Read Online Unwrapping Liam: A Good Girls Don't Novella by Gennifer Albin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gennifer Albin
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head in his lap.”
“Jillian!”
“It was a joke, Mrs. Nichols,” Liam assured her, casting a warning glare in my direction. “I missed your house and I thought I could turn around.”
“Maybe they don’t have ditches in Scotland,” Tara huffed. I noted with pride that her cheeks were a bit pink as she said it.
“Why don’t you girls head inside?” Dad suggested. “Liam and I can take care of this.”
“But my bags are in there,” I said, holding on to the hope that my fragile excuse might prevent an excruciating half an hour alone with Tara.
“We can handle that. Go inside and get warm.”
It was a balmy sixty-some-odd degrees outside and after a month of grey skies and cold wind on the Puget Sound, being outdoors in California was like heaven. But I knew better than to press my luck further, so I followed Tara inside.
My house—or rather my parents’ house—looked primed for a magazine shoot with the ten-foot tall, straight of Pottery Barn, Christmas tree in the living room. Tara changed it each year, buying all new ornaments and lighting. I suspected that the second she waltzed into whatever high-end home decor store she frequented on November 30th, sales associates high-fived each other. No expense was spared to create the ideal holiday setting for the Nichols house, but it was only an illusion—just like the rest of the house. Each room was finished by professional decorators to look polished and welcoming, but I’d never felt at home here. From a young age, I’d been taught not to touch the beautiful crystal vase on the table in the foyer. Tara had made it clear that grubby, little fingers weren’t welcome on her oak dining table. If we’d had a maid, I would probably have been sent to the kitchen to eat with her. Even now my mother made it a point to remind me of proper table etiquette whenever she could.
The house was Tara’s domain. It was one of the few places Dad allowed her to use her money as she saw fit. Possibly because she would have lost her shit a long time ago if he hadn’t given her an inch on something. Dad’s salary didn’t match up with her inheritance, so he’d forced her to tone down her lifestyle when they got married. The house being his one real concession. Right now in the three car garage sat two ten year-old semi-luxury cars. They’d joined a country club, but he wouldn’t buy a boat. I think it was his way of attempting to ground her in the reality that ninety-nine percent of us lived in. Looking around the house, I couldn’t say that it had worked.
“I have the second guest room ready for Liam.” Tara led the way through the front rooms and into the kitchen.
“I don’t see why we have to sleep in separate rooms,” I grumbled as I dropped into a chair in the breakfast nook.
“Because you aren’t married.”
“I thought you were against me marrying him.” I was treading dangerous ground, but I couldn’t help being annoyed at how hypocritical she could be.
“One doesn’t get married so she can shack up at her parent’s house.” She nodded at me as though this was a profound statement certain to change my perception forever.
“Oh, I know. I’ve thought a lot about it.” I let this declaration hang out there, knowing it would drive her crazy.
Tara offered me a glass of wine which I took gratefully. She stared at me for a long moment before clearing her throat. “How is he handling your condition?”
“You mean how is he handling my Parkinson’s? About the same as I am. It’s a pain in the ass some of the time, but most of the time, I don’t really think about it.” It was all lies, and if Tara knew me at all she would know that, but she didn’t. Ever since Liam had found out about my Parkinson’s, he’d treated me like glass. I’d had to resort to demands and near violence a few times, but he’d lightened up a little. I understood that he just was protective, but it was frustrating, too.
Tara took a labored sip from
“Jillian!”
“It was a joke, Mrs. Nichols,” Liam assured her, casting a warning glare in my direction. “I missed your house and I thought I could turn around.”
“Maybe they don’t have ditches in Scotland,” Tara huffed. I noted with pride that her cheeks were a bit pink as she said it.
“Why don’t you girls head inside?” Dad suggested. “Liam and I can take care of this.”
“But my bags are in there,” I said, holding on to the hope that my fragile excuse might prevent an excruciating half an hour alone with Tara.
“We can handle that. Go inside and get warm.”
It was a balmy sixty-some-odd degrees outside and after a month of grey skies and cold wind on the Puget Sound, being outdoors in California was like heaven. But I knew better than to press my luck further, so I followed Tara inside.
My house—or rather my parents’ house—looked primed for a magazine shoot with the ten-foot tall, straight of Pottery Barn, Christmas tree in the living room. Tara changed it each year, buying all new ornaments and lighting. I suspected that the second she waltzed into whatever high-end home decor store she frequented on November 30th, sales associates high-fived each other. No expense was spared to create the ideal holiday setting for the Nichols house, but it was only an illusion—just like the rest of the house. Each room was finished by professional decorators to look polished and welcoming, but I’d never felt at home here. From a young age, I’d been taught not to touch the beautiful crystal vase on the table in the foyer. Tara had made it clear that grubby, little fingers weren’t welcome on her oak dining table. If we’d had a maid, I would probably have been sent to the kitchen to eat with her. Even now my mother made it a point to remind me of proper table etiquette whenever she could.
The house was Tara’s domain. It was one of the few places Dad allowed her to use her money as she saw fit. Possibly because she would have lost her shit a long time ago if he hadn’t given her an inch on something. Dad’s salary didn’t match up with her inheritance, so he’d forced her to tone down her lifestyle when they got married. The house being his one real concession. Right now in the three car garage sat two ten year-old semi-luxury cars. They’d joined a country club, but he wouldn’t buy a boat. I think it was his way of attempting to ground her in the reality that ninety-nine percent of us lived in. Looking around the house, I couldn’t say that it had worked.
“I have the second guest room ready for Liam.” Tara led the way through the front rooms and into the kitchen.
“I don’t see why we have to sleep in separate rooms,” I grumbled as I dropped into a chair in the breakfast nook.
“Because you aren’t married.”
“I thought you were against me marrying him.” I was treading dangerous ground, but I couldn’t help being annoyed at how hypocritical she could be.
“One doesn’t get married so she can shack up at her parent’s house.” She nodded at me as though this was a profound statement certain to change my perception forever.
“Oh, I know. I’ve thought a lot about it.” I let this declaration hang out there, knowing it would drive her crazy.
Tara offered me a glass of wine which I took gratefully. She stared at me for a long moment before clearing her throat. “How is he handling your condition?”
“You mean how is he handling my Parkinson’s? About the same as I am. It’s a pain in the ass some of the time, but most of the time, I don’t really think about it.” It was all lies, and if Tara knew me at all she would know that, but she didn’t. Ever since Liam had found out about my Parkinson’s, he’d treated me like glass. I’d had to resort to demands and near violence a few times, but he’d lightened up a little. I understood that he just was protective, but it was frustrating, too.
Tara took a labored sip from
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