Behind Her Smile Page 4

  Miranda drops her head, murmuring her hello. With a sidelong glance, I assess David’s reaction. This submissive display doesn’t bother him, but I’m uncomfortable with the formality.

  “Hello, Miranda. Great to meet you. I’m really looking forward to trying your cooking tonight. David tells me you are a wonderful cook.” The woman smiles stiffly, but her gaze never meets mine. Did I do something wrong?

  David shuffles me forward, leaving the odd interaction in the past when I get the full view of the magnificent home. Marble floors stretch through the entire house. Impressive, colorful paintings hang on the wall, but most of the furniture is a stark white. The receiving area opens to the formal dining room with columns and a tray ceiling. Sitting in the center of the oval dining table is a stunning glass sculpture in a brilliant shade of blue. I want to capture that color and use it in one of my designs. The vibrancy is startling.

  David apparently is used to the overwhelming beauty of the house and its décor; he leads me past the dining room without a second glance. Next, we enter the great room with a fireplace that opens to the rear-covered veranda, displaying views of an immaculately landscaped backyard and the Coral Gables waterway.

  “Mother, please allow me to introduce Karolina Adamchik. Karolina, my mother, Georgia Morgan.” Distracted by the scenery, I don’t realize we’ve paused in front of a glamorous woman perched on the edge of a slate chair. In a white sheath and with blond hair styled into an elegant twist, she is the epitome of class. Suddenly, I regret my purple dress. This is not a home for statement colors unless they come from the artwork.

  “Mrs. Morgan, thank you for inviting me to your home. It is lovely.” I hope the words to David’s mother sound as genuine as I mean them. Despite all my worries, deep down, I’m proud of the woman I am. The dirty, impoverished little girl I was is now a bright young woman earning a degree in fashion design.

  Georgia Morgan rises to her full height. In her nude pumps, she is a few inches taller than I am. The woman studies me as though I am a newly discovered species. Sharp, gunmetal gray eyes travel the length of my body, lingering on my open-toed gold sandals that I bought at a consignment shop a few days before. They’re a few seasons old, but still, I thought, in good shape. Like her son, Georgia wears an expensive scent—Chanel No. 5 drifts around her as she bends toward me, pressing her cheek against one of mine and then the other. Awkwardly, I follow the ritual, unsure of whether to kiss her skin or not. Apparently not because Georgia quickly retreats. She nods stiffly at her son, her greeting not as warm and welcoming as I hoped. She looks annoyed though it’s difficult to read her reactions because no smile lines—or frown lines, for that matter—wrinkle her smooth, tight skin.

  “Don’t thank me. It was my son who invited you.” Unlike David’s smooth, cultured voice, his mother’s tone is nasal and high-pitched.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at David. Invisible tension surrounds him; his face is tight with displeasure. Absently, he latches onto my hand, tightening his fingers around mine. “I want you to know the woman I’m dating, Mother.” He grits out the words.

  “Yes, well, we will have plenty of time for that at dinner. Your father and Chandler are discussing business. Shall we have a drink while we wait? That is if you’re old enough for one, Karolina.” Heavy coldness blankets Georgia’s words. I just got here. What could I have done to piss her off? I want to whirl around and stalk out of this house, never to return.

  But then I notice the wince of pain David doesn’t bother to mask. It makes me brush aside Georgia’s nastiness. The mention of his brother and father working together without him hurts David. I recognize that pain. It didn’t come in the same form, but still, I wanted to fit in with my family, and they often pushed me out.

  Slipping my thumb inside our clasped hands, I stroke the palm of David’s hand with the pad of my thumb soothingly.

  “Miranda.” He raises his voice a few decibels to be heard. “Karolina will have a Pinot Gris, and I’ll take a martini.” David steers me to a loveseat opposite of his mother, unsaid words linger in the silent air between us.

  Miranda pads into the room, her white sneakers making next to no noise. She balances our drinks on a polished silver tray. She places round, black coasters on the cocktail table between Georgia’s chair and the loveseat. The formality continues to wow me and ignite more nerves.

  “Thank you,” I murmur.

