Eric grabs my hand and laces his fingers through mine, and my black pointed toe stilettos click against the stone walkway as we make our way up to the house.
“Don’t be nervous. My mom is going to love you,” he reassures me as we pause in front of the huge cherrywood door.
As I got ready this morning, I went through all the things I knew about Eric’s mom that I appreciated, to try and make myself feel better about this meeting. She’s a smart woman who more than quadrupled the profits of his father’s company after he passed away. She’s a business owner who did everything she could to provide for her son and make sure he would have a solid future. And she’s clearly a kick-ass, independent woman, considering she’d made Eric’s father take her last name. On paper we have a lot in common, and I know I have nothing to be nervous about.
“Of course she’s going to love me. I’m a fucking delight.” I smile up at him and he chuckles as he reaches for the door handle.
The door is flung open before he can even touch it, and a middle-aged woman with the same dark hair as Eric flings open the door with a huge smile on her face. She has a few strands of gray through her hair and wears it pulled back in a low bun. She’s wearing a pair of charcoal dress pants, a loose fitting peach-colored tunic top, and ballet flats, and I definitely don’t feel like I need the fur cape and scepter anymore. I’m perfectly happy with my dress choice.
“Well, would you look what the cat dragged in. You don’t call, you don’t write, you don’t visit. You’re a selfish little shit, you know that?”
Eric lets out a full belly laugh and I quickly realize all of those nerves were for nothing. I’m already half in love with this woman.
He lets go of my hand to step into the doorway, scooping his mother up into his arms as she lets out a squeal, smacking his the shoulder and giving him a stern look even though she’s smiling at him.
“Put me down! Where are your manners? You just let this poor, gorgeous creature stand there on the front steps without introducing me? What is wrong with you? I taught you better than that!”
Eric finally sets her back on her feet, turning to grab my hand and pull me into the doorway and against his side, sliding his arm around my waist.
“Melinda, this is my girlfriend, Ariel.”
Butterflies flap around in my stomach when I hear him introduce me as his girlfriend. I can’t stop the giddy smile that takes over my face, and I seriously hope we can get some alone time this afternoon to sneak away into the office he spoke of so I can properly thank him.
Melinda gives me a kind smile as I reach out and take her offered hand.
“Eric, this stunning woman is clearly out of your league. Did you drug her? Force her to date you against her will? Sweetie, blink once for yes if you need help getting away from this heathen.”
I let out the most unladylike snort, and Eric huffs in protest next to me.
“Ariel, this lovely woman with no filter is Melinda, my former nanny.”
My smile falters just a bit as I shake her hand.
Shit. Not his mother. It’s okay. It’s fine.
“Stop introducing me like that,” Melinda scolds. “I’m the house manager, thank you very much. I deserved a promotion after raising your stubborn ass and you flew the coop for college.”
Melinda drops my hand and ushers us further into the foyer as Eric closes the door behind us. There’s nothing but white marble everywhere I look. White marble side table, white marble floor, white marble figurines that I know aren’t antiques but I can tell just by looking at them that they cost more than what I make in a month with the Naughty Princess Club. And of course, more fucking marble pillars extend from the floor all the way up to the top of the three-story vaulted ceiling.
I swallow nervously as Melinda leads us into a room next to the foyer that I realize is a formal dining room. Formal as in, Holy shit, does his mother brunch with the queen from time to time? The table is shiny, dark cherrywood and seats twenty-four. Twenty-four. I don’t even know twenty-four people. High-backed chairs with gold and dark-red brocade cushions surround the table; the design on the chairs matches the wallpaper. The table is set with white china with gold filigree, crystal goblets, and so many pieces of sterling silver dinnerware, I’m starting to feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman again, wondering which fork to use first.
“Your mother is talking to the chef, making sure everything is to her liking. You know how she is,” Melinda tells Eric with a roll of her eyes. “Why don’t you two have a seat and I’ll get you something to drink and let her know you’re here?”