Page 41 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
"Thanks," I tell him, but he turns down the tip I offer and winks at me.
"Mr. Wolfe's already covered it, ma'am. Welcome to the neighborhood," he says as he returns to his post.
Grayson shows me to my room, which is on par with any five-star hotel room I've ever seen, complete with a balcony view of Central Park West and the New York skyline. Sunrises are going to be incredible from there. I can hardly wait to see it.
"Sleep well," Grayson advises when he drops me off. "It's going to be a wild ride tomorrow."
The drive to Grayson's parents' house is more nerve-racking than I expected.
I've been calm for most of yesterday and this morning, but for some reason, as soon as I get in the limo with him, a knot forms in my belly.
Maybe it's because of the argument we had earlier. He thought I should wear a horrendously expensive but to my minddeathly boring, white sleeveless minidress by Chanel that's one of the many items we'd bought in Saks, but I'd chosen to wear my favorite pink pantsuit from an online catalog retailer that I'd scooped up a couple of years ago. It's a lovely shade of pastel pink, with wide-cut pants and matching jacket, and it looks very classy, worn with a simple white vest top under the jacket. At a sticker price of $275 but reduced to just $100 in the sale, it was one of my best-ever bargains, and I love it to bits. Despite its age, it's still the go-to power suit that I wear when I want to feel at my most confident.
"You remember the story of how we got together?" he asks, as the car rolls in front of a mansion with tall wrought-iron gates that open automatically.
"I remember," I tell him.
The story is, we met while I was planning an event for his company. We started dating in secret for a few months, recently got engaged, and now he's ready to introduce me to his family. It works because it's simple, and because it's as near to the truth as we can get, at least in terms of how we actually met, if not in anything else.
I recite it in my head once again, as our limo comes to a gentle, purring stop. My heart is jumping out of my chest as our driver opens the door for me.
"Thank you," I tell him, and then, before I can draw a breath, Grayson takes my hand, leading me swiftly up the steps. He pushes open the solid oak door and strides in, with me beside him.
Grayson's parents live in a landmarked, Fifth Avenue Beaux-Arts mansion. One of the few such properties remaining on the street in these modern times. It has that mausoleum hush: classical statuary along the entry and a sweeping staircase into an open gallery, with old-master paintings, vintage décor, and an understated, elegant palette. Grayson seems to know hisway around. He leads me to a dining room that could fit my entire apartment, where an older man and a woman are sitting in separate Louis Quinze armchairs surrounding an enormous fireplace, drinking tea and reading journals.
They both look up when we walk in.
"Who is this, Grayson?" his mother asks immediately, without greeting.
"This is Jenna, Mother. She's my fiancée. Jenna, this is my mother and father."
The air in the room ceases. You could hear a pin drop.
"You cannot be serious, Grayson," his mother says.
"Of course I am," he says. "That's why I arranged this breakfast, so I can finally introduce you to her."
His parents seem flabbergasted, and his mother levels a steady gaze on me, her piercing blue eyes wide and disbelieving.
"It's lovely to meet you both," I say with my best smile. "I'm Jenna."
"Oh, absolutely not," his mother says. She goes back to her journal and flips her hand in the air dismissively. "It's a ‘no' for this one. Send her away. We'll find you someone else. Someone more… suitable."
CHAPTER 12
Grayson
Looking at Jenna, I see in her eyes the exact moment she realizes what she's gotten herself into.
She turns her shocked eyes slowly toward me, questions and accusations in her gaze.
Told you so.
She didn't heed my warning, and she chose to wear that ridiculous pink pantsuit anyway. Now she has to pay for her mistake, and I'm not going to speak up in her defense either—not today, I won't. If I shield her now, I'm going to have to do it every single time. She'll never earn their respect, and most importantly, my parents will never believe I could love a woman like that.
At my silence, Jenna finally pivots her heated face back to my parents, more specifically my father, who's staring at her like she's a specimen under a magnifying glass.
She recovers from her shock, clearing her throat. "I understand this probably comes as a surprise to both of you, and you're understandably taken aback. But you should probably give me a chance first before you show me the door. Who knows? You might like me in the end."