  Beside me, David’s jaw works back and forth with my words.

  “Cheers.” He lifts his cocktail toward Georgia. “To family.” She catches his sardonic tone but still clinks her own martini with David’s and my drinks. Uncomfortable silence descends again. What happened to the tight-knit family I heard about from David? Thankfully, David’s father and brother appear only a few moments later.

  “Son, I didn’t know you were bringing a guest.” The elder Morgan strides in to the room wearing a three-piece suit.

  “I told Mother,” David says, his posture relaxing even as he moves to stand. I mimic his actions, pasting another pleasant expression on my face.

  “Father, please meet Karolina Adamchik. Karolina, this is my father, William, and you know Chandler already.” This time, I’m prepared when both men make a move to press their cheeks to mine.

  “Thank you for having me in your lovely home.” It’s the only thing I can think to say.

  “Pleasure is ours. Dinner ready?” William’s gaze floats over me, quickly moving on to the next topic. Again, I notice David’s minimal flinch. This time, it’s like a pinch to my own gut. I don’t want him to suffer. Silently, I vow to do my best to ease David’s discomfort.

  “You coming with us to New York next week?” Chandler smacks a hand on David’s shoulder, eliciting a deep frown from my boyfriend.

  “Probably not. I’ve set up a meeting with Alec Christos, and I’m finally going to close on his business,” David says smugly.

  Alec? My ears perk up. David hasn’t mentioned him, nor have I seen the man since that afternoon on the deck of Hotel Monroe. In fact, I’d nearly forgotten about Alec until this moment.

  “That man comes with risks,” William says sternly.

  “And a boatload of money. Does it really matter how he makes it? We’re not doing anything illegal by investing his funds,” David retorts.

  “Perhaps not, but we have a reputation to uphold,” Georgia adds.

  David hardly discusses his work with me. I wonder if it’s because his family battles with him at every turn.

  “Oops!” I cry as my gold clutch tumbles to the floor. Stooping down, I scoop up my purse and smile sheepishly at David. He flashes me an appreciative look at the distraction. The look fills me with pride. We’re a team. No one mentions Alec again.

  When we reach the formal dining room, I wait for David to place my drink on the table and then pull out my chair before taking a seat. The nod of approval he gives me makes my chest fill with pride as if I’d aced a test on the rules of civility.

  Then I glance at my place setting.

  There are two forks, two spoons, and a knife. Three Waterford glasses are at the top right corner of the plate and a napkin coiled inside a matte, black circle. Now, what? Auspiciously glancing around the table, I notice Georgia draping her napkin across her lap and follow her lead.

  Miranda pushes a silver tray into the room laden with bowls, two bottles of wine, and a glass pitcher of water. While William launches into a business story that I have a hard time following, the housekeeper makes her way around the table, pouring one goblet with mineral water and offering more wine. I refuse as I’ve barely sipped from my glass, but I watch with interest as Miranda quietly pours a heaping glass of red for Georgia. After the drinks have been served, Miranda serves each of us—ladies first—a bowl of a cold, red soup. Once everyone has a bowl, David reaches for the outer spoon and begins eating. Again, I follow, trying to appear nonchalant.

  “What is it that you do, Karolina?” Georgia asks.

  “I
’ve just started my last year at Miami Design Institute, and I’m studying fashion design. All my life I wanted to make my own clothes and it’s always been my dream to work for a fashion house.” Careful to avoid slurping, I swallow a bite of the tangy, cool soup. It’s delicious. Gazpacho. That’s what this is called if I remember correctly.

  “Quite the difficult business to get in to. Do you think our familial connections will get you where you want to go?” Georgia asks bluntly.

  “Mother,” David snaps. “That’s incredibly rude.”

  “What? I don’t want you to get hurt by a woman after your trust fund.” Georgia sniffs, affronted.

  My head jerks up, and I stare at Georgia Morgan intently. I resist the urge to squirm under her small, victorious smirk. I smooth my features into a calm mask.

