Be What Love Is Page 2

  She nods and pulls me into a long hug while Mr. McHenry pats me lightly on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you, dear,” she whispers in my ear and then leans back to look at me. Her gaze is full of love and tears well in my eyes. Hers do the same, and she wipes them away with a crumpled tissue. “Your mother?” she asks and looks around.

  I shake my head. Her face drops into a deeper frown, so I place a gentle hand on her shoulder. “She couldn’t leave work, and she—”

  “You don’t have to tell me, dear. I know how your mum felt about things.”

  I’m glad she understands.

  “This is my friend, Juliana Rodriguez. I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead and tell you that she was accompanying me.”

  “No worries at all, dear, there’s plenty of room,” Mrs. McHenry says in all seriousness. “As you may recall, Canterwood Manor has twenty-two guest rooms.”

  “Whoa,” Julie whispers.

  “Julie, this is Mr. and Mrs. McHenry. They run things around here.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m sorry for your loss,” Julie says. They all shake hands and make small talk about our journey.

  “Let’s get you settled in before Mr. Lewis arrives,” Mrs. McHenry says.

  “Mr. Lewis?” I ask.

  She pauses and gives me a quizzical look. “Oh right, you probably don’t know one another. Reid is Mrs. Montgomery’s nephew. He worked with your grandfather. He’ll be along shortly, from London.”

  “Oh, okay,” I respond, then curiosity gets the better of me. “And what about the rest of Anna’s family?”

  “Only Mr. Lewis. Mrs. Montgomery doesn’t…” She gulps, and her eyes fill with tears again. “I mean didn’t, have much of an extended family. Mr. Lewis’ father passed away when he was in prep school, and his mother passed away from cancer when he was at university. A little while after that, Mr. Montgomery took him under his wing.”

  Even though I don’t know this Reid Lewis guy, my chest tightens. As an only child, I’d be devastated if I lost my mom, no matter how maddening she can be.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Mrs. McHenry grabs my hand and leads me into the house. Crossing the threshold is like stepping back in time. She regales us with history, but I’m not really listening, because memories from my childhood overwhelm my senses. Like Christmas morning in the parlor, when I got my first big girl bike and started a lifelong love of riding. And that time I got in a lot of trouble with my grandmother for having a tea party for my stuffed animals in the formal dining room and spilled water all over the table and rug. Soon after that, maybe that same day, my grandfather set up a tea party in his office for my stuffed animals and me with actual tea. It was the greatest. Each room we walk through is familiar in its own way. The musk of antique furniture and fabrics, mixed with lemon wood polish and lavender potpourri centers me in such a way it’s nearly indescribable. Home. It makes me feel a sense of being home.

  The tour continues until we stop in a hallway full of bedrooms. Mrs. McHenry leads me to the first room on the right. “Your old room.”

  I take it all in. “Wow, it’s so much smaller than I remember. All the furniture is the same, that’s amazing. Well, except for that rather new chair in the corner. What happened to the red monster?”

  “Red monster?” Mrs. McHenry asks.

  “Remember, it was a big comfy chair with bright red fabric?”

  “Oh yes, I’d nearly forgotten about it. I believe it was worn, so we stashed it away somewhere around here. Mr. Montgomery had it replaced. He used to like read in here, just like when he’d read to you. I think he always had hope, you know…”

  “I see,” I tell her and choke back some tears. I can’t even process how that makes me feel. All the words associated with regret and guilt fit.

  I spot one more familiar item, an oil painting in an ornate gold frame of a classic French ballerina, mid-pirouette, wearing a pale pink floral tutu. It was a gift from my grandfather. Her blurry round face, with black offset eyes and softly rounded feet, takes me back to so many nights when I would stare up at this dream-like work of art, pretending that I could be as graceful as her. My heart is fuller, knowing it’s still here.

  “And you’re right here, Miss Rodriguez,” Mrs. McHenry says and leads my friend away to her room.

  I take the opportunity to peak into the room next to mine. It used to belong to my mother. It had always been hers, since the day she was born until the day we left. She never lived outside this house or with my father.

