Then the doorbell rang.
Even from the kitchen, I heard conversation in the dining room stop.
Footsteps crossed the marble foyer.
But they didn’t move toward the guests.
They came straight toward me.
The kitchen door swung open.
A tall man in a perfectly tailored black suit entered.
Rain dampened his dark hair.
Water droplets dotted the shoulders of his charcoal overcoat.
He had sharp features and calm gray eyes that made even powerful men rethink whatever they were about to say.
Julian Mercer.
He paid no attention to the ovens.
The dirty dishes.
Or my mother, who had appeared behind him looking as if she had suddenly forgotten how to breathe.
He walked directly toward me.
The sponge slipped from my fingers.
Julian gently took my wet hand in his.
His gaze dropped to my red, irritated knuckles.
Then he raised my hand and kissed it.
“Sorry, darling,” he said.
“I’m late.”
Someone gasped behind him.
The dining room doors now stood wide open.
My entire family was staring at us.
Natalie had knocked over her wineglass.
Ryan’s mouth hung open.
My mother had turned completely pale.
Because Julian Mercer wasn’t merely rich.
He was the billionaire CEO of Mercer Holdings, owner of several luxury hotel and real-estate brands.
More importantly, he was the man my father had spent six months begging to invest in Bennett Development Group.
My father slowly rose.
“Claire,” Thomas stammered.
“You… know Mr. Mercer?”
Julian never released my hand.
His gaze shifted from my father to the stained apron around my waist.
Something hardened in his expression.
“She is my fiancée,” he said.
The words exploded through the room.
“And I would very much like to know why my future wife is serving Thanksgiving dinner instead of sitting down to eat it.”
Nobody spoke.
Margaret recovered first.
She gave a nervous laugh.
“Oh, Julian, surely there’s been some misunderstanding.
Claire likes helping.
She’s always been more comfortable in the kitchen.”
She reached toward my arm.
Julian caught her wrist before she could touch me.
“Do not touch her.”
His voice stayed quiet.
Somehow, that made it worse.
Margaret stepped back.
My father hurried forward.
“Mr. Mercer, please.
Come into the dining room.
We’ll have a drink and explain everything.
Claire is our daughter, of course, but she enjoys helping.”
Julian looked at me.
Then he reached behind my waist and loosened the apron.
He pulled it away, exposing the simple fitted black dress beneath it.
Without speaking, he tossed the stained apron onto the dining table.
It landed across the turkey.
Natalie made a horrified noise.
Julian turned to my father.
“My fiancée does not serve people who treat her as hired help.