  Lifting my hand, I place it on David’s forearm in another attempt to calm him. “David, it’s all right. Your mother has every right to question whom you bring home. No, ma’am,” I respond quietly, sincerely. “My life’s goal is to make it in the fashion industry on my own merits. No doubt, I’ll work to the bone to succeed, but I want to get there because of my talents. I’m with your son because he inspires me to work harder and makes me happy. I’ve only just met you, so it may take time for you to see how much I care for him, but I promise to show you I’m sincere. I wouldn’t be here if I weren't.” My pulse roars in my ears, and I have to take a steadying breath to calm down. When I’m settled, I see Georgia begrudgingly nodding in my direction. Inwardly, I pump my fist. It’s a little victory, but one nonetheless.

  “There. Now you know that Karolina is talented, loyal, and intelligent. Can we move on from this topic?” David asks. He glances my way, and we share a smile. Quickly, I glance down at my bowl, as though signs of affection are against the rules in the Morgan household.

  Dinner consists of three more courses—salad, fish, and then dessert. At the end of the meal, Miranda circles the table again. This time, she presents Georgia with a milky liqueur and William with an amber liquid with two large ice cubes. Nudging my chair backward, I stand and excuse myself to find the restroom.

  “I’ll show you where it is. I need to take a call,” Chandler volunteers. I push back my seat, noting David’s grimace. Belatedly, I realize he was probably supposed to help me from my chair. Embarrassed at my latest faux pas, I step away from the table and follow Chandler down a hallway to the powder room.

  I close the door with a satisfying click. A long exhale releases all the tension that had been building between my shoulders since the drive here. With closed eyes, I drop my chin to my chest and take a few calming breaths. What an intense family dinner. And to think they have this every Sunday. I’m worried that I’m the piece that made this gathering especially uncomfortable. But after my mini-speech, Georgia didn’t have any more verbal spars for me. Lifting my head, I gaze into the mirror. No visible wounds. I made it through the first meeting mostly unscathed. A few more minutes and then David and I can be alone. The thought lifts my spirits.

  I reapply my nude gloss and rearrange my hair around my shoulders. Then I make my way back to the dining room.

  “Please tell me you’re joking, David.” Georgia’s nasal snipe halts me in my tracks.

  “Enough, Mother. I understand your feelings about the situation. There’s no need to hammer the point home,” he responds shortly.

  “Do you realize she comes from a poor, immigrant family? David, she grew up in a trailer park. How do you think that will play out in the society pages? Morgan boy marries no-talent white trash. No, sir. I will not allow our family to be made a fool of. You can mess up things anywhere else, but you will not ruin our name. Do you understand me, boy?”

  I feel my pulse all over my body—heart slamming into my ribs, throbbing at my neck, and thudding at my wrists. No-talent white trash. The words echo on repeat. I left Central Florida to get away from that stigma. Miami is supposed to be the place of the new Karolina, not the one who went without food as a child because her father drank all his earnings away.

  “How do you know the first thing about her?” David snarls.

  “When I found out you were dating someone—from your secretary, mind you—I had a private investigator look into her background. You should be thanking me, David,” Georgia snaps.

  My jaw falls open in shock. Private investigator? Holy cow.

  “When Georgia Morgan sets her mind to something, she doesn’t give up.”

  The voice behind me makes me jump, and I whirl around to find Chandler watching me with a sly twist of his lips.

  “What are you talking about?” I snap, suddenly furious that David brought me here. Did he know his mother was going to ridicule me?

  “You seem like a nice girl, Karolina, so that’s why I’m going to give it to you plainly. To my mother, the family’s reputation is the most important thing. It’s more important than motherly affection and more important than love. When she says she won’t let David ruin our family, she means it from the very essence of her soul. She hired someone to look into you, for God’s sake. We can hide David’s fuck ups at work, but we can’t hide him marrying someone without the proper pedigree. ”

  “I—” Chandler threw so many things at me that I’m not sure where to start. The private investigator goes above and beyond anything I could have predicted. There are no secrets in my past. My family certainly didn’t come from this type of wealth, but I’m no criminal.

  “Karolina!” David’s voice is a roar, angrier than I’ve ever heard.

