Provoked (Forbidden Crush #2)

Chapter 21

21

Justin’s family descends on the house en masse. It’s like none of them have jobs or other responsibilities. I do notice that there aren’t any school-age children present. At least not until 2:30 and then they suddenly begin appearing and filling in the gaps of the already crowded living room. My voice is hoarse from talking, but strangely, I’m invigorated for once. They all love Justin. They don’t understand him in the slightest, but his siblings seem ready to acknowledge that.

At one point Dina nods towards a young boy sitting in the corner of the old-fashioned floral couch, deep in a book almost bigger than he is. “That’s Dylan, Milo’s boy. He’s eight, but he’s being home-schooled. Or at least he attends school from home because the local grade school can’t keep up with him. He’s going to start some high school classes next fall. I got a fresh perspective of what Justin’s childhood must have been like when Dylan came along.” She pauses to take a sip of coffee. “I couldn’t see it as a kid myself, of course. He was just my annoying older brother who never seemed to have time for the rest of us mortals. But I think he was lonely. I know Dylan is. I wish he could know his uncle, just so he knows he’s not the only weird kid in the family.”

I blink at that, almost ready to defend the boy and point out that he’s not weird. But Dina didn’t say it to be mean. As I watch Dylan carefully turn the pages of the book, I can’t help but wonder what Justin would make of him. Would he be impatient with this version of his younger self or take him under his wing, piling even more books on his lap until the poor kid couldn’t move?

Dylan must feel my eyes on him because he looks up with a shy smile. I grin back at him, then turn my attention to the adults. “So, we’re agreed? We’ll propose a family interview with myself, Alice (Justin’s mom), Dina, Troy, and Milo? Five is a nice number, not overwhelming, but not minor either.”

Everyone nods. “The only problem is how to get in touch with the network. Should we try the local tip line for the regional affiliate? That seems like a long shot.” Troy, Justin’s middle brother, muses. He’s a plumber and I suspect this level of strategy doesn’t come into play with water pipes. But at least he’s making an effort.

I shake my head firmly. “No, I’m going to simply call the main office in New York. Something tells me they’ll put me through.”

And that’s exactly what I do. We already decided that our first choice was the direct competitor of the network that featured Margot. Not only do we not want to line their pockets further, but their arch rival is likely to be the most open to moving quickly and efficiently.

Power can be a heady thing, I quickly realize. The background noises tell me that the senior producer I’m talking to had other plans for this evening. Expensive important plans if I’m hearing the faint Broadway chorus correctly. But the man doesn’t even flinch, as he’s promising me that a crew will hit the road in a few hours. He even asked if I had a preference for the interviewer.

I laughed and told him, “I don’t watch much TV.”

Now we sit back and wait. Or rather eat dinner like it’s Thanksgiving and go to bed to wait. And Alice made no bones about the requirement for me to check out of the motel. “No daughter of mine is going to be seen staying at that place! I’ll make up the guestroom at the head of the stairs while you go check out.” And with that, she shooed me out of the house. But I couldn’t stop smiling. She called me her daughter. Not her daughter-in-law, like she was simply stuck with me.

I wish Justin could see how his family is rallying around him. I sort of gleaned from the conversation over dinner — which was spaghetti served on paper plates because of the size of the crowd — that everyone thinks they don’t have anything impressive enough to say to Justin, so they don’t call. And when he has visited in the past, they’re embarrassed by what they see as small town news. How could it possibly interest him?

I want to knock all their heads together. It’s obvious they’re related to Justin — they’re all just as stubborn and obtuse as he is. I finally got up the nerve to tell his older brother Milo that. He blinked at me for an entire minute, and then his lips curved up. “Dare you to tell him that,” he finally said. “And if you do, I will publicly acknowledge that you have bigger balls than I do.”

Later that night, as I listened to the sounds of the old house settling into sleep, I try to project only happy thoughts into the future. This will work out. It simply has to. I won’t entertain any other alternative.

The next morning dawns bright and clear. I hadn’t headed to Swan’s Forge expecting to make a TV appearance, so what to wear has me in a bit of a dilemma. Ultimately, the impending heat of the day makes my decision for me and I don an ice blue sundress that makes my pale hair look almost white.

