Page 565 of Love Bites

Carly

When we toldDonna I was Marion's daughter, I thought she might wet her pants with excitement—first because she wished she could see Richard's face when he finds out a Robichaux is married to a lowly Le Roux and second because this will help our clans form a bond to stand strong against the Veilleux.

The focus of our lunch meeting today won't be what to do about Victor's attempt at mate rape on Sierra. Patricia isn't going to be receptive to an attack on her son, so we'll be approaching the subject as part of the discussion about interclan marriages.

We hug the curves of a back road as Donna speeds along toward lunch. Her black BMW makes me appreciate the handling of a car designed to make driving an experience, and the leather is smooth under my fingers as I grip the door handle when she flies around a hairpin turn. I should be nervous, but bears have impressive reflexes, and I know I’m safe.

She asks, “Carly, dear. Have you given any thought to the color of the nursery?”

“Not yet. Decorating isn't really my thing, so I thought I'd let Annie help me.” Rain races off the windshield in tiny rivers as the wind blows it, and the rush of splashing water sounds as a car passes by on the other side of the road.

Donna's simple French-twist hairdo makes her look a bit severe, and I think she should have pulled a few curly tendrils out to soften her face. She says, “I think it's sweet how much you're involving Annie in your pregnancy. She would have been a fantastic mother, and I know she's touched you want her to be the next best thing for your children.”

I pull on the hem of the linen dress Donna insisted I wear, and the fabric seems to wrinkle at my touch. Apparently this is a formal meeting, and I'm uncomfortable in the outfit Annie helped me buy. “She’s like the sister I never had. I'm grateful she wants to help.”

We'll be eating in a private dining room in a hotel in Bangor because it's neutral territory for all clans. My stomach growls loudly as I think about lunch.

Donna says, “We'll have to get you some bread right away.” She smiles and glances at me quickly. “I was hungry all the time when I was pregnant. Do you have a snack to tide you over?”

“I'll be fine as long as we eat first.”

The paperwork Donna gave me to read last night was fascinating. Traditionally, marriage between members from different clans had not been allowed, and couples had to leave their clans to be together. But over time, enough did that an outsider clan formed in Canada. Unofficially, alphas have begun to give permission if one of the partners is willing to change clans in order to keep members from leaving.

The process has been sorted out, the contracts have come back from the lawyers, and it's time to make intermarriage rights official and part of clan law. The prima are determining the logistics of presenting it to the werebear as a unified front.

I have a sneaking suspicion Donna wants to make Brady and me the poster couple for the announcement. But we're hesitant about sharing such information with Patricia and decided to keep it quiet. I sent Marion a message earlier, and she agreed it was a wise move.

Tires crunch over granite pebbles as we pull in before a pale-yellow historic mansion. The trim is ornate and a bit overdone for my taste, but when we enter, I decide it's charming. Drapes of heavy velvet adorn large windows, and the staircase looks like something out of the movieGone with the Wind.

We're led to a room that has a table set for lunch and plush Victorian couches placed before a fireplace. I hope that's where we'll discuss business, because the sofas look comfortable.

Donna sends the hostess off to find bread as Marion walks in. Above a smart-looking suit of powder blue, her eyes are brilliant, and I wonder why I never wear that color, because it would do the same for me.

Donna reaches for Marion's hands, and they air kiss. She says, “Wonderful to see you again, and let me say, I'm pleased we're going to be sharing family.”

Marion replies, “Me too. While neither of us is old enough to be a grandmother, I think we'll be good ones.”

The two women chuckle, and I give air kisses to Marion. All the prima are doing it these days.

Ice rattles in a water pitcher, and when I turn to the waitress, hoping for my bread, a tall, slender woman walks in. Thin is so not in for werebear, and I'm instantly curious about Patricia Veilleux, especially when I notice Donna's smile become plastic. Growling sounds in my head as I tune in to her.

Patricia stares at me with brown eyes that look almost black enough to match her hair. She ignores Donna and Marion and says in a voice that could freeze the sun, “The new prima, and pregnant too. You must be so pleased, Donna.”

My bear prickles under my skin, and I exude confidence when I hold out my hand. “Patricia Veilleux, it's nice to meet you.”

Her long fingers are bony and surprisingly cool for a werebear when she shakes my hand with a firm grip. Probably because she's too skinny to stay warm. But she offers me a smile, and I wonder if I surprised her by not cowering. She's got nothing on hostile drunk men trying to get me to tattoo their dicks.

Donna speaks in my head.“Brady called the right woman. You are a warrior.”

Marion doesn't say anything, but I notice a hint of a smile, and my heart warms a bit thinking she might be proud of me, too.

The waitress leaves without a word, and I notice a basket on the table. I say, “Excuse me, ladies, but if I don't eat something right now, I'll turn into a bear.”

Even Patricia smiles at my joke, and we all sit at the table. Donna has arranged a set luncheon, and I peruse the paper that outlines what we'll have. I think I should be well fed with soup, salad, quiche, and dessert.

Lobster bisque arrives moments after we sit, and I spoon in a mouthful. The creaminess makes me want to moan, but I remain polite.

Patricia asks, “So tell me, Carly, where have they been hiding you all these years?”

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