  Chandler watches me in bemused silence. Suddenly, a hand clamps down on my exposed bicep, yanking me around. David’s cheeks are flushed red with anger, his ocean-colored eyes dark with rage. “We’re leaving,” he hisses. He drags me toward the front door, finger pads biting into my skin. I struggle to keep up with his long strides on the thin heels of my sandals. David bursts through the front door, whipping it backward to slam shut once I’m outside and finally releasing me. I palm the smarting skin where his fingers left marks. I’ve never seen him this distressed before, and I’m scared and confused and have a desperate urge to fix what’s hurting him. David stalks toward his Mercedes. He tears his hands through his styled hair, leaving the strands in disarray. Then with a force I didn’t know he had, he slams his palms on the hood of the car, making me jump in surprise.

  Unsure of what he needs, I take a few hesitant steps toward him. He heaves his breaths and then drops his head in defeat. Gingerly, I place a hand on his upper arm.

  “David, are you okay?” As soon as I speak, I know those were the wrong words to say. Of course, he’s not okay.

  “They treat me like I’m some sort of stupid—Fuck!” I gasp and release my grip on David as though he burned me. He has never sworn in front of me. I don’t recognize him. This version of David snarls like an angry bull. “Let’s get out of here.” David prowls to the driver’s side and rips the door open. He throws his body inside and slams the door with brutal force. I scurry into the passenger seat, shutting the door quietly. Somehow, I think my softness will counteract his pulsating fury.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say lamely.

  “If you’re going to be with me, then you need to learn to behave appropriately.” The condemnation comes out of left field, stunning me into momentary silence.

  “I—you want me to change?” I stammer.

  “No, no one said anything about changing, Karolina.” He delivers the words harshly. I find myself sinking into the door. “You just need to learn to act like a lady. It’s not that difficult.”

  “Is this because of what your mother said?” Shame makes me drop my gaze to my hands, knitted in my lap. David roars the engine to life and peels out of the driveway with so much force my shoulder bumps into the door. Clumsily, I latch on my seat belt.

  “Leave them to me,” he snaps. “Don’t listen to a word those assholes say. They think they are so smart. I’m going to run their business one day, and this is how they treat me? Fuck that
.” The way he casually drops curses makes me wonder if he uses them all the time, except for in my presence. David’s swearing and fierceness must stem from a familial history that I am seeing for the first time.

  Chandler’s words come back into my mind, and I remember him mentioning David’s work mistakes. I’ve never gotten any other impression than David’s work going extremely well. Probably sibling rivalry.

  Oppressive silence fills the car as David races through the development toward US 1.

  “Are we going back to your place?”

  “Not tonight.” David clips out the words sourly, his features pulled down into a frown.

  “You’re upset. Let me make you feel better.” Brazenly, I slip my hand on his thigh. Beneath the expensive material of his Armani slacks, his thigh muscles are bunched with tension. I tease my fingers against the fabric, hoping to elicit a reaction from David.

  To my dismay, he plucks my hand off his leg and places it back in my lap.

  “I need to be alone tonight, Karolina.” There’s a finality in the statement that worries me.

  David throws a cursory glance over his shoulder then jerks the car into the right lane.

  “If that’s what you want . . .”

  “It is,” he confirms and jams his foot on the brake, slamming to a stop in front of the five-story apartment building where I live with Dora.

  All of a sudden, my throat gets tight and my eyes are stinging with tears. What a mess of a night. I clutch the door handle, preparing to leave. This is not the same man who has been wooing me at every turn.

  “Wait.”

  My heart lifts from where it’s fallen into my stomach. I twist back to face him. The anger’s still roaring in his eyes, but it doesn’t appear to be directed at me. David reaches across the car and curls one hand around the line of my neck. The other hand winds around my waist and he tugs me closer.

  “It won’t always be like this, Karolina. Stick with me through the tough part.” David’s breath falls on my face hot and heavy. He captures me in his gaze, and I’m lost in those watery eyes. Intensity and confidence vibrate off him. “They won’t come between us. I promise you,” he grits.