The crew arrive at the house promptly at nine. But it’s an entire two hours of sound checks and makeup before anything is ready to start. The night before, we’d laid out what everyone was basically going to say — theme-wise, anyway. But I held back one little thing. The shocked and stunned expressions on everyone’s face — from the poised on air talent to the crew to Justin’s family — should convince the world that this wasn’t staged for ratings purposes. And I mean, why else would I confess to the entire world that I’m still a virgin? How could anyone believe that Justin had molested me or taken advantage of me in any way with that glaring oversight? Certainly not the monster Margot had painted him out to be.

I stare at the screen in shock. I’m hallucinating. I have to be. Ingrid did not just tell the entire world filled with salacious vultures that she’s still a virgin. And all because she’s been in love with me for years, but I’m an oblivious git and didn’t notice. I’m paraphrasing here, obviously. My brain can’t bring itself to retain Ingrid’s rather florid words of devotion. But the smile on the famous anchor’s face is reminiscent of an alligator after a very satisfying dinner. “That’s all for tonight, folks. We’ll be sure to bring you any updates on Ingrid and Justin Wilde’s turbulent romance, so check back soon. Right here!”

I groan with dismay. The phone next to me rings, but I’m so distracted I answer without checking the ID. A voice strikingly similar to mine starts in immediately.

“I’m calling to apologize for neglecting your education, little brother. We all thought you were so smart you didn’ t need any of us telling you about the birds and the bees. Obviously, an oversight on my part.”

“Shut up, Milo.” It’s an automatic, ingrained response.

“Not this time,” he returns almost mildly. “You’ve got a family and a wife waiting for you. Better get your ass home pronto.”

“And if I don’t?” I query almost absently.

“Then I’m bringing Mom and Ingrid to the city to find you.”

“Fuck it all, don’t do that, you idiot!” The media would eat them alive before they got past Yonkers.

“Then you know what you need to do.” Asshole has the nerve to hang up on me. And don’t think I didn’t miss the childish chuckle of glee as he lowered the phone.

I stare at my phone, then I stare at the TV, which has returned to running some boring shit about sports. All I can see is Ingrid’s luminescent face shining with good faith and hope while she tries to save my sorry ass. And damn it all if it doesn’t seem to have worked.

I flip through various news channels, all of whom seemed to have picked up the story. Ingrid is the new heroine of the hour, although I have to grind my teeth every time some nitwit ponders the odds of there being any virgins over the age of eighteen. And they all make it clear they’re only using that number as a marker because they have to.

At this rate, I’m going to have to get Ingrid out of the country before her virginity becomes a Vegas headline. I would rather not have an audience when I relieve her of it. I pause mid-stride to the kitchen. When did I decide I was going to do that? Maybe when she conquered her innate shyness to tell the world she loved me. And that act was in no way about her or getting what she wants — it was all for me. Only an idiot would turn that kind of commitment away.

I grab a sandwich, truly hungry for the first time in weeks, and head into the bedroom to pack. Both for Swan’s Forge and for Europe, which essentially means two complete and different wardrobes. In the end, I pack two suitcases just so I can leave one in storage before we get on a plane. Ingrid will simply have to buy new clothes at our destination, presuming she has her passport on her. It’s not like I gave her a proper honeymoon, so that will be my excuse to get her out of the country.

A client of mine has a villa in the south of France. I send him a quick text, finally calling in the offer he’s made so many times. He replies with heart eyes. From a sixty-year-old man who runs a billion dollar construction company. Jesus.

Then I send another text to Fred. At least I can count on him not to use emojis. But he surprises me by calling back. “You treat my girl right or I’ll kick your ass.”

“Thought you already did, old man.”

He snorts. “Not like I will. Take care of her, Justin. She’s not made like the rest of the world. She’s tough, obviously, but she bruises easy.”

I nod, which he can’t see. “I know,” I respond soberly. “That’s why I’m calling. I’m going to collect her upstate and then I’m taking her to France. Can you maybe put it out there that we’re in Costa Rica or something?”

“You don’t think you’ll be spotted at the airport?”

