Page 18 of Fake Dark Vows
I swallow, relief gushing through my veins. Ruby might be the intimidating wife of a billionaire, but she doesn’t have her sons on a pedestal that she can’t knock down a peg or two. “My friend didn’t let him.”
“Accidents happen,” Kelly says. “Brandon can seem a little…” she hesitates, choosing her words carefully.
“Unapproachable?” I suggest.
“Oh, you’re going to fit in just fine,” Ruby says. “We all know that isn’t the word you were looking for, don’t we?”
I can’t help laughing. “Sorry. I know he’s your son, but, well, my friend’s little girl got her sticky fingers all over his pants leg, and it was a downward spiral from that moment on.”
“Don’t apologize.” Ruby shakes her head. “If he can run a multi-billion-dollar business, he can deal with a dry-cleaning invoice. Now if you ladies will excuse me, I have an important call to make.”
I watch as Ruby walks back into the house. The buggy and our luggage have vanished, and I still have no idea what’s expected of me other than ensuring the guests are in the right place at the right time with a drink in their hand.
“Where shall we start?” Kelly asks.
“Maybe you could try pinching me.” I know I sound like an excitable teenager, but I can’t wait to send some pictures of this place to Jess.
We explore the house first.
The dining room on the ground floor is the size of a gymnasium, complete with crystal chandeliers and a gleaming table with an elaborate floral centerpiece that looks as if it cost more than I could earn in a year. The den is filled with squashy, pumpkin-colored couches, a cinema-sized flat-screen TV, and a popcorn machine in one corner which I assume is for the kids. The more formal day area is divided into separate seating areas with low coffee tables, palm trees in the corners, and elaborate, colonial-style wooden drinks cabinets. Huge white ceiling fans provide the gentle breeze on our faces and complete the effect.
The guest bedrooms in the main house are themed: the 20s room with lacquered screen, voile curtains, and a tasseled four-poster; the Victorian room with wood-paneled walls and brocade comforter; the ocean room decorated in shades of blue with nautical accessories.
There are two kitchens—one for family use, and one for the chef brought in to cater for this week’s celebrations. Multiple restrooms so that the guests—when the house is full—don’t have to wait in line. A playroom for the children, and a mud room for inclement weather.
“I’m going to need a map,” I say to Kelly.
“You’ll soon get used to it.” We’re strolling down a wooden walkway to Shell Beach. “Once I’ve shown you to your room, I’d suggest getting lost. I mean that in the nicest possible way,” she adds. “It’s not as daunting as first impressions would have you believe.”
I’m guessing Kelly is in her early thirties. Her thick blonde hair is naturally wavy and glossy, shampoo-advertisement worthy. Her clothes are not ostentatious (even if they are designer-labeled): white linen slacks and a floral shirt with coordinated yellow beads around her neck.
I think of Damon knocking back champagne on the flight, and I can’t picture the two of them together, or perhaps I’m still dwelling unnecessarily on the way he lifted me down from the buggy. Damon is a whisky and cigar kind of guy, while Kelly is strawberries and cream. He’d enjoy watching a violent thriller in his leisure time, while she’s a rom-com kind of gal.
I guess they say that opposites attract.
“Is there anything I should know?” I ask. “About the family?”
“Harry is a silver fox,” Kelly says. “You’ll fall instantly in love with him, and he’ll be the ultimate charming host, but underneath the Richard Gere looks, is a shrewd mind. Harry Weiss doesn’t need the internet to learn what makes people tick. He’ll reward you if he believes you’ve earned it, but you won’t want to be on the receiving end of his temper if you try playing him for a fool.”
I wonder what he thinks of his sons’ bickering when they’re together. I haven’t figured out yet what Damon’s role within the family business is, but from Jennifer’s comment on the plane, I get the impression that he’s coasting through life while Brandon does all the work.
“Ruby,” Kelly continues, “well, you’ve met Ruby. She tells it like it is even if you don’t want to hear it. Pay attention to detail is the best advice I can give you. Ruby will notice if a napkin isn’t folded the way she likes it or if the label on the champagne bottle is facing the wrong way. These things might not matter to you, but they do to her.”
I nod. “Got it.”
Pause.
I really want to know more about their sons, but I don’t want Kelly to get the wrong impression and mark me as a gold-digger. I wait for her to say more, and when she doesn’t, I bite the bullet, and say, “What about Brandon?”
Her step falters, and she glances at me sideways, but I force myself to keep walking, one foot in front of the other, no emotion on my face. I hope.
What do I even want to know about him? Why did he bring Jennifer rather than coming alone or bringing a girlfriend? Why is there such antagonism between him and Damon? Why does he look as if he would rather be anywhere else than here?
“Brandon lives and breathes Weiss Petroleum,” Kelly says.
Am I imagining it, or is there an edge to her voice now?
“Ruby will have pre-warned him not to discuss business this week, but you can guarantee that he will check in with Julia at least twice a day, and he’ll know the exact worth of the company’s shares on the NYSE at any given moment.”