Page 5 of Princess of Pride
She would cup my cheeks and wiggle my head whenever she caught me eating them. “My caramel-blonde baby loves her caramel chews.” Eventually, she started calling me chewy, andPippa thought it’d be hilarious to share the nickname with everyone we knew.
If I had been born with one other color, it wouldn’t have stuck. Blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair like Pippa and Mom, or even dark hair like my dad had in his youth. But no, I’m the color of light caramel—a caramel chew—from my hair to my eyes to my skin.
“You haven’t tried to talk to Lachlan once.” Mom sets her mimosa in front of me. “If it’s liquid courage you need, chug this. Do whatever you must to keep him interested in only you. This is our chance to marry into nobility. Don’t ruin it for us.”
Nobility? “I thought I was here to lock him down so Dad can keep the business in the family.”
“That too.” She waves her fingers like the business arrangement is an inconsequential detail. “But I’m in it for the nobility. Lachlan’s mother is a countess. Your dad says he even has an ancestral castle in Scotland.”
This is news to me. “Does he have an accent?” I’ve never spoken to him directly to know.
“He does, but it’s English and mild in my opinion. You’d know this if you’d have tried to talk to him.” She gives me a stern look.
I check him out again where he now stands by the champagne fountain, talking to two men.
I try to imagine an English accent sounding from his lips as they move. As a lover of Jane Austen movies, I’ve always had a thing for men who sound like Mr. Darcy or Mr. Lefroy. James McFadden and James McAvoy will always have my heart.
Lachlan having an accent makes him even sexier. I swore I’d never fall for another man again, but my resolve might not survive a walking fantasy like him.
Mom touches the top of my hand, and I realize she’s still talking. “…his mother is Scottish, but his father is English. He was raised in England and attended Eton, but eventually he came here to finish his MBA.”
“Does he live in America now?” No one mentioned I might have to leave New England.
“I think so,” she says with uncertainty. “Your father says he travels back and forth to his business in London and his castle in Scotland. Traveling implies he lives here. Apparently, the entire Scottish village works at his factory and relies on it for their jobs.”
“Factory or castle?” I don’t know how many glasses of wine Mom has had yet, but if it’s her usual, she might be too tipsy to know what she’s talking about.
“Both.”
I can’t picture Lachlan in his perfectly fitted European suit standing in a factory. “What does he make? Cars? Food?”
“I don’t know, nor do I care. His priority is finances and buying our business. The factory is a birth inheritance. It came with the castle.”
“Is it near the castle?” I can’t picture that either. But then, I don’t know anyone who owns a castle other than Kingston VonAston—the sexy guy Adelaide, can’t seem to get over. And a nearby factory isn’t how she described his home.
“Why don’t you askhim?It would give you something to talk about. Go on.” She waves her hands like she’s shooing a fly. “Off with you.”
I don’t move, just keep my gaze on Lachlan’s back and how his suit jacket shows off his broad shoulders and trim waist.
“As much as I hate to admit this, I don’t think he’s interested.” Dad finally picks a suitor who doesn’t make me cringe, and he acts like I don’t exist. “Are you sure he isn’t gay?”
Mom laughs. “Far from it.”
“What does that mean, and how would you know?” I glareat my mother with an odd sense of jealousy. Ridiculous, considering Lachlan and I haven’t even made eye contact.
“It means I’ve seen Lachlan with women on plenty occasions. He brings dates to dinners, fundraisers, and other events. The only reason he didn’t bring one today is becauseyou’resupposed to be his date.”
“How can I be his anything if he won’t look at me? Does he even know who I am?” I ask the question I wondered earlier.
Mom’s lips curl with a grin. “He knows. Your father has pictures of you and Pippa in his office. And we have them all over the estate. I caught him staring at your high school graduation photo just yesterday.”
“You did?” That picture is hideous. “Was he smiling?”
“Smiling.” She scoffs. “He was riveted by your beauty, staring for so long I almost offered it to him.”
Riveted my ass. He was probably trying to figure out how I was born into this family or why I don’t look more like Pippa and Mom—my generous boobs aside. Those damn things ballooned as soon as I turned sixteen. Unfortunately, my hips didn’t, leaving me to look like a caramel apple on a stick.
The only thing Mom and I have in common apart from a generous chest is our love for Jane Austen novels. While she’s stuck in the historical genre, I venture down all romance paths. Contemporary, fantasy, paranormal, mafia, new adult, and even some young adult. My dream is to open a romance-only bookstore that serves traditional English afternoon tea.