“We’re going to fly out of Quebec. And change planes at Heathrow. I’ll be sure to wait near a gate for something headed to South America.”

“Roger that, boss. Good luck.”

I breathe a sigh of relief as I manage a smooth exit out of the underground garage without interference. The Mercedes isn’t ideal for this trip, but it does have completely tinted windows, so it won the vote hands down.

It’s a long drive upstate. The city congestion gives way to the rural kind. Where one person taking their time causes a logjam of cars that never seems to clear. Consequently, it’s after seven when I pull up to my parents’ house. Milo didn’t say to come here, but he didn’t have to. It’s the center of the Wilde universe in Swan’s Forge.

Ingrid comes flying down the front steps as soon as I step out of the car. She stops just shy of hugging me, as if unsure of her welcome. I pull her into my arms and kiss properly.

She stills and then sags against me, one hand creeping up to rest against my throat. Then she pulls back to scan my face. “You’re okay? You’re not too mad?”

I shake my head in astonishment. “Why would I be mad? Oh, you mean because you put yourself in danger for me? Yeah, I’m a little peeved about that. But not so much that I’m not grateful to have you in my life, Ingrid.”

She flushes with relief and embarrassed pleasure. “Come in. Oh, that sounds silly when it’s your home, doesn’t it? Did you eat? Are you hungry?”

“That depends. What did Mom make?”

“Lasagna,” she answers sweetly.

“With all the mushrooms? Then I’m definitely hungry.”

With a light laugh, she tugs me by the hand up the stairs. When she pulls open the door, I see all my siblings and their spouses along with assorted offspring lined up on either side of the hallway.

“What, the prodigal son has to actually run the gauntlet now?” I ask dryly.

Eyes grow wide, but it’s Ingrid that answers. “No, silly. I forgot to tell you, though. Everyone is going to tell you something interesting that happened to them this week unrelated to the media events, and at the very end, it will be your turn. Go ahead, Sarah.”

Sarah, who must be a niece, looks to be about ten with red hair and freckles. She stares up at me before blurting, “Tommy tried to kiss me during recess.”

I frown at that. “Do I need to threaten Tommy’s parents with a lawsuit?” I ask, only half-kidding. Sarah thinks about that for a minute. “Nooo. I punched him in the face. I don’t think he’ll try that again.”

I nod again, satisfied that she can take care of herself. My sister Carina informs me that apricots were on sale at the farmer’s market and she was able to buy enough to can for the entire winter. Her husband won twenty bucks on a lottery ticket. Their son ate a worm. By far the most interesting update so far, but I find the mundane isn’t nearly as boring as it used to be.

A young boy I don’t recognize is at the end of the line. He’s staring with wide eyes that hold a slightly anxious look. “Dylan? It’s your turn,” Ingrid says softly.

“Oh! Are you really my uncle?” he asks me.

I shrug. “If your parents told you that, it must be true.”

He chews on that for a second. “Well, I finished reading The Hero’s Journey by Joseph Campbell. I’m not sure I agree with all of his conclusions.” I blink at that. I read it years ago and found it a bit of a slog. And not particularly relevant to the world of law, although sometimes archetypes can be a useful profiling tool.

“I see. What are you reading next?”

Dylan frowns. “I can’t decide. The library is getting in the new translations of the French luminaries. Mrs. Brown said she’d set it aside so I could be the first to check it out,” he breathes in wonder.

I hold back a snort. In this town, there won’t be a line, but it’s nice of the librarian to make him feel special, I guess. “And the other choice?”

“There’s an old copy of Plato’s works in the library here. Grandma said I could borrow it.”

“Now it’s your turn, Justin,” Ingrid interrupts gently. “What happened to you this week?” Her brown eyes twinkle with delight .

I stare back down the line at my family — realizing that they’re genuinely willing to make an effort and down at Dylan knowing that he’s probably the reason they understand the need, finally. I pull Ingrid close to my side. “A girl came to my rescue and I’m not even mad about it.”

The laughter and hugs somehow carry me into the kitchen, where I’m pushed gently into a chair where a giant plate of lasagna is waiting on the scarred surface of the old table.