up to the top floor. “That’s easy for you to say. How would you feel if you were meeting my parents?”

“If you invited me to Charleston to visit your family, I think I’d probably be over the moon.”

“My dad was in the military. Now, he’s a cop. He’s very good with a firearm.”

Lewis laughed. “Well, I don’t think my family even owns one. Does that ease your fear?”

“Not in the slightest.”

He lightly wrapped his arm around my waist and kissed my temple. “It’s going to be fine. My parents are great. Shockingly little drama for the Upper East Side.”

The elevator opened into the Warrens’ impressive apartment. Though it felt as if that was such an insubstantial word for their home. My dinky third-story one-bedroom on the Upper West was an apartment. Even Lewis’s huge penthouse still had the feel of an apartment. This was something else entirely. The ceilings in the living room were two or three stories high with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. Stairs led up to a second floor where I assumed the bedrooms were tucked away. Everything was monochromatic with a touch of greenery. Classy and conservative and all-around stunning.

“Mom, we made it,” Lewis called into the house.

“In the kitchen,” his mother called back.

We walked through the foyer, past the living room, and into the kitchen, which was as insane as the rest of the house. The island at the center of the kitchen could possibly be the size of my entire living room. My eyes doubled in size when I saw the industrial-sized stainless steel fridge and—I counted one, two, three, four—four ovens.

“We brought you a pinot,” Lewis said, holding the wine up as we stepped fully into the professional-grade kitchen.

But it was the beautiful black woman standing in front of a host of pots on the stove that drew my attention. Nina Warren. She looked like a mix of Etta and Charlotte. Her hair in a shoulder-length inverted bob. Her designer dress fit like it had been made for her. But it was her stance as she turned in her stilettos to face us that made me see the real woman. The current ambassador to the United Nations, a woman with grace and poise in every feature.

“Oh, thank god,” his mother said in response. “Pop that open. I’m going to need a glass before I finish with this sauce. It is not cooperating.”

Lewis reached into a drawer to remove a wine opener. “Mom, this is Natalie.”

She set down the spoon she’d been stirring with and came forward to draw me into a hug. “It is so nice to meet you. Lewis speaks so highly of you, and now, my daughters do as well.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, ma’am.”

She laughed. “Nina will do just fine.”

“Three glasses?” Lewis asked, extracting them from a cabinet.

“Definitely,” his mother said. “We all need it to deal with my cooking.”

“Oh please,” Lewis said as he poured the wine. “Your cooking is the best.”

Nina gave me a skeptical look. “Normally, we’d have the chef over, but I wanted to do it myself. If it’s burned, blame it on someone else.”

Chef. Right. I hadn’t thought it was strange to see her cooking.

“Mom always used to cook,” Lewis said, handing me a glass. “She’s too important now.”

“Never trade your ambition for a home-cooked meal,” Nina said.

“We just ate a lot of pizza at my house.” I shrugged. “My mom burns eggs unless they’re in a cake. And my dad worked late hours in the military. I learned how to make the essentials pretty young after that.”

“Oh, what do you like to cook?”

“Pasta was a specialty. A lot of lasagna. I’m pretty good on a grill, too. Don’t ask why I was allowed near that much fire before I was out of elementary school.”

“I’m going to need to try this lasagna,” Lewis said.

I laughed. “Oh god, what did I get myself into? I’m going to use your kitchen.”

“Done,” he conceded easily.

“Okay, you,” Nina said, pointing a wooden spoon at her son. “Roll those sleeves up and start chopping vegetables. Don’t think you can come in here and not work for your food. Your sisters should be here any minute. I think Charlie’s bringing a boy.”

“Which one?” Lewis asked. He’d already set his glass down, and to my surprise, he was rolling his sleeves up to do exactly as his mother had demanded.

“There’s more than one?” Nina asked worriedly.

Lewis shot me an amused look. Apparently, the answer was yes.

“Do you need my help with anything?” I offered.

“Absolutely not,” Nina said. “You’re a guest. Lewis needs to be put to work but not his lovely girlfriend. You enjoy your wine and the sarcasm that will ensue as soon as Charlie and Etta show up.”