“All good, I hope,” I said, smirking as I took a sip from my wine glass.
“Hardly,” she said, raising one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You have a reputation for being a bit of a…”
“Playboy?” I prompted, hoping to draw some kind of reaction out of her other than that disgusted look on her face. This wasn’t off to a good start, and I didn’t like the odds of it getting any better.
“An idiot,” she corrected, her tone severe. “And if you intend on continuing any manner of liaisons with me, I will insist than such embarrassing behavior ceases at once.”
“You hardly know me,” I said, “Perhaps it would be best to leave your assumptions elsewhere while we have our first dinner together.”
“That will be for me to decide,” Denise sneered, and already I knew what had thrown me off about that expression—the look in her eyes that I’d seen in all those other photos Gwen had shown me—that was the same look that my father had on his face constantly. That overconfident, pompous sneer, looking down their noses at those they see as less fortunate than they.
She was everything that my father might have looked for in a wife, and for that reason alone I already despised her. But I knew that I would need to be civil for Gwen’s sake; I didn’t need to anger another of her clients, one who was more than willing to spend her money for what she wanted, especially if what she wanted was a man.
“Your sister says that you have a love of literature,” Denise said. “What manner of literature would that be?”
“I enjoy the classics, mostly,” I said, not at all wanting to discuss my favorite books in with such a snobbish woman. I was hoping something awful might happen to save me, like a monsoon or an earthquake.
“I see,” she said, her words clipped. “As broad and elusive as you are, apparently. You at least gets points for keeping yourself mysterious.”
“Well I’m glad that you approve,” I said, forcing a smile onto my face.
“Hardly,” she said, rolling her eyes. I didn’t think I’d ever wanted to harm another human being, but this woman would certainly have been on such a list were I that manner of person. She was infuriating on almost every level.
“And what literature do you read?” I asked, more out of politeness than any actual curiosity. To be honest I hardly cared one lick whatever book this woman shoved in front of her face.
“I greatly enjoy the works of —”
“May I take your order?” came the soft voice of a waiter who’d suddenly appeared at my side, thankfully cutting her off before she could expound on he interests. Her attitude alone had turned me off to the thought of pursuing anything that might even resemble a relationship with her. I couldn’t have asked for a better excuse not to listen to that woman for another moment, my thoughts distracted by the idea of something I could stuff in my mouth to save me from having an actual conversation with this utter brat.
“You’ll be quiet while your betters are speaking,” she demanded, her voice rising to levels that one would expect of a person whose entire family had just been cursed, “or have you been taught nothing of your place?”
The young man and I stared at her, stunned, as she continued to speak, her voice once again more civilized. How in the world could any one person be so rude? Even my father’s horrific attitude was at least curbed in public, something that apparently developed with age.
“Tristan,” she said in an obnoxiously insistent manner, ignoring the waiter and pretending as though her little outburst never happened. “I have no desire to be seen in the company of a serial fornicator who has not renounced his ways—and should this courtship continue, those ways of yours will be curbed. Am I clear?”
I blinked at her, staring for what felt like a full minute.
This woman was everything that my father prized in a member of the aristocracy—arrogant, entitled, belligerent, and worst of all, high on her own social standing. I don’t think I’d ever decided I hated anyone as quickly as I did in that moment. She was possibly the most impudent, spoiled, and self-important bitch I’d ever had the displeasure of meeting.
“Well?” she asked, eyebrows raised so high I thought they might make a run for her widow’s peak. “I expect an answer.”
I turned to the waiter, slipping a hundred-pound note from my pocket and putting it in his hand. “I would greatly appreciate the check, if you don’t mind.”
The young man was shocked, more by the bill than the request as he hurried off to settle out my account—the sole item being the bottle of wine that I again filled my glass from. I could take no more of this woman’s grandstanding and flouting of her impossibly high standards that I’d never reach.
“I believe this dinner if over, Denise,” I said with a sigh.
“Excuse me?” Denise hissed, her face a mask of utter incredulity. “You will not walk out on me! Not here, not in front of… of…” She gestured. “People!”
“I think that I will,” I said, looking her right in the eye as I took a long drink of my wine glass, draining the entire thing in one go. “In fact, I’d like to add something before I go.”
I stood up, holding up my empty glass, as if in a toast. “You are possibly the most horrific woman I have ever had the displeasure of sitting across a table from for so little a time—and I say this knowing my own stepmother. You are by far the most pretentious, self-important bint to have crossed my path. And I will be happy to see the back of you.”
“How dare you!” she screeched, and before I could even react I felt the cool splash of wine splattering across my face and down over my shirt. “Why, I never!”
Before I even had time to wipe my eyes free of the wine, I heard the sound of her chair being pushed back and the clicking of her heels on the hardwood floor. I couldn’t help but start to laugh. I was cursed to be this way forever, to constantly botch whatever date my sister set me up on.
Gwen is going to murder me, I thought as I wiped my face with a napkin, the waiter who’d only just been there moments before at my side, helping me get myself in order. Everything kept falling apart on every single one of these dates that my stepsister sent me on—none of them seemed right. The only person I ever felt at ease with ever since this whole fiasco started was Gwendolyn herself.
It’s ironic, I thought. I go to my sister, the matchmaker, to find a romantic connection, when all along it’s the matchmaker herself that I fall for.
I couldn’t stop laughing at the cosmic hilarity of it all, that fate would make the one person I’d always wanted the one person who I’d trust to help me find love for myself.
I stood up, brushing myself off and slipping the waiter another fifty pound note before I headed out to hail
a taxi. I knew now what I needed—what I wanted more than anything… Nothing would suffice until I had it. I needed Gwendolyn.
Chapter 79
I had fallen asleep on my couch, waiting for word on how my stepbrother’s date had gone when I heard the knock on my front door. I sat bolt upright, my heart pounding as the noise rocketed me from my sleep and back into the waking world. My heart was pounding and between my legs I could still feel the glimmer of lust from the intensity of the dream itself. I’d been thinking of Tristan again, and in ways that I had tried not to since that night at the restaurant. But try as I might the lust I felt for him could not be denied, especially not by my subconscious mind.
Again the knocking came at my door, and I glanced curiously over at the digital clock underneath my television. Nine forty-six? Who in their right mind would come calling at this hour? I rose up from my couch and shuffled over to the door, wiping the sleep from my eyes before peering through the peephole.
“Tristan?” I asked through the door as I spied my brother standing on the other side. By the look on his face I could assume that the date had not gone well. I was prepared to be utterly furious as I undid the lock and pulled the door open. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“You set me up with a complete snob,” he said, raising an eyebrow at me as though he expected some kind of apology.
“And how am I responsible for the way she behaves?” I asked, my voice rising, though I couldn’t help but yawn. I was still too tired to be completely angry just yet, but I’d settle for mildly annoyed. “I’m not her mother.”
“No, you’re supposed to be my matchmaker! And so far, the only match I’ve had is the one I can’t have,” he said, stepping past me into my apartment.
“Tristan, we can’t, and you know it!” I said, trying to force him back out, though I only succeeded in prompting him to close the door behind him. “We can’t!”