  The room has been completely transformed. There’s a monstrosity of a bed with dark grey linens, a watch box on the dresser, and a digital glass clock on one of the nightstands, as well as a dark walnut suit valet that sits beside a matching full-length oval mirror. There’s a faint trace of men’s cologne in the space, but while it doesn’t spark any memories, it does arouse something that’s hard to put my finger on. Curiosity, maybe?

  “This was your mum’s room,” Mrs. McHenry says as she joins me in the bedroom.

  “I remember it well.”

  “Now it belongs to Mr. Lewis when he stays here.”

  “Well it certainly is much more masculine,” I joke.

  She laughs a little as if it’s the first time she’s let herself do so in a while.

  Back in my room, I consider unpacking, but it’s not necessary since we’re only staying for a few days. Screw it. I kick off my ballet flats, crawl onto the bed and stare up at that old painting. I’m not sure which came first, the portrait or the nickname my grandfather gave me, but I guess it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. A few tears slip down my cheeks at the memory of him and exhaustion sets in.

  As my eyes grow heavy, a familiar old voice whispers, “I love you, my little ballerina.”

  Reid

  This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.

  Winston Churchill said that. He was probably talking about some battle we were caught up in, but I don’t have a clue. You’d think I’d know my British history better based on the schools I attended, but I was too caught up in my own family drama to follow that of the Tudors and Windsors.

  Plus, I’ve had two glasses of Scotch, so I’m not keen on history.

  Whatever it was about, old Winnie’s words are entirely apropos. Not only was it one of Trevor’s favorite quotations but my Aunt Anna’s living room is starting to feel very much like a battlefield. Now I’m just waiting to go to war.

  My opponent? Trevor’s one and only grandchild, Cara Montgomery.

  From what little information I have about her, I know that she once lived in this house, moved to California as a young child, and never talked to her grandfather again. That last part is especially rich because she’s been named the co-beneficiary of Trevor and Anna’s estate, along with me as Anna’s only surviving relative.

  The absurdity is mind-boggling. What on Earth were they thinking?

  At least they had the right mind to keep the Scotch in good supply at all times. I think I’ll have another.

  Mrs. McHenry stops me in my tracks. “Mr. Lewis, Miss Montgomery and her companion, Miss Rodriguez, will be down shortly.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her and turn to check in on my own companion, Victoria. One side of her mouth turns up. She looks so goddamned determined as if she’s ready to step between the ropes into the ring. As a burgeoning partner at Montgomery and Lewis, she’s heavily invested in the outcome of this mess. We’re in the midst of trying to hook the Collins Group. If they don’t sign on and we miss out on the commission, we may need extra capital from this estate to expand the business like we’ve planned. Especially since we’ve signed a lease on another floor in our office building and we’ve got offers out to six new analysts.

  Needless to say, the tension has turned up to ten and adding in Trevor’s long-lost granddaughter hasn’t helped matters.

  “Refill?” I ask Victoria while I pull off the top of the
decanter.

  “No, thank you. It’s important to stay sharp, Reid.”

  It’s a knock on my drinking. Well, Victoria didn’t lose her mentor and the only remaining family she had left in the world in a terrible car accident. A scotch, or three, is deserved.

  I’ve been around high society for most of my life. I know how a gentleman drinks. This is not it. I drain the glass in one desperate go and relish the burn. It dulls the nasty ache I’ve felt since I got the call about the accident. It’s the same hollow feeling I had after mum died and dad before her.

  Mrs. McHenry joins us again with a conciliatory smile. “Any moment now.”

  The three of us wait silently for their arrival. I tap my foot against the carpet and keep checking my watch. I really want a chance to get on the same page with Miss Montgomery before Bishop Thomas arrives to discuss the funeral arrangements. Finally, the distinct chatter of two American women can be heard as they click-clack their way down the hall. I set the glass down and run a hand through my hair.

