A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2) (35 page)

“Are you crazy? I’m really looking forward to it, and I’m happy you liked the gift and had a good time tonight, too. Makes me happy.” His thumb brushes across my cheek. “I guess this means I did a fair job . . . fifteen minutes and all.”

I burst into laughter and pretty much jump him. Fifteen minutes pass, and I’m nestled against him, wrapped around him, beyond content. I glance up at him—his eyes are closed, but he’s grinning.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you more.”

Chapter Nine

I awake in the morning to a sleepy Mr. Beautiful, his muscled back exposed, and the sheet we share barely covering the rise of his firm ass. So, of course, I stare at his delectable form for several long minutes. I’ll never tire of the view. I’m tempted to wake him with lusty kisses across his warm skin and some hard ass squeezes, but he’s out cold and needs sleep—I’m not sure how he handles all that plane-hopping.

I glance over at the torn-open envelope and letter resting on top, and although I’m moved beyond words at all he’s done to make my birthday special, there’s that familiar gnawing of anxiety. It’s tempting to fall into my old habits of worrying, because, surely, all this has to come crashing down. There’s no way I deserve him or this level of euphoria . . . but then again, I’m here, and he is, too, and I should bask in this moment before it slips away.

In fact, I should cook him a fantastic breakfast. Not only to thank him, but also to nourish him before he battles the dark force. Shit, I sound like Bridget now with
The Lord of the Rings
analogies. Nonetheless, my stomach sinks at the idea of sweet Dan meeting my mother, who will, without a doubt, make him uncomfortable.
Breathe, Claire.
Cooking will help shake this off, so I begin to inch my way out of the bed without waking him. I successfully peel the sheet off and am just about to stand when a hand snatches my wrist and yanks me back onto the bed.

“Ah!”

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, his voice rough and groggy. Most of his face is still smushed against the pillow, leaving one eye and half a smile showing. “House rule number one, remember?”

“I was going to make you some breakfast.” I happily snuggle my way back against him.

“That’s awfully kind of you,” he says, burying his face into my shoulder, wrapping his arm tightly around my waist, and throwing a leg over mine for good measure.

“Well, I figured since I was feeding you to the lions today . . .”

He turns his head to the side so I can see his entire sheet-indented face. I stroke his cheek. “Why do you think it’ll be that bad? They’re your family Claire, not evil demons.”

“My whole family isn’t the issue—it’s mostly my mother. She’s going to try to find something to use against you.”

“You make it sound like I’m on trial.”

“You are.”

He laughs it off. “It’ll be fine. I told you, I’ve dealt with some really awful people before, and I can’t imagine your mother being anything like that. She’s probably just protective of you.”

I sigh. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Tell me. What’s she worried about—our age difference?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough. What else?”

“Your career, my career, your influence on me—need I go on?”

“I can handle all of that. I have ways.” He winks.

I give him a sideways look and grin. “I’m not sure my mother will be affected by your charming English self.”

“Everyone likes a Brit.”

“You don’t even seem fazed by this. Why?”

“I’m more nervous about your father, but mostly your brothers. They’re huge. Like bears. And there are three of them.”

“The three little—or rather, big—bears!”

“And I’m Goldilocks!”

We laugh and then I tap his chest. “Come on, let me make you breakfast, Goldie.”

We find T-shirts and pajama pants, and head out into the living room where Bridget’s reading the paper on the sofa with the TV on quietly in the background.

“Morning, Bridge,” I say.

“Thank God. One threat of violence is over.”

“What?”

“You two and the other two. The sex sounds violate my ears. Now that you’re up, I only have to worry about the other two.” She sighs dramatically and goes back to reading the paper.

“You’re funny, Bridget,” I say as I begin gathering ingredients and pans.

“I’m surprised she still reads an actual newspaper. She’s probably their last customer,” Dan says quietly, while filling glasses of water for us.

“Believe it or not, she’s old fashioned in some ways.”

“Shocking,” he says then shouts to Bridget, “Want some water, Bridget?”

“I’m going to make some breakfast, too.”

“Okay.” She puts the paper down and bops over to the kitchen doorway.

