Page 21 of Crimson Shore
She shakes her head, looking slightly dazed. “No, it’s just ...”
“A lot. I get it.”
Her gaze slides to me and she smiles, her brown eyes warmer and more mesmerizing than the sunset we’ll soon be watching from the air. I had no idea, when I was drawn to a contagious, melodic laugh from a group of women at a bar I was out at with friends ten months ago, that the woman that laugh belonged to would change my life.
When I turned to see who it belonged to, our eyes locked, and I suddenly knew what people meant when they saidwhen you meet the one, you’ll know.
Though I’d been hoping to get the new woman from HR at my Boston accounting firm to go home with me that night—after a bunch of us had drinks and she saw me crush some Bon Jovi songs for karaoke night—I changed my plans immediately.
Not just for the night. For my life. I pleaded with the universe for the stunning brunette I was approaching to be single and straight. That was all I needed. The rest I could handle.
And damn, did she make me work. She told me she could smell the playboy on me a mile away and placed me firmly in the friend zone. It took almost three months of groveling just to get a date with her.
In the bar that night, something made me introduce myself to her as Pax Stephens—my mother’s maiden name—instead of using my real last name. I needed to know if the third-grade teacher who made me forget any other woman had ever existed could fall for just me.
Not the killer Super Bowl seats, yacht trips, and luxury homes all over the world. The doors opened by my billionaire parents have made many women work to land my ring on their finger.
Hannah got to know a man who couldn’t always afford to go out on Friday and Saturday nights (a fib I hoped she’d forgive me for later). A man she thought was so buried in college loans that he walked most places because he didn’t have a car. (My cars stayed snugly parked in the garage beneath my downtown building while I racked up enough steps to take me to and from the moon. Probably.)
It was just a week ago that I admitted the truth to Hannah. Even then, I told her the money is all my mom and dad’s, and that they want me to make my own way in life. In reality, I’ll inherit half of everything someday. I was also privileged to be gifted stocks and trust funds by not just my parents, but also my grandparents, which have set me up for life even without my parents’ money.
I plan to tell her I’m wealthier than I’ve admitted soon. After I propose with a modest three-quarter carat engagement ring. I know Hannah loves me for me, but I need to plan a life with her that’s centered on us, not my money.
I chose to become an accountant and live in the same type of apartment other people in my pay grade would have. Some of my friends know my parents are wealthy, but they also know I’m a guy who loves bar pizza, watching football, and playing in a basketball league.
“Okay.” Hannah takes a deep breath, her exhale forming a cloud in the chilly October air. “Aldous and Kate. Mr. and Mrs. Thatcher.”
I kiss her forehead. “They’ll tell you to call them Aldous and Kate, babe. It’s going to be fine, I promise.”
We walk toward the plane stairs. Taking the plane to meet my parents for the first time at a ritzy downtown New York City steak house wasn’t my original plan. They were going to come here this weekend and Hannah and I were cooking at my place. Our place, really. But Dad had a big work thing come up and my mom wouldn’t accept rescheduling for another weekend as an option.
Mom cried when I told her I’d met someone. When I told her Hannah’s a teacher with a master’s degree in special education who runs and volunteers at a homeless shelter, she cried even harder.
My parents were adamant that I not end up with a fortune hunter or celebrity chaser. Hannah said last weekend that she won’t even consider an engagement without a prenuptial agreement in place that stipulates neither of us gets anything from the other if things don’t work out, no matter how long the marriage lasts.
There won’t be a prenup, but I’m not approaching that conversation until later. Everything that’s mine is already hers in my heart, anyway. I miss her hearty laugh when we’re apart, even for the workday. I love that she tries so hard to cook for me, but just isn’t great at it. Hell, I even took up running to spend more time with her, and I hate running.
I met the one ten months ago in a sports bar decked out in fake garland and twinkling holiday lights. And when I knew, damn, did I know.
As a mom of two sons, my mother always told me and my brother Deacon to choose our life partners wisely, because they would become her daughters.
Deac is gay, and his husband Alex is one of our mom’s favorite people. But Deac and Alex don’t want kids, and I can see the sparkle of hope in my mom’s eyes as she gets to know her future daughter-in-law over dinner.
“We had something like that at my grade school,” Mom says to Hannah across the dimly lit table. “I don’t know if I got more excited over the school store or the book fair.”
Hannah smiles, putting her hand over her glass when I move to pour more wine into it. I set the bottle back down. She doesn’t drink much alcohol, but she also said a little extra wine tonight might help ease her nerves.
Not that she needs it. I can tell my parents love her.
“Book fairs were the best,” Hannah gushes. “My school is fortunate to have a grant from a private company that allows us to use vouchers for our book fairs, so students who don’t have money from home still get to purchase books. Whether your parents send money or not, everyone gets the same vouchers.”
Mom gives Dad a meaningful look and says, “I love that.”
Dad pulls her a little closer, his arm behind her, and grins. “I’ll ask Trinity to look into it.”
I don’t want Hannah to be confused, so I say, “Mom’s going to steal the idea and do it, too.”
Hannah’s eyes widen and she turns to my mom. “Really?”
