“Sorry. When do his parents get in?”
Freya nodded to the front door where her suitcase waited. “Three hours. They’d better be worth it.”
“They won’t be. But if Zane needs this to feel some sort of acceptance, or to let them know he’s happy without them…”
“Shit, I didn’t even think of that.” Freya sprawled her limbs in a floppy star position as she sunk deeper into the sofa. “I have no filter. What if I embarrass him?”
“Go with your gut. Something tells me he needs someone to support him and only him, the consequences be damned. And you’re good at that.”
“You’re not wrong.” She sighed and sucked her cheeks between her teeth. For this to be believable, she needed to get over there soon and get settled like she actually lived there.
Sophie sat quietly while Freya scowled at the tip of her nose. The sound of Zane’s truck rumbling down the drive added another level to her torture. He’d probably be cool as a cat right now, at least, on the surface.
With a noisy inhalation filled with meaning, Sophie nodded to the kitchen that Freya had converted into a mini studio. “On the bright side, you finished all five pieces quicker than they would have expected. Did they get the first one yet?”
She turned her head and looked at the blank canvas, the workspace painfully empty now that she’d sent off everything she had, plus a few odds and ends to some of the other galleries she’d built a relationship with. Her stomach churned with acid-soaked gravel grinding in her belly. It was always nerve-wracking, putting herself out there. This time… she was upending the style she’d built her brand on. “It should arrive tomorrow, the rest in about a week. I will have exceeded the deadline by a long shot, so I can always work my ass off at creating and sending off more of my traditional style they requested.” If they wanted anything more from her after seeing the edgier style she hadn’t even known herself capable of. Driven by the thrill of something new radiating from her brush, she’d powered through and couldn’t wait to make more.
“Those pieces were incredible. If they don’t want them, there are hundreds of others that will.”
Dragging her ass off the couch, she shrugged. “I’ll know soon enough.”
Taking her water glass to the kitchen, she drained the last of it and set it in the sink with the lunch dishes. Freya adjusted the waist of her jeans, ensured her top was feminine, somewhere between sweet and edgy, and worked her tongue over her teeth to ensure no lunch greens remained. Okay. No problem.
Why was she so nervous? It wasn’t like they were her real in-laws. Or, well, they were real… just not permanent. Ouch, that was almost worse.
She swung her backpack and heaved her suitcase and glared at the door, wishing she could hide under the covers like she had when she was a little girl and tried to skip school. Not that the strategy had ever worked.
From her burrow on the recliner, Sophie laughed, “I thought they were only here for a few days. Why did you pack your entire wardrobe?”
“Toiletries, personal items, and a variety of outfits with layers, in part because I need to make it look like I live there, and because I don’t know if we’ll be taking them for a drive to the city or hiking or sit around all day. I know nothing about these people, except that they don’t deserve Zane for a son.”
“Makes sense. I’m lucky; my future in-laws had pretty much adopted me before I even met Asher. And as much as Paul drives Asher nuts, he loves him to bits.”
“You do have good future in-laws. Are you letting him propose yet?”
“Nah. I’m thinking of beating him to the punch just to be ornery.”
Inhaling every molecule of oxygen that would squeeze into her lungs, she rested her hand on the doorknob. “Wish me luck?”
“You don’t need it. But good luck anyway.”
Turning the knob and swinging the door open, Freya dashed out the door and slammed into the brick wall she had almost considered anticipating this time. Hands steadying her shoulders, sweeping down her arms, Zane chuckled in his gruff timbre that vibrated deep into her as effectively as the little toy she kept in her bedside table.
“Sorry,” she murmured, the smile inevitable as she looked up and met his gaze for the first time in weeks. Were his eyes always so rich? Biting her cheek, she grinned even bigger. “You know what? I used to be considered graceful. Aware of my surroundings. Yet whenever you’re around, I rush and knock into things and feel like a complete moron.”
“I hear that a lot.”
“Smartass.”
He snatched her suitcase in one hand and laced his fingers with hers in the other. Weeks ago, the simple gesture had rocked her resolve. Now… it anchored her to the here and now, yet set her flying into the clouds like one of those expensive dragon kites she’d never been able to master.
Annulment. Freedom. No man to affect her productivity or change her plans or… Shit. This sucked.
At the stairs, he waved her on ahead. His groan was audible as he walked a few steps behind. “What?” she asked.
“Has anyone ever told you that you should be an ass model?”
“Huh. Nope. Little weird.”