  As they turn the corner and step into the room, I start to grumble, “Well it’s about time—” but stop when I see her. She’s easy to pick out from the pair, with her fairer complexion, pretty pink freckles that spread across her nose, green eyes, and wild caramel hair that’s pulled up into a messy bun. She’s most definitely a Montgomery, but that’s not what stopped me mid-sentence, no. I lost my ability to speak because she is so bloody beautiful and I was not expecting that.

  Fuck.

  How does she respond? She shuts her eyes tight as she extends her arms over her head and yawns so wide I can see her molars. An exhausted moan slips out on the exhale, and the sound sends an unacceptable vibration through me. She wraps her arms around her torso, hugging herself quite snuggly, so much so that her cleavage peeks out the top of her dress causing my traitorous blood to start stirring. With a simple yawn, she’s fired the first shot.

  Double fuck.

  Cara Montgomery is going to be a battle indeed.

  Chapter Two

  The End of The Beginning

  Cara

  After a yawn that catches me totally off guard, I open my eyes to Mrs. McHenry standing with a couple that is straight out of a Ralph Lauren catalog.

  All three of them are staring at me, but I only see the man next to Mrs. McHenry. Reid, right? I scan over his face, mesmerized. It’s as if I’ve somehow always known him but haven’t met him yet. It’s a heady feeling.

  “Here she is,” Mrs. McHenry says, rather nervously, and points in my direction.

  “Hey.” My California accent sounds out of place in my old living room.

  The couple turns toward Mrs. McHenry and waits until she takes her cue. “Mr. Reid Lewis and Miss Victoria Spencer, I’d like you to meet Miss Cara Montgomery, and her friend, Miss Juliana Rodriguez.”

  Julie stands up a little taller and extends her hand. “Pleasure.”

  I snort into a laugh. Julie acting all English and proper might be my new favorite thing.

  Reid looks away from Julie and stares straight at me. His gaze is so heavy and soaked in judgment that I immediately apologize. “Sorry, I’m a bit sleepy. Long flight and all.”

  He nods in acknowledgment and extends his hand toward me.

  I slip my hand into his and take a step forward as if pushed in his direction by an ornery ghost. He looks down at where we meet for a brief moment before his gaze moves up, stopping first at my lips and then at my eyes. His eyes are a little bloodshot, but his blue irises shine through as they pin me in place. I part my lips, but no words come out. Not that I know what I was going to say anyway.

  He chews on his lip as he studies me and my breathing is noticeably heavier. I return the favor. He’s handsome, no doubt. Tall, with thick, brown hair that has natural shades of copper and wheat mixed in. There’s a slight wave in it, and I’m suddenly very curious if it feels as soft as it looks.

  He has a fit physique, something like an avid tennis player or golfer. And he has a look to match, polo sweater over a plaid dress shirt, the cuffs turned over and pushed up his impressive forearms. It’s hard to miss the enormous Rolex that could be spotted from space and feed a small third world country.

  “How do you do, Miss Montgomery?” he asks. His voice is smooth, deep, and unabashedly posh. He glances up at my messy hair and then his jaw tightens. Yikes. Blood rushes to my cheeks as I mentally chastise myself for not running a brush through it before I came downstairs.

  Trying my best to remember English manners and words in general, I respond. “Great. Um, how do you do?”

  “Not great,” he says, placing verbal quotation marks around the thoughtless adjective I used. “Considering these tragic circumstances.”

  “Right, of course,” I mumble.

  He huffs, and I smell alcohol on his breath. “Although, one might say they’re great if they hadn’t been in touch with the deceased in two decades.”

  Julie gasps beside me, but I don’t respond. It’s a terribly low blow, but one I deserve. My self-loathing is at an all-time high today.

  "My sympathies," Victoria chimes in, taking me by surprise and changing the subject. We shake hands awkwardly, but she has one of those soft grips that’s a little bit sweaty, and it honestly makes my scalp prickle. I quickly withdraw my hand and grip onto my dress fabric.

  “Thank you,” I respond. She’s squinting, I suppose to study me too, maybe even compare herself. It’s like I’m under a microscope with these people.

