Page 1 of Stepson

Chapter one

Bentley

As I step out of Saks Fifth Avenue with my new black Dolce and Gabbana cocktail dress for this evening, my phone rings the spine-tingling tone that belongs to my husband. He’s sent me out to retrieve a dress for his son’s return, and I knew deep down I wouldn’t get through shopping without him calling me at least once.

Speaking of his son, I’m nervous to meet him for the first time tonight. He hadn’t attended our wedding and has been MIA during our entire relationship. Rumor has it he’s upset his father married someone the same age as him. I can’t blame him as I’d probably feel the same way if my mother married someone my age, but come on, he hasn’t given me a chance.

“Hello, darling,” I answer as I shift the bags in my arms to hold the phone properly.

“I gather you’ve found a dress for this evening?” My husband asks in greeting. He's always been a cut-to-the-point kind of guy. I don’t mind it mostly, but sometimes I wish he were a little more traditional in this sense. Guess I can’t have everything, right?

“I have. It’s black just as you instructed,” I tell him.

He chuckles into the phone. “Very good. My son will be arriving soon. Will you be returning now?”

I pull my phone away to see the time is just after four in the afternoon. “I’ll be heading back after I find some matching shoes. I shouldn’t be much longer.”

“And you don’t have shoes here that can match the dress?” The annoyance in his tone tells me he wants me home sooner rather than later. I hate to make him upset and decide I don’t want to deal with his attitude tonight either.

“You’re right. I’ll be home directly. Love you.”

“Be safe, my love.”

He hangs up as I make my way to the pearl white Escalade that drives me around most days. The driver is a handsome man who never speaks to me other than asking where I’m off to next. I know nothing about his personal life and I know he’ll never tell me so I don’t pry. My husband employs him, I’m not to befriend him.

“I’d like to go home now, Pearson.”

Without another word, Pearson takes off and heads home. We aren’t far from the shopping center, and before I know it, we’re pulling back into the driveway. I still gawk at the nearly all white mansion overlooking the ocean beyond it every time we pull in. If someone told me a few years ago this is where I’d be now, I’d have laughed in their face. This kind of life was never in my wildest dreams, yet here I am.

“Welcome back, ma’am,” Penelope greets as soon as I step inside. She’s my personal assistant, and even though I told Marcus I didn’t need one, he insisted regardless. I treat her more like a friend than my maid, though. It feels more natural. I don’t like being someone’s boss in my own home.

“Hi, Penelope. How long do I have to get ready?”

She looks down at her small wrist watch and grimaces. “About twenty minutes, ma’am.”

I groan. That’s hardly any time at all, but it’s better than nothing. I shift the bags in my hands and take off up the stairs to my bedroom. I hate how I have a separate bedroom from my husband, but Marcus insisted on that too. He gets in late so many nights from business and said he didn’t want to wake me. But to be honest, I’m not as upset about it as I thought I’d be. It’s nice to have my own space.

After I toss the bags onto the bed, I get ready as quickly as I can. The black cocktail dress hugs me perfectly, and Marcus was right, I do have the perfect shoes to go along with it in my closet already. They’re black stilettos with silver studs on the back.

A light knock echoes from the door before Marcus sticks his head in. For an older man, he sure is handsome. His dark hair is beginning to turn gray just above his ears, and his goatee is the shade of salt and pepper. He keeps himself in really good shape, though you can still tell he’s an older man by his muscle tone. Twenty-eight years older than me, to be exact. I’m not ashamed. I needed stability and protection, and Marcus provided both of them for me.

“He’ll be arriving any moment. Are you finished getting ready?” He steps into the room before approaching me, placing his hands on my hips. “You look ravishing either way, darling.”

I smile at him through our reflection in the mirror. Most people snicker at our marriage since I’m just a year younger than his son. Standing next to him now makes me realize justhow different our age gap really is. I’ve never really paid much attention to it before, and I still don’t mind. Marcus is good to me.

“I’m ready,” I reply with a soft smile.

He kisses the top of my head. “Shall we?” He holds out his hand for me to take, leading me from the bedroom.

My nerves are all over the place, and I can’t explain why. I’m just meeting his son, for fuck’s sake, there’s nothing to be nervous about. Maybe I just want his son to accept me after he’s turned his cheek the entire time.

The room where we host our dinner parties is nearly packed to capacity. I know many of their faces from Marcus’s other gatherings, but they normally ignore me. Tonight, they’re all smiling and nodding at me like I’m one of them. Should I be worried? This is beyond strange.

Marcus leads me through the crowd and straight up to a younger man in a black suit. The sides of his head are shaved, but the top is longer and braided. It reminds me of the look of a viking. Neck tattoos stretch upwards from his collar, going straight into his hairline. I’ve always been a sucker for men with ink. It’s too bad Marcus doesn’t have any. According to him, tattoos are for criminals and whores.

“Gabe,” Marcus states as he grabs the young man’s shoulder.

My nerves try to get the best of me as I swallow, putting on a smile for his son.

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