Page 15 of Jordan
She glanced at him briefly, feeling the familiar thrill at the look of him. He was wearing khaki dress pants with a brilliant blue sweater that made his own eyes appear an even darker blue. His hair refused to be tame and had several locks falling over his forehead.
Sliding her eyes away from him quickly, she stared out at the towering white building and felt the tension gathering inside her chest.
"Hey."
She jumped slightly when she felt his hand on hers.
"I'm fine," she assured him. Taking a deep breath, she unhooked her seatbelt. He was out of the car and opening her door by the time she was finished.
Taking her hand, he linked their fingers together, giving her the courage she needed. She was heading straight into the lion's den and felt as if she needed some added protection. For the first time since she left, she was going to be facing the people who had made their lives a living hell. And she was going to force them to acknowledge her as equal.
Even though that was a tall order, she had added ammunition. Their only son and heir to the throne was on her side. They were going to have to deal with it.
The doors--towering, polished oak--were swept open as soon as they stepped on the wide wraparound porch by a familiar face.
"Edmond," she exclaimed in genuine pleasure and surprise. "You're still here."
The grizzled looking black man in his starched black uniform beamed a smile. Glancing first at Jordan as if seeking his approval, he stretched out a hand in welcome.
"Ms. Julesa. Just look at you. I always knew you would be a beauty." The expression on his face changed at the strident voice behind him. Snapping to attention, he took their coats and folded them neatly on his arm.
"The family is in the green and white salon." With one last fond look at her, he melted away. Her grip on his fingers tightened unconsciously.
"He looks the same," she murmured as they walked through the wide passageway with its silk wallpapers and marble flooring.
"He's an institution." He could feel the tension radiating through her and wanted to smooth it over. "He likes you."
"He used to slip me cookies and milk." Her smile was wistful. Taking a deep breath, she turned her head towards him. "I'm fine, really."
"Good." Bringing their joined hands up, he brushed his lips against her knuckles as they stepped into the room.
It was like a scene out of an elegant soap opera. Everyone was there. The word "salon" was completely underrated. The room was large and sumptuously furnished with antique pieces. A huge fireplace took up an entire section. Lush white carpet--miles of it--had their feet sinking to the ankles.
The woman of the house was draped in a throne-like chair, excellent legs crossed at the knees. Her husband was standing a little behind her. The two young women were seated on apple green love seats, with their husbands standing behind them. All of them were superbly dressed as if for a formal party.
Despite the exorbitant amount she had shelled out for her outfit, she felt like the poor cousin.
But she was not so unaware that she did not see the look of stunned surprise on the family's faces. The mother's eyes wentswiftly to their joined hands before swinging towards her son's face as if demanding an explanation.
"I don't believe an introduction is necessary." Guiding her to an unoccupied lime green single sofa, Jordan saw that she was seated before sitting on the arm of the chair. "Julesa Simpson." His amber eyes took in the family's reaction, one by one.
"Ms. Simpson." Inbred good manners forced the polite tone of her voice. "We're sorry for your loss."
"Thanks."
"Now Jordan, why don't you tell us what's going on?" Harry Wainwright's voice boomed out.
Settling his arm intimately around her shoulder, Jordan relaxed, an easy smile curving his lips. "Jules and I are engaged." Using his free hand, he snagged her left wrist and showed off the dazzling ring on her finger.
For a few minutes, it seemed like everyone had been carved into stone. No one moved, even the air was still.
Jordan waited, his eyes on his parents and saw the fury break through the icy demeanor. His father was not so subtle--his face turning florid with anger.
"You must be joking," he rasped.
"I'm afraid not." Leaning negligently against the sofa, he lightly brushed his fingers through Julesa's hair. And doing so, it hit him like a thunderbolt. He was no longer pretending. He wanted this--wanted her with an intensity that startled him enough to swing his gaze to stare at her. "We're getting married," he added slowly.
As if drawn to him, she tilted her head to meet his gaze. What she saw there had her going still, her breath tangling in her throat. For a few seconds, it was as if they were the only two people in the room.