  Well, my cherry lip balm can’t compete with her flawlessly applied red matte lipstick. And lord knows my hair, which hasn’t been cut in a year, could never be as smooth as her well sculpted blonde mane. Basically, she's a polished Gwyneth Paltrow look-alike, and I fit the role of an underpaid and overworked graduate student. But none of that should matter, because we’re here for a freaking funeral, so I turn my attention back to Reid. “I’m sorry for your loss. Mrs. McHenry told us about how close you were to them, especially after losing your parents.”

  Reid’s gaze snaps over to Mrs. McHenry. She puts her head down in submission. Oh shit. My stupid mouth got her in trouble. A vein in his neck throbs and his mouth flattens into a firm line. He’s on the verge of yelling at her, and his girlfriend is a little too pleased he might do it. Eventually, he takes a measured breath. “Thank you, Mrs. McHenry. We’d like some tea. Strong.”

  She nods and walks out of the room while Julie and I share a concerned look. Apparently, Reid embraces the world of Upstairs, Downstairs.

  The mood in the room is arctic as Reid turns back toward us. “Shall we have a seat and discuss the arrangements?” He waits for us all to sit down before he takes a seat himself. “Bishop Thomas will be here shortly to discuss the funeral service.”

  “Oh wow, a bishop?” I ask.

  It’s almost imperceptible, but I catch his eyes roll. “Trevor and Anna were well-respected members of the congregation and tithed considerably. The music, readings, and eulogies, have all been planned.”

  “Oh, okay.” I’m a bit relieved since I have no idea how to make funeral arrangements, especially in a different country.

  Reid goes on, his tone is stern and decisive. “They’ll be buried in my family’s plot.”

  An image of my grandfather’s casket being lowered into the ground comes to mind and tears slip down my cheeks. I wipe them away with the sleeve of my cardigan sweater. Reid is watching me closely. His expression softens from a ten on the asshole spectrum down to a five or a six. One might even say he’s beginning to look sympathetic. To my utter surprise, he reaches into his pocket and hands me a tightly folded handkerchief.

  Unsure of the proper etiquette, I dab below my eyes, even though I really want to blow my nose.

  He’s still staring at me while his jaw clenches again. I’ve never felt so exposed under someone’s gaze before. I’ve got to pull myself together.

  “So, they’ll be buried in your family’s plot?” I ask to get us back on track.

&
nbsp; Victoria sighs dramatically in response. Was it something I said?

  Never taking his eyes off me, Reid folds his hands over his knee and leans forward. “With all due respect, Miss Montgomery, that was a decision they made in the years since you lived here. Your grandfather felt very strongly about that. As did my aunt.”

  He thinks I’m questioning the decision? Should I be? Do we have a Montgomery family plot? I have no clue and not even an inkling about where my gran is buried. If he says my grandfather wanted that, then I’m sure he’s telling the truth. Who would lie about something like that?

  “Okay, I’m fine with that.”

  He blinks a few times. “You are?”

  “Should I not be?” I push back.

  He visibly stiffens. “I assumed that you’d come here and make claims on the arrangements and the estate.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  He hesitates while he carefully chooses his words. “I do not fully understand your intentions.”

  “My intentions? For what?”

  “For why you are here.”

  “I’m here because my grandfather died.” My voice has gone up an octave. Julie takes hold of my hand because she knows me well enough to know that I’m on the verge of losing it.

  “I was told you were a beneficiary.” It’s like he’s merely stating facts, but his cheek is sucked in, and I suspect he’s biting on it. Is that his tell? What isn’t he saying to me? Then it dawns on me.

  “You’re worried that I’m just here for the money?”

  “No,” he scoffs, but I know he’s lying. That’s precisely what he thinks.

  “Let me phrase it another way. You’re worried that I’m opportunistic?” My pitch going impossibly higher.

  “Well,” he begins, as if he’s unsure of where to go with that. But the answer is clear.

  “I assure you that I’m not here for the money, I’m here because my grandfather died.” The blasted tears start up again, and my hand is shaking as I wipe them away.

  “Miss Montgomery,” he begins, but doesn’t finish. His harsh tone is at war with the concern in his eyes.