Her Inconvenient Groom by Niomie Roland

Chapter 19

 

“Ready,” Dustin heard Chantelle say. He was standing in the lower foyer, near to the main stairs, shrugging on his jacket. He was looking and smelling rather nice, if he did say so himself.

And he did.

He turned in the direction of her voice and froze. From his perspective, the first thing he saw was a pair of smooth, almond-toned legs, shapely and bare; none of the pantyhose she always seemed to wear with her severe business suits… even sometimes when she was working in her home office.

No, this evening, the dress that was slowly revealed as she descended was airy and light, gold-toned, in a fabric that one would expect to clash with the color of her skin, but instead made her and the garment seem to be a single, seamless glowing light.

As she took another step, and another, the hem of the dress flowed, kissing her knees before wriggling back up her thighs.

Dustin stood there, immobile, as if he’d been struck at the back of the head with a sledgehammer. It came to him with great force that although he’d known this woman for nearly a month, this was the first time he was seeing her knees.

Her knees, in an era where underwear was indistinguishable from outerwear, and the imagination no longer had to struggle to fill in any gaps, when it came to barely covered body parts. He realized that the least formal thing he’d ever seen her in was a pair of jeans, and even that fully protected her modesty.

He felt like a callow, early 19th century youth espying the bare ankles of his beloved for the first time, and would have laughed at the absurdity of the thought if he hadn’t become so painfully aroused.

By a shapely pair of knees. Go figure!

“Dustin?” Chantelle was standing in the foyer now, peering at him with curiosity and concern.

He wondered how long he’d been zoned out. Him and his creeper thoughts. He hoped she hadn’t somehow managed to peek inside his head. “I’m sorry,” he stuttered, trying to regain control. But was unable to stop himself from blurting, “You look… amazing. You don’t look pregnant at all—”

She gave a startled laugh.

He wondered where the nearest bridge was, so he could fling himself off it. He added hastily, “Not that being pregnant… looking pregnant… isn’t a beautiful thing. I mean pretty soon, you’ll start to look pregnant, too. And you’re going to look—” The only word he could think of was ‘amazing’ again, and that made him feel sophomoric.

“Let’s go, Dustin,” she said, and shocked the hell out of him by slipping her arm through his. Another miracle. He wondered if he should examine the night sky for comets.

“Pop quiz,” she announced as they sat in the car and he drove off the estate. “Remember everything I told you today?”

She had surprised him both at breakfast and at lunch by sharing memories about her life, speaking about the death of her dad here in France, and her mother’s remarriage to Simon. Through that marriage, she’d acquired two brothers, Dennis and Tom, and now a sister-in-law, Samantha. He’d listened in amazement to her describe the extent of her holdings and the hands-on role she played in their management.

He also gathered, more by what was unsaid than said, that her step-siblings were none too keen about the fact that their father had passed them over to appoint her CEO just before his death. It seemed they’d assumed they’d be the legitimate heirs, being his flesh and blood, rather than Chantelle, a veritable outsider, even though Simon had been responsible enough to adopt her when he’d married her mother.

Dustin knew more about her history and professional life than he had when he’d woken up this morning. But of course, he reminded himself sourly, all this had just been her attempt to set the scene, make sure that her employee—him—had the information at his disposal to adequately perform the role he was being paid to play. Her fake husband.

“I remember,” he said shortly. “Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you in front of your friends.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” she said defensively.

It was quiet again. The last thing he wanted right now was to arrive at dinner with tension brewing between them, so he tried to make conversation. “Your friend William… is he really a royal?”

She smiled a little, and the tension ebbed. “A Count. It’s a title that’s been in the family for a couple hundred years, passing down to the eldest son. Him, his mom, and his brother are a well-known and popular family about these parts. People look up to them.”

Hence my role here in this charade tonight, Dustin thought. And then, that same voice reminded him, Man up, asshole. This is what you agreed on. You did this for Arabella, remember? So do your job. You’ll be home soon, away from all this pretense.

They were met at the grand front steps by a man in a butler’s uniform, who whisked the car round to the back of one of the most magnificent mansions Dustin had ever seen. They were ushered inside by an elderly woman, also in a uniform. He guessed she must be some sort of matron or chief housekeeper. 

William, the tall, handsome man with the dark blond hair they had met at the jewelry store, appeared, accompanied by a teenage girl who had his eyes and hair. Her name was Willa, he learned, William’s daughter. She stared at him with frank curiosity. Then Dustin shook hands with Alex, William’s younger brother.

Two beautiful black women appeared, introducing themselves as Naisha, William’s wife, and Jacyn, Alex’s. Jacyn had a toddler girl in tow, and Naisha was cuddling a little boy. Everyone looked happy, relaxed, and in sync. Instead of shaking hands with Chantelle, they surprised her by wrapping their arms around her and kissing her cheek, so happy were they to meet someone from their husbands’ childhood.

If Dustin was anxious about meeting a wealthy and powerful count and his family, it was immediately brushed aside by the warmth of their welcome towards him.

Dustin sat at the huge, heavy table, enjoying both the gourmet dinner and the conversation that flowed around him. It began with excited catching up on missing years, and then naturally turned to business, as Chantelle and the brothers chatted easily about the vagaries of the market and new opportunities worthy of exploring in northern Africa. Again, it amazed him to consider the extent of Chantelle’s power and wealth and the fact that, despite it all, she still managed to be so down to earth.

“What do you do?” The girl, Willa, who was seated next to him, piped up. She’d been looking patently bored with the business conversation, and he decided that he’d be just the ticket to alleviate it.

“I’m a tattoo artist.”

“Cool.” Those eyes were on him, frank, curious. “Do people scream and faint? Do they bleed a lot? Have you ever seen a grown man cry over a needle?”

Hilarious questions, he thought, and was about to launch into a couple of funny anecdotes when Jacyn gasped, “That’s where I know you from. I’ve been to your tattoo parlor back in Paradisio Falls!”

“Did I give you a tattoo?” he asked curiously.

She shook her head. “Nah. For my ex.”

“I always wanted one,” Naisha piped in. “But my career in modeling held me back from taking the plunge.”

“Nothing’s stopping you now,” Jacyn encouraged.

Naisha hedged. “Well… maybe in a few months.” Then she looked towards William, who winked at her and she blew him a kiss in return.

“I want a tattoo!” Willa announced. “A huge one. All across my back. Massive pink wings.”

He opened his mouth to advise that she should try a teeny, tiny one to start, when her father interrupted with a stern, golden stare. “Not in this lifetime,” he said.

“Awww!” She gave Dustin a pleading look, but if she thought she’d get backup from him, she was wrong.

“Five or seven more years, kid,” he told her. “Then you’re golden.”

“I’ll remember that!” she groaned.

William gave Dustin the thumbs-up.