“Such a beggar, honestly.” She stroked the dog’s fringed, butterfly-like ears.
“Don’t feed him your—” Her mother clucked her tongue as Taylor handed over a cube of steak. Her mother was dressed for dinner in a pink skirt and suit jacket, a bumblebee-shaped broach pinned on the lapel and her matching gold jewelry shining. Her budgeproof lipstick was in place, her smooth, straight hair tucked behind one ear.
Deena Thompson fit into the role of wealth easily. Taylor’s mother had been raised in a family of wealthy investors and business owners, most of her money hailing from the airline industry.
“He’s a dog, Mother. He likes meat. Besides he enjoys beef more than me. I’m more interested in the potatoes and asparagus.” Both of which she’d eaten already.
Dinner had been served rather formally in her mother’s dining room. The table that stretched the length of the room was better suited for a packed Thanksgiving dinner, which her parents had hosted on numerous occasions, but this was where Deena Thompson liked to dine, so here they sat.
“He’s a little dog, and I won’t have him fat.” Deena cocked her head to the side, sending her medium-length blond hair over one shoulder.
“One bite of steak won’t hurt him, will it, Rolfie?” Taylor dropped her napkin on her plate and ruffled the dog’s fur, nuzzling his tiny nose with her own. She’d never thought of a fussy toy breed like Rolf’s as loving until her dad had been diagnosed. The little dog spent many, many evenings in either Taylor’s or her mother’s laps, soaking up their tears in his soft fur.
“He does love you,” Deena said with a soft chuckle. “I think he believes you’re his sister.”
“Well. We both have great hair.” Taylor gave her last cube of steak to the dog and ignored her mother’s scoff.
Taylor was an only child but hadn’t felt lonely growing up. She’d had her mother to pal around with, and the Knox siblings were a very big part of her world. Royce, Bran and Gia were raised by busy working parents as well as a team of nannies. Deena, while she’d always had a house staff, had been more than ready to leave the hectic working lifestyle to care for Taylor. Deena considered herself the ultimate domestic diva. She enjoyed keeping a house and a staff. She enjoyed catered dinners and selecting wines. She also enjoyed crafting in her massive craft room where every shade, pattern and color of scrapbooking paper lined the towering shelves on every wall. Now that Taylor thought about it, her mother’s ambition at home was a career.
She was under no delusions that she had to mimic her mother’s choices. Her work, which she loved, took up a lot of her time. Hiring help to clean her apartment was a no-brainer, especially when she spent her days as COO of a massive company. Sometimes though, she wondered how she’d balance work and family life once she decided to have a child of her own.
“Did you want more than one child?” Taylor scooted Rolf’s front paws from her lap as her mother’s chef stepped into the room to clear the plates. After they agreed everything was delicious and chose a dessert, he returned with two crème brûlées and tiny glasses of port wine.
Her mother dug into the crème brûlée, either ignoring or forgetting Taylor’s earlier question.
“Mom?”
“Hmm? Oh, sorry. Children. We couldn’t have any more.” She shrugged, announcing it as easily as if she’d just run out of milk.
“What? You never...” Taylor shook her head in confusion while her mother sipped her port.
“No, no, not like that. Not like couldn’t. Your father was busy with work and so was I. When the company expanded I wanted to hire my part out and stay home with my baby.” She smiled warmly and patted Taylor’s hand. “You.”
“You never wanted to give me a brother or sister?”
“Well, we thought about it. But you had the Knox kids and I had my figure to consider.” Deena winked, joking. She was beautiful for a woman of any age.
Taylor considered herself lucky to have inherited her mother’s athletic build and love of exercise.
“What’s bringing this about? Is a certain special relationship advancing? I never asked you about the gala.”
Deena had attended for an hour or so before she made her exit. She told Taylor she’d felt inconvenienced by the idea of attending a party for show. Taylor couldn’t blame her. Their grieving Charles’s passing was a personal matter, and yet the masses felt they should be involved.
“You didn’t hear about Brannon’s proposal?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t hear about it. I said I never asked.” Deena’s eyebrows lifted.
“We broke up that night. Things at work are...strained. He’s upset. Understandably.”
“Well, you did kiss his brother.”
“Mom! You know everything!”
“Patsy Sheffield told me,” she said of their gossiping neighbor. “Your father wouldn’t like that you’re canoodling with the older Knox boy,” Deena continued, the crème brûlée spoon hovering in front of her mouth. She cocked an eyebrow. “Did you? Like it?”
“He’s hardly a boy, Mom.” She could still feel the telltale scrape of his facial hair; see the dark look he’d given her before he gripped her waist and tugged her against his solid wall of a body. Taylor’s cheeks warmed when she admitted, “I liked it immensely.”
“Older men.” Deena sighed. “There is something about them.”
Deena was fifty-four years old, ten years Charles Thompson’s junior. When she married Charles, who was selling and making a small fortune in direct sales at the time, Deena’s father—Taylor’s curmudgeonly but lovable grandfather—hit the roof. It was a story she’d heard time and time again as a little girl, told exuberantly by her father and interspersed with his infectious laughter at how he’d eventually won over his father-in-law. Her mother had laughed with him.
Taylor grew accustomed to the sound of her parents’ comingling laughter. It’d stretched from her childhood until her father’s passing last year, ending the only way it could—when he was no longer alive to contribute.
She’d recently been contemplating her father’s reasoning behind her avoiding Royce. Even when he’d been very ill, he’d reiterated that Bran was a better fit for her and steered her away from the older Knox “boy.”
“Well good for you for livening things up,” her mother said. “Galas used to be fun, but now they’re a drag. I only attended because it was the first time I’d been out since...” She shook her head rather than say the words your father’s death. “It’s expected you show up and look like you’re not in a million pieces.”
“You’re not. And it’s remarkable.” She reached for her mother’s hand and Deena’s eyes misted over. “I know you miss him. You must. I miss him like I lost a limb.”
“Try losing all of them.” Deena’s mouth compressed into a tight line.
Dad had been less healthy than his wife—more into rich foods and cigars, and any activity that involved socializing. Taylor smiled a bittersweet smile at the memory of her father’s warm personality. After losing him there’d been an absence of charm in her life.
There was a note of ease about Bran that reminded her of her dad, which likely had contributed to her agreeing to go out with him. But the attraction had been a big fat goose egg. If Bran would climb down off that high horse of his, he’d probably admit as much to her. When two people were attracted to each other they behaved like... Well, like Royce and Taylor had behaved in that closet.
Taylor had admired the Knox siblings her