“Looking forward to later today, Dan? Can’t wait to hear all about it,” Bridget says with a giggle.

“Don’t you and Camille go, too?”

“Oh no. That pleasure is reserved only for Claire and her victim of choice.”

“Have you brought a lot of guys home to meet your parents?” He takes a sip of water.

“No. Mark and you,” I say casually, while I beat the eggs.

“Did Claire give you the full story on Rita? She didn’t gloss things over, right? Because you don’t seem nervous.”

“Why does everyone think I should be nervous? I’ve dealt with massive assholes publicly, and I don’t think this will be anywhere near that.” Dan leans against the counter, out of my way of cooking.

“Because experiencing Rita first hand may make you question humanity, or at least make you want to run screaming from the house and curl into a ball in a corner until the terror passes. But okay,” Bridget says, snorting with laughter.

Dan shakes his head as Bridget moves around the breakfast bar and sits, watching me cook through the opening. Soon enough, I’ve got eggs scrambling, pancakes flipping, and coffee brewing.

“Smells great,” Dan says as Camille appears in the doorway.

“Sure does!” Colin says, coming up behind Camille and reaching for food.

“Last meal?” Camille says.

Bridget laughs, I shake my head, and we sit down to eat something before the showdown begins.

Chapter Ten

Before we leave for my parents’ house in Dan’s rental car, a tumbleweed rolls by . . . actually, no, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one did. Seems rather fitting. Instead, Dan insists we stop at a flower stand a few blocks from my apartment. I can only hope my mother appreciates his thoughtfulness.

An hour or so later, Dan and I pull up to my parents’ lovely home—a large, white colonial style house, on a quiet street in a quiet New England town. For many, this would be a dream home, and it was that for me as a child . . . until I realized I was attached by strings—long, intrusive strings that have been painful to cut. 

“Everyone’s already here,” I say, groaning on the inside at the sight of my brothers’ cars as we get out of the car.

Dan grabs my hand and kisses it. “Deep breath.” He breathes with me. “It’s going to be fine.”

I grimace. “Hope so.” We walk to the door. I’m holding the birthday gift for my niece, and Dan’s got the stunning bouquet of pink and purple flowers he bought. I’m just about to turn the knob when the door swings open.

“Hi, Claire! Happy birthday!” Lindsay says, looking right past me at Dan. Lindsay, my tall, dark-haired, brown-eyed, sister-in-law holds her hand out to Dan. Her eyes widen measurably. “Oh my God, you’re Daniel Chase.” She pauses and blinks. “Um, I’m Lindsay, Claire’s sister-in-law. Your mom said ‘Dan’ was coming, but did not clarify that with ‘Daniel Chase.’ Oh Jesus.”

I have to stifle a laugh at her reaction. She’s always so confident and relaxed.

He smiles that beguiling smile and shakes her hand. “Hi, Lindsay. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Lindsay’s mouth hangs agape, and her knees buckle a bit.

“Clean up on aisle one,” I mumble, winking at her as we enter the house.

We’re in the foyer when my nieces and my nephews run up. “Aunty Claire!” Their little arms wrap around my legs. I bend down to snuggle each of them with a tight hug. As much as I hate family gatherings, I always love seeing my nieces and nephews. They’re so sweet and cute and lovely. Definitely the bright spot to family events.

“You’re all getting so big!” I hug Avery, the also-birthday-girl, and hand her the present. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”

“Thank you,” she says, her big brown eyes wide.

“These are for you. Happy birthday,” Dan says, handing her the bouquet that’s half her size.

She gasps. “Mommy!” she yells. Her mom, Shannon, appears with my other sister-in-law, Ashley, right behind her. “Mommy, look! I got all these flowers from Aunty Claire’s boyfriend! And my favorite colors!”

I lean into Dan. “I thought you bought those for my mom.”

He gives me a devilish grin. “At least the children will like me.”

The kids giggle and run away, chasing each other again.

“Hi, I’m Shannon.” Shannon, a tiny blonde dynamo, bypasses Dan’s outstretched hand and hugs him instead. I hear Dan grunt as the former gymnast that she is, squeezes him hard.

