Page 78 of Deadly Secrets
Chapter Fourteen
Brooke rubbed her thumb into the palm of her opposing hand. Even though she’d kidded with Roman about meeting his family and blackmailing him into marrying her, she felt like a jittery mess. She hadn’t lied to him—social situations weren’t her forte, regardless of the fact that she’d probably never see these people again. He’d tagged her as his girlfriend and that alone was enough to make her sweat.
Roman wound through the hills of Del Mar with the ease of a racecar driver. “Don’t be nervous.”
Easy for him to say. She stopped smashing her thumb into her palm and rubbed her hands down her pant legs. “Are there any topics that are off limits?”
“Our case.”
“Duh. I knew that. Anything else?”
He shifted the Jeep, made a sharp turn. “Details of our love life.”
“We have a love life?”
He caught her mischievous grin and rolled his eyes. “My sisters will grill you for details. Don’t let them intimidate you.”
Great. “You mean like how we met?”
“How we met, how long we’ve been seeing each other, what your intentions are. The usual.”
“I think you made my intentions clear on the phone earlier.”
“I should probably apologize for that because, knowing Candy, you’re going to get the full Walsh interrogation, not just from her and Felicity, but Mom too.”
She really wished she’d stayed back at his place. “I’ll sic them on you.”
“Oh, believe me, I’ll get the third degree about you. They’ll want to know everything, including your shoe size.”
“Seven.”
“I know.”
He knew her shoe size? “Seriously?”
“You had me on the hook for a new pair of Shaun Maddens, remember?”
“Steve.SteveMaddens.”
He reached over and gripped her hand, gave it a squeeze. “Him too. Whatever designer you want, you’ve got it.”
He pulled into the circular drive of a giant brick colonial with mature trees, lovely landscaping, and a hell of a view. “Did you buy this for your parents?”
“Nah. It’s the family home. Belonged to my mother’s parents.”
Of course it had. “You come from money.”
He parked and frowned at her. “I’ve never taken a dime from them.”
“I have no doubt. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
The flowers in the window boxes looked cheery and softened the brickwork. The steps leading to the front door were wide and deep, massive flowing ferns in planters on each side. The front door was actually two French doors painted a rich hunter green with brass knockers that matched the window shutters and expensive landscaping.
“It looks like one of those million-dollar mansions on HGTV.”
“Here, in this section of Del Mar, it’s hardly a mansion.”
