Page 112 of Winning Bid

“June, this is where I grew up. Well, when I wasn’t at the academy or at our city apartment.”

Butterflies soar in my stomach. “Do I look okay?”

“You look incredible. I love that dress—but why a wedding dress? This is just a reception.”

“It’s our wedding reception. What else was I supposed to wear? A tux?”

Anderson growls in a way I’ve never heard.

“What was that?”

“Me thinking of you in a tux.”

I giggle. “Really?”

He gets a wistful look in his pretty blue eyes. “You know those vintage black and white pictures of Hollywood actresses in suits because it was against studio protocol for women to wear pants, and they were tired of it?”

“I didn’t know that was why they did that, but I’ve seen them. Greta Garbo, Marlena Dietrich, all those. What about it?”

“I have had a thing for women in tuxes since I saw those pictures. Something about the rebelliousness of it all. Thinking of you, dolled up in the retro hair and makeup … and wearing a tux … ” There’s that growl again.

“If you keep that up, we’ll never make it to our own party.”

“I’m game if you are.”

I giggle at him. “No! We already ditched everyone for our wedding. If we do it again, I don’t think they’ll forgive us. We are not getting disinherited because we couldn’t keep it in our pants.”

“Oh, fine, bring that up.” He huffs, smiling.

The trees part to frame something too big to be called a house. Is it a manor or a mansion, I don’t know. But it’s huge and gray with white trim, surrounded by more trees. The driveway loops near the front door, and it trails off to the left. Some trees divide the property there, but I can make out another building in that direction. “What’s over there?”

“The stables.”

“You grew up with stables? Like with horses and stuff?”

“I never told you?”

I just chuckle and let it go. I have a feeling today will be full of moments like this one. It’s always that way when I’m around rich people. They are blind to the luxuries they see every day. It’s not false modesty or that they’re hiding things—it’s just that it doesn't occur to them to bring it up. “Do you ride the horses?”

“Only the older ones. The younger ones are for racing, so they train with their jockeys, and Dad thinks they shouldn’t be ridden by anyone else.” He shrugs.

“Wait, so it’s not just having horses for the sake of having them?”

He shakes his head. “Horses are a business until they’re retired. Mom is too much of a softy to send them away or put them out to stud. When Dad is done with them, she gets to keep them. Sometimes, I wonder if he’s in racing just so she has an excuse to have the horses.”

“That seems like a lot of thoughtfulness. Are you sure we’re talking about Elliot West?”

“The guy’s an asshole, but he’s her asshole.”

“Ooh, save that line for when you make your toast.”

He laughs and parks next to the other cars on the lot. I hadn’t realized just how many people would show up to this thing. Anderson seems surprised, too. “Looks like both of them called up everyone they know. How’d they get so many people to RSVP in a week?”

I shrug. “Blackmail?”

“Let’s hope not.” Anderson takes my hand in his and leads us up the walkway from the parking area.

Well-manicured bushes line the stone path to the grand entrance. Half-circle steps stack to the white front doors, and before Anderson can ring the bell, a man in a uniform opens it. He’s an older white gentleman with an English accent. “Mr. West, how good to see you.”

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