Colton’s smile is tight, false. “The family drama hasn’t even begun, I’m afraid. I do apologize for dropping a clanger and calling you my girlfriend without discussing it first.”

I search my mind, heart, and poll those butterflies in my belly, but I find not a bit of offense. Instead, I find iridescent happiness.

“It’s fine. I know we’re doing more than the ‘fun’ you proposed, but we don’t need to worry about that now. Focus on your family, and I’ll follow your lead. It’s what a good girlfriend and a good assistant would do.”

I wink big and fake, hoping to make him laugh or at least smile. All I get is that twitch at the corners of his lips before they press together again.

“I need to give you a dare, an important one.”

His nerves make me nervous, and I pray to whatever ancestor is haunting this hallway that Colton’s not about to ask me for my knickers before meeting his parents. Because I’ll fucking do it and then be a complete goob in front of them. Well, I’ll probably embarrass myself regardless, but at least if I piss myself, there will be a layer of cotton absorbency before I wet the rug.

“Okay.”

“Whatever you see here, whatever you hear here . . . it has to stay between us. Not your father, not Tiffany, not the people at the office. Just us. I will divulge what I need to, when I need to, but I need this life to be separate from that one. I dare you . . . to keep my secrets.”

I stop in the hallway, letting Alfred and crew turn a corner to give us a bit more privacy, though they don’t seem to have been listening to our conversation as they discussed Lizzie’s latest marks at school. Turning to Colton fully, I search his face. It almost seems as though he’s embarrassed by the privilege of his life, dreading for anyone to glimpse behind the curtain he’s created as Colton Wolfe, Fox executive.

“You don’t have to dare me for that. Or order me as your assistant. I can respect that you want to be your own man, not whoever this was supposed to make you.” I gesture around the hallway lined with antique oil paintings, marble busts, and closed oak doors that lead to any myriad of rooms.

“Thank you, Elle.” Colton places a chaste kiss to my lips and leads me to follow Alfred again.

Just past the corner, double doors stand open, and Alfred waits to the right of them. With a sweeping arm, he invites us into the room. He booms, “Master Colton and Miss Elle Stryker.” I jump and then instantly feel like a dork, but the old guy’s surprisingly got a voice like a wrestling match announcer, and I am definitely not ready to rumble.

When Alfred had said the Wolfes were waiting in the parlor, I’d envisioned a frilly, fancy room where ladies sip tea and nibble finger sandwiches. Something frou-frou and white. But this is nothing like that image.

The room is cavernous. That’s the only thought that comes to mind as I look around the space, with its vaulted ceilings, paneled walls, and ornate furnishings. The back wall is occupied by five towering windows, bookended with heavy drapery and capped with stained glass that matches the ones over the stairs. Light floods the room and the thickly carpeted floor in identical beams separated by shadows from the stone columns between the glass. If I didn’t know this was their family home, I’d think I had walked into a centuries-old church for all the history around me, from the floor to the ceiling and windows to walls.

“Jeez, and I thought your office was fancy,” I whisper once we step inside.

A man clears his throat, and I look at the two people I haven’t met before. The man is obviously Colton’s father. He looks so similar through the shoulders and chest, although his face is narrower, giving him a pinched, harsh expression. He’s wearing khaki, his white shirt nearly blinding in the gaps of his khaki vest. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s been horseback riding today. Either that or jodhpurs are making a comeback with the British elite. I suppose either is possible, for all I know.

Colton’s mother has clearly lent her perfect face to her son and daughter, with the same piercing eyes and sculpted cheekbones. Around her neck is a beautiful multi-strand string of pearls, antiques, by the look of them, with a small brooch of some type in the middle. Her dress is simple and elegant, slim to her wrists and swirling out in an A-line to her knees. She looks equally aristocratic, though her smile is considerably warmer than her husband’s cold indifference.

“Colton, such a lovely surprise!” Colton’s mother says, coming forward to embrace him. “How much I’ve missed you. It’s been so long!”

“Mother,” Colton says, his voice thick. “I’ve missed you too.”

The two embrace, and I can see that whatever family issues they might have, he and his mother love each other very much.

“You should have visited sooner.” The slight scold is softened by her picking invisible lint off his shoulder, as if she can’t bear to not touch him but doesn’t know how to do so without an excuse. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

Do they not just throw an arm over each other’s shoulder? Or if that’s too much, maybe just do the entwined elbow thing?

The thought makes me think of Dad and our movie nights. It’s nothing for us to snuggle up on the couch and share the same popcorn bowl. I never gave it a second thought, but perhaps I should’ve been more thankful for it.

“I know, Mum,” Colton says, smiling a little. “But no reason to worry. I’m fine, just glad to be home.”

“Colton.” His father’s greeting is flat, cold if I had to pick a word, and somehow drops the temperature in the room ten degrees in an instant. Either Colton’s father isn’t the warmest of people or perhaps he isn’t all that happy to see his younger son. At least, he’s not stepping forward to embrace him.

Colton is as equally stiff with a nod. “Father.”

Well, that explains a lot of the tension and friction, and probably why Colton came to the States. Hell, I’d fly across an ocean to get away from this much ice as well. The rest of us are all frozen in place too, watching the icebergs of men threaten each other with frosty glares.

“What have we here?” Colton’s father asks, giving up the staredown to look at me. It doesn’t feel like he lost or gave up, though, but rather that he’s attacking from a new vantage point.

And I’m suddenly facing the British Inquisition, the fly pinned under the magnifying glass of Colton’s parents.

“This is Elle Stryker, my girlfriend and coworker. Elle, this is my father and mother, Edwin and Mary Wolfe.”

The label as his girlfriend is still fresh and bright, sending a thrill up my spine.

Mary looks ecstatic at the announcement. “Darling! I suspected when Mother and Lizzie looked so giddy, but . . . really?”

Colton reaches over, and I take his hand, nodding. “Yes, Mrs. Wolfe. Uhm . . . yeah. Really. It’s nice to meet you.” At least this time, I don’t try to curtsy, though I still feel like I should.

“Well, welcome, dear,” Mary says, giving me a warm look. She steps forward, her hands going to my shoulders as she leans in to kiss the air beside my cheek. “My word, Elle, you’re trembling! Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry. I’m nervous. I just wasn’t expecting . . . this is so much, and I . . . gah.”