“And I’m Ashley,” she says, tossing her long, sandy colored-hair behind her shoulders before diving in for a hug, too.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. I’m Dan.”

Yes, which is why they’re beaming and drooling.

“Those were gorgeous flowers. It was very sweet of you to think of her,” Shannon says.

“Oh, and uh, happy birthday, Claire,” Lindsay says more or less as an after-thought.

“I want hugs, too!” I step forward and interrupt their shameless gawking to hug them. Their faces flush, and they’re holding back laughter. I can’t help but smile wide and shake my head at them, because this is Daniel Chase after all, hot as hell movie star, standing in the middle of my parents’ house, greeting my family, and looking fantastic doing it. And even though he gets this reaction everyday, everywhere he goes, I’m still surprised he isn’t a total dick.

“Everyone’s in the kitchen,” Lindsay says, leading the way.

My mom’s in her usual cooking zone, chopping and stirring, while my dad, Joe, and my brothers Paul, John, and Chris are watching football on the TV in the roomy, attached family room.

I take a deep breath and brace myself. “Hi, Mom.”

My mom slowly turns from the stove. She smiles at me, which catches me off guard and makes me immediately suspicious.

“Hello, honey. Happy birthday.” She stretches her arms to give me a quick hug, still holding a spatula.

She’s acting unusually sweet. What is going on?
“Thanks,” I say, trying to go with it.
Maybe she’s had a change of heart about everything?

“Mom, this is Dan.” I gesture to a calm, confident Dan.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Parelli. You have a lovely home.” He holds his hand out.

My niece Avery runs in with the bouquet of flowers over her head. “Grandma, look at my flowers!”

My mom bends down and sniffs them. “They’re beautiful, Avery. Where did you get those?”

Avery tosses the bouquet into my mother’s hands and wraps her arms around Dan’s legs. “From him!” She looks up at him with her big eyes and smiles. He hugs her back.

“Oh. That’s nice. Would you like me to put them in water for you?”

“Yes, please.”

Avery runs off and my mother turns to us again. “There are drinks in the fridge and appetizers are on the table over there. Help yourselves.” She turns back to put the flowers in a vase.

We saunter over to the appetizers. “She’s fine, Claire. You’re worried for nothing,” he whispers.

“Hmm, I’m not so sure.” I lead Dan to my dad and brothers and introduce him. “Hi, Dad,” I say, interrupting their sports conversation.

“Claire-bear! Happy birthday!” My dad stands and pulls me into one of his ultra-tight bear hugs that he releases just when I think I have no more air.

I gasp for breath. “Dad, this is Dan.”

“Hello, sir. It’s very nice to meet you.” Dan’s holding out his hand and smiling. I’m touched by the moment until I notice my brothers’ hard stare at Dan with their no-bullshit radar amped at full power.
Oh jeez.
“These are my brothers: Paul, John, and Chris,” I say, pointing to each brother. “And I’m sure they’ll be kind and polite today.” I raise my eyebrows at them in warning.

They stand to greet him. “Nice to meet you,” they each say politely, shaking Dan’s hand in turn.
Good. No fights, no arm-wrestling . . .

“Happy birthday, Claire,” Paul says as my three brothers surround me. And I know what’s coming.

“No!” I say just as they begin ping-ponging me between them while dishing out noogies and laughing.

I swat at them. “Stop! Are you twelve?” I finally escape as they laugh. Dan seems amused, too.

“Would you like a beer?” my dad asks Dan.

“Sure, thank you.” My dad leaves to get it.

“Dan, we hear you’re an actor?” Paul asks, with suspicious eyes and slightly curled lip.
Oh no.

“Don’t even start, Paul,” I say just as Lindsay yanks me away and into the empty living room where Shannon and Ashley are waiting.

“So . . . how are you?” Shannon asks, while the other two giggle. “Because what the hell? Your mom said nothing—I mean, nothing—about him being Daniel Chase. How did I not know this?”

“Um . . .”

“It’s because we’re chasing kids all day and hardly come up for air!” Lindsay says, laughing. “I don’t even know what’s fashionable anymore, let alone any sort of Hollywood stuff.”

“So true! But now that we know,” Ashley says, pulling me to a nearby sofa and sitting me down. “I want details! He’s fucking beautiful!”

