Sophie (The Boss 8)

We said goodbye and hung up with a promise that I would let her know how it went in my own time, without her pestering me about it.

Neil was in his study, frowning at his computer screen. He looked up and took off his glasses. “Are they here?”

“Not yet.” I shook my phone; I would receive a notification from the front gate when they arrived. “But I was just…” I stopped before I could say, “talking with my mother.” Though Neil and Mom got along more or less, there would always be a little friction, and I wanted him to be open to my proposal. I continued, “I know we have alternate plans for the girls tonight. Maybe if Laurence and Valerie saw how the three of them interacted, that we’re a normal family, they would back off.”

Neil mulled it over for a moment, tapping his bottom lip with one open arm of his glasses. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for them to have dinner with us.”

“Oh, no, me neither. But if they were there to greet Olivia when she arrived, and if Valerie and Laurence could see how happy Olivia is with them, how much she loves El-Mudad…”

“They should be here any minute,” Neil said cautiously. He took out his phone. “I’ll text him. I have no clue where he is.”

“He said he was going to take a nap. I assume he’s in the den.”

It was a safe assumption. El-Mudad’s favorite napping spot was the butter-soft leather couch there.

Sure enough, that’s where I found him lying on his back with one foot on the floor, one arm flung above his head. He snored softly as I approached.

The sofa was wide enough I could lie down with him. Without opening his eyes, he rolled onto his side to spoon me.

“Are they here?” he mumbled into my hair.

“Not yet. Any minute, according to Neil.” I covered his hand where it lay on my hip. “I thought maybe instead of hiding the girls away, they could visit with Laurence and Valerie for a few minutes? So that they can see how well they get along with Olivia?”

He tensed behind me. “Oh...Sophie. I don’t want to use my children as props.”

I wriggled to my other side to face him. “I would never. That is not what I intended at all.”

“Tempers will be high. And if we can’t speak freely—”

“Only just to say hi,” I promised. “I don’t want to pressure you. You’re their father, you know what’s best for them, and I would never, ever interfere.”

“You let Amal get her ears pierced a second time,” he said dryly.

“I meant about something important. You were a needlessly controlling a-hole.” I cuddled my face against his neck. “It’s okay. It was just a thought.”

He played idly with a lock of my hair for a long, silent pause. “It wouldn’t hurt for them to say hello. That’s not what’s bothering me. It’s all of this campaigning we have to do to prove that we’re trustworthy.”

“I know. And it’s none of their business.” This all would have been so much simpler if Emma hadn’t—

A hiccup of pain caught me by surprise.

El-Mudad pressed his lips to my forehead. “Everything will be fine. Emma and Michael chose you and Neil to be Olivia’s guardian for a reason. They trusted you. Valerie should, as well.”

That was another good point, and one we could no longer tip-toe around.

“This is going to be hard, isn’t it?” I whispered.

He stroked the backs of his fingers down my cheek. “Yes. But it isn’t harder than anything you’ve handled already.”

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and dread forced my stomach into my throat. The feeling of just wanting to get the meeting over with vanished. I longed for it to come back. I checked the notification, and sure enough, “It’s them.”

“I’ll call Amal and Rashida down. Olivia will be thrilled for them to greet her,” he said gently. “Go on.”

I stopped by the hallway mirror and fluffed my hair, which I wore loose around my shoulders. I’d dressed extra-Puritanical, in a Victorian-inspired high-neck white blouse and flowy gray palazzo pants. I took a deep breath, looked myself in the uncharacteristically understated eye, and prepared for battle.

Neil was already nearly to the foyer when I caught up with him. “El-Mudad?”

“He’s getting the girls.” I reached up and adjusted Neil’s collar. “Shall we have some kind of signal? Something to let you know when you’re creating more problems than we’re fixing?”

“We can establish one, but I’ll likely ignore it.” He rolled back the sleeves of his untucked, gray button-down—we often accidentally dressed alike—and nodded toward the door. “Perhaps it would be better if I could signal when you should stop me from committing violence.”

“I know that you’re kidding because you’re trying to get all this anger out of your system before they get to the door.” At least, I hoped that was the case. “Just don’t make yourself angrier than you already are.”