Page 13 of The One You Want

Chapter 4

After talking with Grant for longer than planned, I had to hustle to meet my grandmother in time. She had insisted that we hold our lunch, as always, in the dining room of the Ottawa Hotel. Which meant a long trek up the hill for me and by the time I got there, sweaty and disheveled, I wished I had taken mybike.

I took a moment on the expansive porch of the hotel to smooth out my hair and get myself together as best as possible. The Ottawa was the kind of place that people got dressed up to visit, and the last thing I wanted was for my grandmother to call me out on looking less put together than the commoners. As the owner of the largest and most expensive hotel on the island, she always expected members of the family to look thepart.

I dabbed some fresh powder on my shiny forehead and reapplied my lipstick. That was about as good as it was going to get so I put the makeup back in my purse and pushed my way into the lobby, steeling myself for what I was sure would be a distinctly unpleasantafternoon.

Built in the late 1890’s, the Ottawa Hotel was a perfect example of turn of the century design. Known by all the residents of Lilac Bay as the Big Hotel, the Ottawa was by far the most exclusive property on the island. Dukes and Presidents and the auto barons of the twenties had all stayed right here, in this hotel my family had owned forgenerations.

The interior space was every bit as elegant and luxurious as the famous white facade of the building. My heels clicked on the white and black marble floor as I made my way inside, dodging visitors in suits anddresses.

And standing right in the middle of all the bustle was my grandmother, all five foot three inches of her as intimidating as anyone I’d ever met. A quick look at the concierge she was speaking with told me that I wasn’t the only one who felt that way—the poor man was shaking in his finely polishedshoes.

She caught sight of me across the room and stopped talking abruptly, her gaze flicking up and down my body, clearly displeased with what she saw. She dismissed the concierge with a curt wave of her hand and the man hurried away, no doubt eager to get away from the dragonlady.

“Jennifer,” she murmured as I approached, her face pinched. “How lovely to see you,dear.”

“Grandmother.” She offered a cheek for me to kiss and I took in the familiar scent of Chanel no. 5. Even at sixty-seven my grandmother had the softest skin I’d ever seen, her face perfectly made up, asalways.

“I stopped off and got you some flowers,” I said, holding out the bouquet. “I thought you should enjoy the summer blossoms while you stillcan.”

“Thank you, dear,” she said, her pinched expression relaxing slightly. “That was very sweet of you.” I barely hid my sigh of relief and made a mental note to send Grant a bottle of wine or something. She held out her arm to me and I slipped mine over it, the way I’d done a thousand times before. “Let’s eat, shall we? There’s a lovely lobster salad on themenu.”

“Soundsgreat.”

We slipped past the decent sized crowd waiting for their reservation to be called and headed straight through the dining room to her regular table. Tucked against one of the floor to ceiling windows, the table had good views of both the dining room and the town far below us. In the distance, the water of the bay sparkled in the mid afternoonsun.

“This is really beautiful,” I told her honestly. Though I didn’t have the warmest feelings about the hotel itself, or my family’s involvement in it, it was impossible to feel anything but impressed by the grandeur of that view. Not to mention the room itself, which felt like a set straight out of a sweeping period piecefilm.

“It really is, isn’t it?” she murmured, eyes scanning the room before landing on mine. She looked softer than usual, almost happy. And then she broke the unusually sweet moment between us by raising an elegant hand and snapping loudly for thewaiter.

I did my best not to sigh. Same old CarolineHillman.

The waiter hurried over with a pitcher of ice water. “We’ll take lemon,” my grandmother said, neither looking at him nor thanking him as he poured out our water. I tried to shoot him an encouraging look but it was ruined when she snapped, “which should have been on the table prior to us sittingdown.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said quickly. “We were just turning the table over when youarrived.”

“I’m sure.” Her icy tone made me want to shudder, and I felt sorry for the kid who was likely just trying to earn some money at a summerjob.

“After you bring the lemon,” she continued, “you can bring us both the lobster salad. And bread, of course. That will beall.”

I wasn’t at all surprised that she didn’t ask me for my opinion on the menu. My grandmother would always do what she thought was best and allow no arguments to thecontrary.

“So.” She turned an appraising look on me, the kind that had been making me squirm since I was a child. “How have you been,dear?”

“Fine, Grandmother.” I managed a passable smile. “Trying to keep busy with some of my projects.” I didn’t specify that I meant my jewelry pieces. My grandmother thought “artistic endeavors” were a perfectly fine hobby for someone of my “social position” but she had never cared to hear any of thedetails.

Her piercing blue eyes continued to search my face. “And what about your social life, dear? Are you seeinganyone?”

It was everything I could do not to let out a sigh. Of course this was what she wanted todiscuss.

“Not at the moment.” I plastered a smile to myface.

“Jenny, you really ought to get going on that.” Her disapproval dripped from everyword.

“It’s just not a focus for me right now,” I said, determined not to cower. She’d gotten me to agree to far too many terrible blind dates by glaring at me in the precise way she was rightthen.

“What on earth could be moreimportant?”