Alicia smiled sadly. “My Clayton is far too conservative and serious. He thinks everyone has an ulterior motive.”
Mikki blew a puff of air, lifting the wisp of bangs on her forehead. “That’s not conservatism. It’s paranoia.”
“Only if I’m wrong,” he said.
A moment later Clayton watched in astonishment as Richard made his grand entrance. His slow, shuffling steps implied a frailness that hadn’t been evident earlier. For some reason, he seemed to want to appear more weak and helpless than he actually was. Who was this charade for? Mikki, or the rest of the family?
“Hello, Michelle. I’m glad you accepted my invitation.” Richard extended his hand in a greeting.
Mikki touched him lightly, as if afraid of hurting him. “Thank you.”
“I trust the plane ride was uneventful.”
Clayton couldn’t stop the grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. From liftoff to landing, the trip had been an ordeal for her.
She glowered at him, then returned her attention to Richard. “It was fine, thank you, sir.”
“Please, call me Richard.”
A lull in conversation followed. Both Mikki and Richard seemed at a loss for words. They looked relieved when dinner was announced.
A relief that was shortlived once the rest of the Hawthorne clan descended on the dining room.
Mikki nervously twisted the napkin in her lap. A cold supper took on a whole new meaning. The verbal barbs moved around the table faster than the main course. Most were directed at her, coated in syrupy sweetness meant to sound like polite conversation. William and Joseph, flanking her like a pair of granite book ends, launched a subtle attack of patronizing questions apparently trying to trap her into revealing something incriminating.
Through all the carryings on, her glance kept returning to the patriarch at the head of the table. She searched for similarities between them, and she suspected he was doing the same. He hadn’t stopped staring at her since their introduction. His drawn face lifted in a smile from time to time. She wondered how Richard Hawthorne would be affected if this did turn out to be some elaborate hoax perpetrated by her stepfather.
“So, Mikki... May I call you Mikki?” Joseph’s arrogant grin mocked her.
“Sure, Joey. May I call you Joey?”
William snickered. “Charming, Clayton. Wherever did you find her?”
“In New York,” Clayton replied drily.
“The least you could have done is dressed her up a little better before you passed her off on Uncle Richard.”
“That’s enough, William!” Richard’s rigid tone silenced the room.
Conscious of her simple clothing in the presence of all the designer suits surrounding her, Mikki squirmed in her seat.
“Forgive me, Uncle. I just can’t stand to see another hustler building up your hopes. After all this family has given him, I’m surprised that Clayton would be a party to it,” William said.
Mikki shot a sideways glance toward Clayton. Despite an almost surreal control, his gray eyes sparked with fury. The undercurrent of tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife.
“Michelle is our guest,” Richard said. “Show her respect.”
Mikki checked her watch. How much longer would this dinner take? Certainly Clayton didn’t expect her to spend the night in this house. She’d never thought to ask.
The conversation changed to business, giving her a moment of reprieve and putting Clayton on the receiving end for a while. William and Joseph wore their resentment of Clayton like a banner. The only ray of light was Alicia.
Clayton staunchly defended any hint of a nasty comment directed toward his aunt. Despite their bitterness, the brothers seemed to fear their stepcousin. Unfortunately, that left her as the target for their mudslinging once again.
“So, Mikki. I understand you’re a waitress in a diner. That can’t pay very much.” Joseph’s cool politeness masked an accusation.
“It pays the bills.”
“But not on a house like this, I’d wager,” William chimed in.
“I wouldn’t know. Would you?”
Apparently she’d struck a nerve. William’s face darkened. He finished his glass of wine and rose unsteadily. “I’ve had enough of this penniless street urchin.”
“Shut up,” Clayton growled through clenched teeth.
“No. If she’s Meg, I’m the king of England.”
“There is no king of England,” Mikki said.
“And Megan Hawthorne is dead. Why won’t you all just accept that?” William yelled.
Richard, shaking slightly, dropped his fork on his plate. “No. I won’t accept that.”
“If you’re so sure, Uncle, then she shouldn’t object to a blood test.”
Mikki swallowed hard. “Excuse me?”
“A DNA test.” William cocked his eyebrow. “Is there some reason you wouldn’t consent to one?”
Although the request shouldn’t have been unexpected, a wave of anger washed over her. She tossed her napkin on the table and sprung to her feet. “With all due respect to you and your wife, Mr. Hawthorne, I don’t care to know if I am related to this family.”
She turned and walked from the table with all the dignity she could muster. Behind her, the raised voices jumbled together, fading into oblivion as she sprinted out the front door.
Clayton pushed back his chair from the table. “Nice going. Now we’ll have to drag this out even longer.”
“Oh, what’s the difference?” Joseph snapped. “It’s not as if she could actually be Meg.”
“Do you know something the rest of us don’t?”
Joseph looked as if he was about to say something, then shrugged instead. “No.”
“I thought not.” Clayton nodded an apology to his aunt and Richard, then went after Mikki.
By the time he stepped outside, Mikki was halfway to the main road. He thought she had left the table to make a point, but apparently she had no intention of returning. The crazy woman. She didn’t even have her purse. Where did she plan to go?
He started on foot, then decided to take the car. She had removed her shoes to run at a steady pace. His luck with women had been consistent lately, he thought humorlessly. It seemed they couldn’t get away fast enough. Although, Mikki was the first to run out in the middle of dinner.
As he pulled the Lexus onto the road, he saw her turn the corner. Great! Old Mrs. Westbrook was getting the show of her life. He ignored the nosy woman and pulled alongside Mikki.
“Get in,” he called out the window.
“Get lost,” she snapped, and continued to walk at a brisk pace.
“Don’t make me put you in the car by force.”
“You and what army?”
“Please, Mikki. The neighbors are watching.”
She stopped and folded her arms across her chest. “I want my return ticket, and I want to go to the airport.”
“The flight isn’t until tomorrow.”
“I’ll sleep in an airport chair.” She didn’t appear to be open to negotiation.