Page 104 of The Ruthless Boys (Adamson All-Boys Academy 2)
“It’s good to meet you,” I manage to get out as she pushes me back to examine me. While I’m sporting my old SCHS sweats and a plain gray tank from the plane ride, Mrs. Montague is decked out in a white pantsuit with a pink blouse underneath the jacket. “We’ve always expressed the importance of finding the one to Church, haven’t we, honey?”
“We have,” a man says, coming down the path in jeans and a t-shirt. He wipes dirt from his palms, and I raise an eyebrow. This is Mr. Montague, dressed like a gardener and wearing dirt on his jeans?
Well, shit, I like them already.
And yet, I’m struggling to figure out why this pair is referred to so ominously by all of Church’s friends.
“We found each other young, so we try not to write off our kids’ feelings,” Mr. Montague continues, and then his wife turns to him, and the two get lost in each other’s eyes. Before I know it, they’re kissing and Church is scowling.
“Here we go again,” he murmurs, glancing down at me, his amber eyes catching the sunshine and glimmering with a brilliance that takes my breath away. “They’re always like this. Everything they do is beyond intense, that’s why nobody likes to invite them to parties, so they always have to host their own.”
“Oh, Church, knock that off,” his mom says, still clinging to his father’s shirt. While Church’s mom is blond, and fair-skinned like him, his father looks nothing at all like them. He’s got dark hair, stubble, and a wide nose. Not to say he isn’t handsome, he just doesn’t have Church’s fine-boned features. “Take your fiancée inside, and show her your room.”
“His room?” I ask, and Mrs. Montague laughs. I swear, the sound is like … like butterflies landing on daisies or some shit. It’s magical.
“We’re not about to make you sleep in separate rooms. How silly is that?” She gestures toward the house. “We’re still preparing for tonight, but make yourself at home for now, and we’ll talk later about this Adamson business.”
I nod, and Church reaches down to take my hand, pulling me down a pathway lined with flowers and into a light, airy space. The wall across from us is all windows, the doors open to welcome in the soft sound of the sea.
“My sisters are around here somewhere,” he murmurs, his eyes darting back and forth. “Watch out for them. They’re truly awful.”
“Church!” An ear-splitting squeal splits the air, and a dark-haired girl throws her arms around Church’s neck from behind, squeezing him so hard that her legs come up off the ground. She’s wearing a tennis outfit, and sweating like crazy, but her smile is as infectious as her mothers. “We’ve been missing you around here this summer. It’s just not the same without you.”
“Not the same without me to pick on, you mean,” he says, carefully untangling her from his neck, so that her sneakers slap on the tiled floors when she lands. Church turns around with a sigh and holds out a hand. “Charlotte, this is my youngest sister, Giselle.”
“And by youngest, he means still five years older than him.” She grins and ruffles his hair which he very clearly hates, but takes anyway. “Everyone else is outside, fighting over whose new boyfriend is the cutest.” Giselle winks dramatically in my direction. “Not to sound biased or anything, but I think you’re likely to win that bet.”
“Um, thanks?” I say, and then she gasps, reaching out to take my hand and examine the ring. “This is fantastic, Churchie, did you pick this out yourself?”
“Churchie?” I ask, trying to stifle a laugh. The poor guy looks miserable as he helps extract my hand from his sister’s grip.
“Do you mind if I get Charlotte settled? She’s had a long flight. You can molest her at the party tonight.”
“You’re so uptight, Churchie,” Giselle says, swatting him on the ass with a tennis racket. “Hopefully this beautiful lady of yours loosens you up a bit.” She glances over at me, face turning serious for a moment. The sudden change in expression reminds me of her brother, how he flips moods. Maybe it’s … fuck, it can’t be genetic because he said they weren’t genetically-related. I’m so confused. “Does he treat you right, Charlotte? Because if he doesn’t, we’ll all kick his ass. We raised him better than that.”
“He brought me chocolate and a hot water bottle when I was on my period,” I offer up, and Giselle nods, giving her little brother another pleased smile.
“Good to hear. I am not in the mood for removing my brother’s balls with a tennis racquet for poor behavior. Good job, Churchie.”
“We’ll be upstairs if you need us,” he says, grabbing me by the hand and guiding me up a curving staircase to a private little suite that overlooks the sea. It’s beautiful in here, decorated in white and blue like the rest of the house, but with enough coffee posters to let me know exactly where I’m at.