I laugh as they sit around me. “Yeah, I know. It’s overwhelming sometimes.”

“Is that why I peed my pants a little?” Ashley says, laughing.

“And that accent—God, he doesn’t even need to have that face to go along with it,” Lindsay says, swooning.

“Is he nice? He seems nice,” Shannon says, leaning forward with her smiling face resting on her fist.

“Yeah, surprisingly, he’s a really great guy.”

“I can’t believe your brothers never said anything! Did no one know which Dan in the world he was?”

“My parents knew, and I’m sure they didn’t advertise it since they’re not that thrilled, to be honest.”

“Why not? He’s hot, talented, and nice—I call that a trifecta!” Shannon high-fives me.

“You know how my parents are with me.” I shrug at the constant uphill battle.

All three of them sit back and nod in agreement. “Well, I for one, am slightly more excited for family gatherings now. Not to fangirl all over your boyfriend or anything, but wow!” Lindsay adds, fanning herself.

“Your mom seems fine, so whatever reservations she had, well, maybe they’re gone now that she’s met him,” Ashley says.

“And can we please talk about your new career?” Lindsay asks. “You’re having quite a year!”

“It’s been insane, but I can’t complain! If you’d told me a year ago I’d be dating Dan Chase and have switched careers, I would’ve laughed at you. Guess I’ve learned to prepare for the unexpected!”

“I’m really happy for you,” Shannon says, smiling and reaching over to hug me.

“Thank you.”

“We should probably make sure the guys are being nice—well, Paul anyway. He can be so overprotective with you,” Lindsay says.

We all stand and make our way into the kitchen again. Dan’s still standing with the guys, and they all look quite serious.
What’s going on?

I’m just about to rescue him when my mother announces, “Dinner’s ready! Let’s say grace!” The kids stampede into the kitchen, and we circle up to hold hands for grace before we begin to fill our plates with the amazing buffet my mother prepared. If nothing else, my mother is a fantastic cook.

The adults are seated in the dining room, which is attached to the kitchen by a wide doorway that allows the parents to keep an eye on their kids who are sitting at the kitchen table.

My father’s at the head of the long table, my mother is to his right, I’m to his left, and Dan is beside me. My brothers and their wives are paired up around the rest of the table.

It’s a juicy, flavorful pot roast with roasted potatoes and veggies, and it’s predictably amazing. There’s freshly baked bread and wine being passed around, too. The conversations are light and enjoyable, and I feel like I can finally breathe.
Maybe today won’t be so bad.

But then . . . “So, Dan, how do you like acting?” my mother asks before taking a bite of potato. My heart sinks, realizing the game isn’t over. No, it’s just begun. I tense up again, and remind myself that Dan’s been asked rude things by rude people before, so I’m hoping—no, praying—she stays respectful. I sit on edge, not quite eating, but listening to the interview.

“I like it very much.”

“What do you like about it?” She’s smiling her non-smile.

“I really enjoy being a part of the storytelling process.”

“Storytelling. I have no doubt it’s your strong suit,” she says.
Oh jeez!
“Did you have any other aspirations growing up? To be anything else?”

Dan seems unfazed by her obnoxious comment.

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to be growing up. I’m sure I wanted to be a lot of different things, like a fireman or something, but I got involved in school plays and I realized I wanted to give it a go as a career.”

My mother nods her head and takes a bite to eat. Dan eats, too. I’ve barely touched my food. I wait, hoping her questioning is over, and when benign conversations continue around us, I relax a moment and shove a potato in my mouth.

“Did your parents ever worry about your success in your field?” my mother asks Dan.

She’s not done!
I can hardly swallow the potato since my heart’s lodged in my throat. I notice the rest of the table is beginning to tune into the conversation on this end. I’m growing more uncomfortable by the moment. I wonder if Dan feels the negative energy, too . . . but he’s used to these kinds of questions.

“My parents are like most parents, I think. They’ve always been pretty supportive of my choices, just as I’m sure you’ve been of Claire’s.”

Oh shit! The gauntlet is on the floor! It’s on the floor!

