The Boyfriend (The Boss 7)

“Castles?” Grandma wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know if I’d go across the road for that.”

“A cottage, then,” I revised. “With a thatched roof like in The Quiet Man.”

“Are you sure this isn’t going to be too much?” Grandma asked again. “I don’t want you to spend all your husband’s money.”

I took my grandmother’s frail, wrinkled hand in mine. “I promise you. There is no way I could ever possibly spend all my husband’s money.”

I noted Neil and his brothers standing off in a cluster by themselves, discussing something very seriously. Or maybe it was nothing serious; it was difficult to tell since they all had some degree of resting bitch face. When Neil and I had met, I’d thought he was so mysterious and exciting because of it. In our early days of dating, I’d gotten up the courage to ask him what he was thinking about since he’d looked so intense and thoughtful.

He’d blinked at me in surprise and said, “I’m not.”

“You can tell you really love him,” my Grandma said, uncharacteristically emotional.

“I do,” I confirmed. “Very much.”

“He’s lucky that you love him. Some women would marry him just for his money, even if they didn’t care for him.”

She didn’t have to tell me. He’d had such a horrible experience with his marriage, it was a wonder he’d ever trusted me enough to get close at all.

“And I’m lucky, too,” I added. “Because true love doesn’t usually come with all these other perks.”

“Your friend El-Mudad is nice,” Grandma observed. “You know, we have a visiting priest who grew up in Afghanistan.”

“Oh. That’s...cool.” That had absolutely no connection to El-Mudad, but again, she was trying.

Neil broke away from his brothers and crossed the room to us. He gave my grandma a smile and said, “Grandmother, I hope you like your gift.”

“It’s too much. Don’t send me if you can’t afford it,” she warned him.

He got a strange look on his face and opened his mouth as though he wasn’t sure how to argue with her.

“I already told her,” I said with a helpless shrug.

“Ah.” He cleared his throat. “Will you let me steal my wife for a moment?”

“Go ahead. I’m going to go see if they need help washing dishes.” Grandma pushed herself to her feet and bustled past Neil before he could argue.

“Let her go,” I said quietly. “There’s never been a dish clean enough for her. What did you need to talk to me about?”

“I know we...had plans for New Year’s Eve,” Neil began uncertainly.

I focused on one particular word. “Had? I think we have plans.”

“Yes, well...” He glanced over at his brothers. “Runólf and Geir thought perhaps we might spend New Year’s at my lodge, just the three of us. You know, reconnect in our old age and all.”

“You’re fifty-four.” The “old age” excuse was not going to fly with me. “You want to go hunting with your brothers.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that,” he said, a touch defensively. “I’m merely asking if you would mind going to Venice with El-Mudad, just the two of you.”

“Go to your vacation home without you? In the city I’ve been wanting you to take me to forever?” I countered, my disappointment growing tighter around my ribs.

“There’s no reason we couldn’t all go together at another time,” he said, maddeningly reasonable.

“There’s no reason you couldn’t go to your lodge at another time,” I pointed out. “You know, a time when you weren’t ditching us for other plans!”

I realized I’d raised my voice a little. There was nothing I wanted less on Christmas Eve than a big fight with my husband in a room full of my family, who would immediately assume it was because he didn’t want them there.

“Can we go talk about this somewhere else?” Neil asked, echoing my discomfort.

I nodded. “Yes. And I think we should involve El-Mudad in it, too.”

“Fine. We can go to the salon off the East Gallery. That’s not too far.” Neil strode off to find El-Mudad. I watched them confer a moment before El-Mudad gave one of my uncles an apologetic “excuse me,” and left with Neil.

It was easy to slip away in all the commotion. I held it together until we got past the music room, but once we stepped into the long, spooky gallery, I marched ahead of them, my heels making angry clunks with every stomp.

“Sophie, wait,” El-Mudad called behind me. He jogged a little to catch up. “You’re upset about something.”

I turned the corner into a room decked out in hideous shades of frothy pink. It was like walking into a wedding cake. All of the Empire-era furniture was upholstered in Pepto Bismol-hued satin, and the white walls sported gold-leaf molding. It looked like Liberace’s grandmother’s bathroom.

I would let the horrific decor fuel my anger.

“Yeah, I’m upset,” I snapped as Neil closed the door behind us. “He’s ditching us for our Venice trip.”