The Billionaire’s Christmas Bride by L. Steele

29

Amelie

I hear the sound of barking, the patter of nails on the wooden floor. I turn as Max races toward me, his leash dragging behind. "Hey, you." I bend down to pet the little guy, who jumps up and licks my face as if he hadn’t done the same thing not five minutes ago. "Down, boy," I laugh.

Phoenix squats down to rub the puppy’s back, "Doggy," she squeals. "Love doggy." She holds out her arms to Max, who jumps on her; the two collapse on the floor in a flurry of arms and legs and doggy barks and little girl exclamations of delight. My smile widens so big that my cheeks hurt. Damn, I love this. What are little girls made of? Sugar and spice and puppy dog tails. Ha! Why should only little boys have the right to dogs, huh? Talk about my own spin on the ol’ nursery rhyme.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles. I glance up to find Weston walking forward to greet a woman approaching him. She’s wearing a beautiful peacock-green colored dress that flows to below her knee.

He bends and kisses her cheek, "Mother."

I straighten, holding onto Max’s leash. So, this is his Mum? Guess alphaholes have parents too… I mean, of course they do; it’s just difficult to imagine Weston as a small boy…vulnerable and innocent.

She reaches up to touch face, "Why do you look different?"

He frowns down at her, "It’s the beard, perhaps?"

She tilts her head, the gesture so similar to Weston’s, my throat closes. There’s no doubt about the blood relationship between the two.

"That’s not it." She steps back, takes him in, "It’s not the handbag you’re carrying either." She giggles.

He shuffles his feet. I blink. I mean, I’ve never seen him this uncomfortable before. I stifle the giggle that rises up. Trust a mom to put her son in his place huh?

He straightens and turns to me.

I stiffen. Not that I am doing anything wrong, but I bet it seems like I was staring at him, which I wasn’t. Okay, I was. I clutch Max’s leash. He whines, pulls toward Weston. "Shh, Max," I whisper to him, "Not now."

Weston turns to me; he jerks his chin.

I shake my head.

He glares at me.

I pale.

He holds out his hand.

I sigh. Okay, hell, I’d been hoping to put off this meeting with his family… Not that they are my in-laws or anything, but authority figures of any kind? I run a mile. And not because my own Ma was a strict disciplinarian—okay, maybe it is that. It doesn’t take a shrink to tell me my issues with not wanting to conform have to do with my home and the convent school I was educated in. Yeah, the nuns wouldn’t be happy with how I’ve turned out. I purse my lips.

"Amelie," Weston’s tone lowers to a hush. To anyone else, I’ll bet it sounds normal, but damn, if I don’t recognize the demand in it. Shit, I’d left home because I wanted to be independent, I thought… Until I met him, and the kind of disciplining Weston has in mind… Hell, if I don’t respond to it from that place deep inside that had resisted being told what to do. My head spins. Is that why I want his kind of dominance? Because I had hankered for it... A structure that imposes boundaries within which I can be myself... Had I held onto the illusion of control until I met a man who I trusted enough to hand it over to? Is that man Weston? I gulp.

Weston frowns, "You okay?" I hear his voice across the short distance.

Max whines, brushes against my leg. I bend, scratch his ear, then straighten. Best to treat this like breaking an egg. Just aim for the center, tap it against the side of the bowl, do your best… Either way it’s going to break, you just want to be around to catch the yolk. Me and my stupid metaphors. I walk forward, Max straining at the leash.

When I reach them, I pause. "I’m Amelie." I hold out my hand, "Pleased to meet you."

Weston’s mother smiles. The lines etched around her eyes deepen. "What a pretty name."

She takes my hand between both of hers.

"That’s very kind of you to say so," I reply, schooling my features into a neutral expression, "and thank you for having me."

Max yelps, she glances at him, and her face breaks into a broad grin. Her features brighten and those grey eyes sparkle. The resemblance between her and Weston becomes more pronounced. Strange, huh? Considering Mr Grumpy-grump's face rarely wears an expression that’s not borderline angry.

"And who’s this?"

"Max," I reply.

She releases my hand, bends down to pat the puppy. He wags his tail, jumps up at her.

"Is he yours?"

"Uh, he belongs to my friend Summer and her husband."

"Ah, the Sinclairs." She straightens, "Is that how the two of you met?"

"Yes," I say.

"No," Weston declares.

We stare at each other, for a beat, another. I scowl at him. This is what happens when you don’t get your stories right. And jerkalope here, didn’t want to talk about it before-hand.

I tuck my elbows into my side, open my eyes wide, stare at the alphahole. He got us into this one, he can dig us out of it. This should be good.

His mother chuckles, "Which is it, then?"

"I saw her shopping for groceries at my local supermarket. She was talking to herself as she decided which brand of chocolate to buy for baking, and that was it."

"Oh," I blink. Damn, but he sounds so sincere. I almost believe it myself.

"Ah." His mother nods. "Chocolate and sex—the unbeatable combination."

"Wha—?" I gape at her.

"Mother," Weston admonishes.

She laughs, "It’s not like you were conceived through immaculate conception." She chuckles and looks at me, "I hope I didn’t shock you."

"No…Yes." I chew the inside of my cheek, "I mean, it’s not shocking, except it came from you, so..."

"Ah," she grins, "you mean from a woman in her fifties. We’re supposed to know our place, take care of our grandkids, and leave the running of the world to our husbands and sons."

I hunch my shoulders. Shit, what is the right response here, "No, I think it’s women, and especially those in the prime of their life, who have brought up children to face the world, and who have stood by their men, supported them while following their own passions, who wield the power."

She tilts her head, then laughs. "Good save." She chuckles, "Call me Rosie." She pulls me in for a hug.

I take it. "Rosie." I nod.

Phew! Guess I passed that test… Whatever that was.

She releases me, and steps back, "You can take him off the leash, dear."

I stare at her.

"Weston, I mean." Her eyes twinkle.

"Ah," I open and shut my mouth.

"Just messing with you," she chuckles, then glances at Max.

Right. Is that where Weston gets his warped sense of humor, not to mention his dominance?

I unhook the leash from Max’s collar. Max bounds off, toward the living space at the far end of the hallway, following the sound of Phoenix’s laughter.

I twist the leash around my palm, wondering what to do with it. Weston places his hand on mine; I look up. One side of his lips kicks up. Is that supposed to be reassuring? The warmth from his touch sinks into my blood. I draw in a breath and my heartbeat slows. How strange. This man... Who I am not sure how to react to… Who I am sure I hate… Who I have definite feelings for… When did his presence become so reassuring?

He twines his fingers with mine and the leash slips from my grasp. He catches it, glances around. A maid wearing a uniform materializes. Huh? Of course, they’d have staff. They are rich and the house… Well, it seems the kind that has been in their family for generations. "Master Weston?" The older woman smiles.

"Mary, how are you?" He hands the leash over to her.

"I'm very good, Sir." Her smile widens. "The luggage has been sent to your suite already," she adds.

"Excellent," he grins at her.

Wow. That’s two smiles in as many minutes. Seems the alphahole can lose the obnoxiousness on occasion... Just not with me.

"How is Veronica?" he asks Mary.

"Grown up and at university. She has her own life now."

"You miss her, huh?"

Mary raises her shoulders, "Always. But I’m also glad to have her out of my hair." She chuckles.

She turns to Rosie, "Dinner is served Ma’am."

Rosie touches my arm, "Shall we?"