Page 47 of The Loophole

The interior looked like what would happen if Olive Garden decided to open a hotel. It was very nice, but also oddly faux rustic Italian, with its stucco walls, beamed ceilings, and tile floors.

Uncle Chuck had obviously hired a designer to decorate for the holidays, and they’d done a beautiful—but not very festive—job. They’d made huge wreaths and thick garlands with olive branches and eucalyptus leaves, and embellished them with expensive bronze and burnt orange ribbons. The colors went with the earth-toned interior, but they didn’t exactly scream “Christmas.”

The huge tree in the living room was decorated in that same color scheme and looked like it belonged in a mall. I didn’t have a chance to take in any more of the décor though, because the room was stuffed full of people who were waiting to meet me.

Bryson introduced me to ten or twelve people, one right after the other. I instantly forgot their names, and I barely understood how they were related to him.

That last part was his fault. He basically called everyone over fifty his aunt or uncle, and everyone younger than that was called a cousin. In reality, Chuck’s daughters would have been Bryson’s dad’s cousins, which would make them, what? His second cousins? I had no idea. All I knew was that they weren’t technically his aunts, but that was what they got called anyway.

These “aunts” had an assortment of husbands, kids, and grandkids with them. The grandkids included two little boys around three and five, dressed in tiny suits and bowties. They’d obviously been told to stay seated, and they were fidgeting on the couch and looked bored out of their minds. If that was how Bryson had been treated when he was brought here as a kid, then I felt bad for him.

Two people in uniforms brought in some champagne on a fancy bar cart, which all seemed very Downton Abbey. When Grandpa Edmund raised a toast to us, the family’s response was fairly enthusiastic—except for Fallon. He sat in a corner single-handedly murdering a bottle of whiskey, one cut crystal glass at a time. Grandpa shut him down when he tried to start something during the toast, but I knew he was going to keep stirring the pot.

All in all, I felt like I’d landed on another planet. I had no idea how I was going to get through these next few days. When they tried to strike up a conversation with me, I barely knew what they were talking about, so I did the only thing I could think of.Smile and nod, Embry, I told myself.Smile and nod.

That evening, as Bryson and I got ready to join his family for cocktails, I said, “Just to give you a heads up, I plan to be very lovey dovey tonight. I think real honeymooners would be all over each other. Don’t you?”

“Yes and no. My family isn’t big on public displays of affection, so we don’t want to overdo it.”

“So, I shouldn’t blow you between rounds of martinis?” He frowned at me, and I flashed him a smile and changed the subject. “Seriously though, what are you going to wear? I borrowed some clothes from Lark and Hal, but if I go for the fanciest stuff right off the bat, I’m going to run out of options toward the end of our visit.”

“I’m just wearing a sweater. Some of my family will be overly dressed up in suits and ties, but I want to be comfortable.”

The sweater turned out to be a very nice, dark red V-neck, which he layered over a white button-down shirt and paired with black pants and loafers. The overall effect was casually elegant, which I wasn’t sure I was capable of. I gave it my best shot, though.

I straightened my hair, which was my way of showing I’d made an effort, and held it back with a black headband. Then I put on a pair of slightly cropped black pants, a slim-fitting baby blue T-shirt and matching sneakers, and one of Hal’s signature long cardigans. He was about five inches taller than I was, but after I folded back the cuffs, it was a pretty good fit.

I turned to Bryson and asked, “Is this good enough? I could go with a button-down shirt, but I only brought three and wanted to save them.”

He ran his gaze down the length of me and murmured, “You look beautiful.” That was surprising. I’d expected some general feedback, not a compliment. Then he cleared his throat and added, “We should get going.”

We took the dog for a walk, and I gave Dusty his dinner and got him settled in our room before we went to join Bryson’s family.

They were starting to gather on a huge brick terrace at the back of the house. It was well past sunset, but it was so brightly lit that it looked like daytime. The terrace was dotted with clusters of chairs and small sofas, each with its own patio heater, and there was a built-in bar, along with a bartender, which again added to the hotel feel. It was hard to imagine Uncle Charles rattling around this place all by himself when his family wasn’t visiting.

We joined Edmund Baudelaire, who was sitting alone at the far end of the terrace. When Bryson took a seat, I sat on his lap and draped my arm around his shoulders. I’d warned him I was going to lay it on thick this evening, but I wondered if this might be outside his comfort zone. Then I felt his body relax as he rested a hand on my thigh, and that made it easier for me to relax, too.

“Now that we have some time to talk, I want to hear all about the two of you,” Edmund said, “starting with how you met.” The rest of the family was clustered into two seating areas at the other end of the patio, leaving us alone with him. I wondered if he’d arranged that, to give us some time to talk.

I jumped in with our agreed-upon story. “We met at a Starbucks on Halloween. I took one look at him and knew I had to strike up a conversation. The rest is history.”

Edmund turned his sharp gaze on his grandson. “I’m curious why you didn’t mention Embry when we chatted on Thanksgiving.”

“It was overwhelming when I realized how I felt about him,” Bryson said. “I needed time to process it, instead of trying to put it into words.” That sounded so real that even I wanted to believe it.

“And why did you choose to get married in Las Vegas?”

“That was my idea,” I said. “Once we decided to get married, neither of us wanted to wait, and I suggested eloping to Vegas. I’d always wanted to see it.” That was all true.

Edmund leaned back in his chair. “A more skeptical man might question the timing,” he said. “As you and I both know, I’d given you a deadline in regard to your inheritance. You slid in right under the wire.”

“I know how it looks,” Bryson said. “In all honesty, that deadline was in the back of my mind when Embry struck up a conversation. Maybe it helped motivate me to open myself up and get to know him. Then I discovered he’s kind, and clever, and fascinating. He’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

When I turned to look at him, he held my gaze steadily and told me, “I was in a dark place when I met you, Em, but you’re pure sunshine. You brought me back to life. That’s what it feels like. I don’t tell you enough how grateful I am for you, or how much better my world is now that you’re a part of it, but I want you to know that.”

That was all true. I saw it in his eyes.

Acting on pure impulse, I took his face between my hands and kissed him. It wasn’t for his grandfather’s sake. I forgot Edmund was even there. I kissed Bryson because I wanted to, plain and simple.

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