Page 40 of Bossing My Holiday
“It’s been too long. And I had to learn about your girlfriend from your mother. Do you know the women they had lined up for you?”
He shudders, and I laugh, pulling back.
“Dad, this is my girlfriend, Waverly. Waverly, this is my dad, Alain.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He shakes her hand too, his expression stoic, but she lays her sweet charm on him.
“You too, sir. Tristan speaks so highly of you. I have to admit, I’m just a little in love with your hotel. It’s magical, especially with all the decorations.” She giggles, and my father softens like a freshly baked croissant. I haven’t seen this much charm from Waverly before, but I can’t complain that she’s laying it on thick for my family because they’re eating it up.
To the point where my father throws me a surprised yet prideful grin and returns to her. “Yes, the staff always goes all out this time of year. It’s a special place to live.”
“Ah. There it is,” I quip. “I was waiting for it.”
My dad chuckles. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t try to get you to move back home.”
“Well, I have several reasons to stay in Boston.” I throw Waverly a side eye, and she blushes on cue. She’s better at this than I thought she was going to be.
“It sounds like you two are pretty serious?” he questions, once again glancing at me, and I can feel my mother lingering behind him, and my grandmother hardly taking a wheezy breath from the other room so she can hear.
Fuck. Just… fuck.
“We are,” I answer, and I feel like shit. Like such shit. But I can’t help but love how they love her. Even if it’s not real. Even if she’s… something with my best friend and dislikes me enough that we have to declare a truce.
“Good, because his ex-wife was a total disaster,” Grand-mère declares, and I sigh. I’d hate to point out how Dianna was their choice and not mine, and how I simply did what my family wanted and ended up with a vampire for a wife.
Waverly laughs, with her head thrown back and everything. “So I’ve been told.” She turns back to my dad. “Did you know that we’ve had a string of women trying to come up and see him since I started working there?” Waverly smirks at me. “I used to have to send them away in droves.”
“Har, har,” I grumble. “But then one day I couldn’t stopseeing you.” And fuck if that isn’t true. A little late, but still true. And now that I’ve seen her, I don’t know how to stop looking. I glance over my shoulder at Brax, who just entered, and he gives me a look I know so well on him. It’s one that saysit doesn’t have to be two when it can be three.
“I think that’s only because I don’t fawn at your feet or care that you’re Tristan Ouest.”
“Maybe.” I smirk and step into her, my hand reaching around her waist. “You hate that part of me.”
“It’s the worst,” she retorts, her eyes daring me to contradict her. “You didn’t have to be the one who turned away all those women like I did.”
I laugh. “You did a better job than I would have. No one messes with you. No one is a match for your sharp words mixed with your sweet sass and pretty smile. Not even me. Though I certainly enjoy putting you in your place.”
She pinches my arm that’s holding her and stares up, letting me know this is war, but it’s me getting back at her for the women coming in droves comment.
Her gray eyes are so pretty, and her lips are soft and pink, and before I know what I’m doing, I dip my head and kiss her. Full on the lips. Right here in front of my mother, grandmother, father, and Braxton.
I kiss Waverly, and I kiss her good. I even dip her back a little and hold her tight, pressing her body against mine so she feels how fucking hard I am for her.
The irony of that? I never even kissed my ex-wife in front of them. The only time they ever saw us kiss was at our wedding, and I sure as hell didn’t kiss her like this.
I right our bodies and pull away, holding her gaze, a little shocked and a lot turned on. She looks about the same, and behind us Braxton whistles.
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Waverly,” my dad says, clearing his throat with a knowing grin and a glint in his eyes.
“That was some kiss,” my mother exclaims, fanning her face.
“It sure was. Save it for places your grandmother doesn’t have to see,” Grand-mère says in French.
“Yes,” my mother agrees. “Let’s go in and eat. Waverly, won’t you come with me?”
I release her, and my mother takes her arm, smiling and chatting about nonsense. Waverly’s cheeks are red, and when she throws me a backward glance, I see the question in her eyes.What the fuck was that?
For a moment the room is silent.