My mother shifts in her seat; her eyes are boring into his skull as he casually cuts up his roast beef. “What do you think you might do if you couldn’t act? Do you have anything—a college degree, for instance—to fall back on in order to pay your bills?”

Oh God . . .

Dan smiles. “I don’t have an official university degree yet, but I do hope to pursue that in the future. Until then, I’m a very good saver, so my earnings should last me some time.” He takes another nonchalant bite of dinner, as if it’s no big deal that my mother is zeroing in for the kill. My foot is tapping fast.

My mom nods again, eating, but I see her wheels turning. She probably hates that he’s not squirming yet. I’m sure I’m squirming enough for both of us. “Have you worked with many famous actors?”

Dan nods and finishes chewing before answering. “Yeah, I’ve been quite lucky. It’s an amazing learning experience to work with people like Ben Hasty, Lyla Turner, Archer Hatch. Actually, I’m currently working with a few really seasoned, well-respected actors.”

I glance down and across the table, noticing everyone is listening now, and my sisters-in-law are smiling. I take a breath and a bite of meat to look like I’m doing more than just cringing over here.

“So you don’t mind your life being so up in the air? Having things so unreliable?” My mother’s chin is high and tight.

He gives her a polite grin. “No, I don’t mind. I try to allow God to guide me.”

I almost choke on the roast beef I managed to shove in my mouth. Dan’s never mentioned God before, except in the heat of passion, which this clearly is not. But he knows darn well that my parents want a good Italian, Catholic boy for me. And since he’s not Italian, he can at least play up the Catholic part.
God, he’s good.

“You’re Catholic?” my mother asks with a suspicious eyebrow raised.

“Yes.”

“Do you attend church regularly?”

“I go as often as I can.”
He does?

There’s an extended silence while we all eat and my mother thinks of more intrusive, uncomfortable questions because this is not over.

My mother continues the interrogation. “You said you get to work with some fine talent, but that also means with many young, beautiful co-stars, right? In fact, weren’t you just working with Sophie Miller? She’s really quite beautiful. Everyone in Hollywood, and I suspect the world, thinks she’s the standard of beauty. Wouldn’t you agree?” She smiles pleasantly.

That’s not a smile! That’s not a smile! And Sophie Miller—really mom? Ugh!

Dan chews; his eyes pinned on my mother, who hasn’t looked away. Clearly, with everyone listening, he has to be very careful how he answers. “Sophie’s an attractive actress, but I wouldn’t consider her the standard of beauty.”
Stating it like a fact. Good idea.

“Then who would you consider the standard of beauty?”

“Claire Parelli.” His eyes shift to mine, and he smiles that smile at me. Two seats down, Shannon quietly whimpers.

I look back at my mother. Her eyes are slits. She doesn’t like to be shown up, not that I’ve ever seen her in that position, really. She licks her lips, purses them, and asks, “That’s very polite of you, Dan, but I’m sure it’s tempting, especially when you’re filming in some far-off, exotic land, acting in a love scene—things must naturally spill over after hours. It happens all the time.”

“Not if you’re a professional, and I consider myself, above all else, to be a professional.” His face is dead serious. I might even mistake it for pissed off.

“Are you saying you’ve never been affected by these beautiful actresses? Let’s be honest—you wouldn’t be human if you weren’t affected.” She takes a pre-victory bite of her dinner, staring at his face and waiting.

“In my honest opinion, there is more to ‘being affected’ than someone’s looks. I’ve known many actresses who are beautiful, yes, but are horrible people. That said, I’m most affected by women who play multiple musical instruments, are insanely smart and witty, and who look exactly like your daughter,” Dan says, staring right into Rita’s eyes.
Holy shit
. . . I’m blushing, and my hands are shaky because, wow, that was intense and unbelievably kind and sweet, even if I do wonder if he’s just saying that to prove a point. I glance over at Lindsay, Shannon, and Ashley, whose swooning is nearly audible. Or maybe that’s me.

“If it lasts,” my mother counters.

“It’ll last for as long as she’ll let it,” he says with a nod. “By the way, this is quite a delicious meal, Mrs. Parelli. Thank you again for having me over.” I glance down, unable to hide my smile.
He’s killing her with kindness!