Chapter 3 - The Matriarch’s TestEleanor Bennett’s private sitting room on the second floor smelled of old leather books, lavender sachets, and fine bourbon. The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut behind us, locking out the noise of the party downstairs, the imperious old woman dropped her stern facade and let out a rich, booming laugh.
“Close the door, child, before Diane tries to send up a spy with a tray of canapés,” Eleanor commanded, motioning us toward the velvet armchairs near the fireplace.
Nora collapsed into a chair, rubbing her face with both hands. “Grandma, you saved my life out there. If you hadn’t interrupted, Mother was about to ask Evan for his tax returns and three letters of recommendation from local clergymen.”
“Nonsense, your mother is just terrified of losing control,” Eleanor dismissed with a wave of her jeweled hand. She turned her sharp, intelligent gaze toward me, studying me over the rim of her reading glasses. “Evan Cole. I know that name. You bought the old maritime warehouse district down on East Bay Street last autumn, didn't you?”
I crossed one leg over the other, meeting her gaze with absolute calm. “I did. We’re turning it into a mixed-use cultural hub and boutique hotel.”
“And you fought the city zoning board for six months and won without a single public scandal,” Eleanor noted approvingly. “My broker told me you play hardball, Mr. Cole. Said you’re not the kind of man people cross twice.”
“Your broker is a smart man, Mrs. Bennett,” I replied, a ghost of a smile touching my lips. “I protect what’s mine.”
Nora looked between us, her eyes wide. “Wait—Grandma, you knew who he was before we walked in?”
“I read the financial journals, Nora, unlike you, who only reads recipe blogs,” Eleanor retorted dryly, though her eyes were warm. She leaned forward, resting her hands on her cane. “Now, let’s get down to brass tacks. You hired this charming young man to play your boyfriend to get Diane and Miles off your back so you can finally announce your silly little flour-and-sugar bakery.”
Nora choked on her own breath. “Grandma! It’s not a silly little bakery! It’s a high-end French patisserie concept!”
“Same difference,” Eleanor waved her hand dismissively. “The point is, your mother is downstairs right now telling everyone that Evan is a billionaire shipping magnate from Savannah who is going to sweep you off to a penthouse suite. The expectations are astronomical.”
I turned my head slightly, looking at Nora. “Billionaire shipping magnate? That’s quite an upgrade from standard fake boyfriend duties.”
“I didn't tell her that!” Nora protested, her face flushing bright pink. “Mother just extrapolates things to fit her narrative!”
“Which means,” Eleanor continued smoothly, ignoring Nora’s panic, “that if you two break up tomorrow morning, Diane will never let you hear the end of it, Nora. And more importantly... Evan here will have to keep up appearances if he wants to survive a dinner party with the Charleston Historical Society tonight.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Dinner party?”
“Oh, yes,” Eleanor smiled wickedly. “Diane invited our local state senator, the head of the Chamber of Commerce, and Miles Harper to sit at the head table with us tonight. She wants to show off her oldest daughter’s powerful new beau.”
Nora buried her face in her hands. “We are doomed. This was a terrible idea. I’m going downstairs right now to tell her I’m opening a bakery and running away to live in a yurt.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” I said softly, reaching across the table to gently pull her hands away from her face. My thumbs brushed against her wrists, feeling her pulse racing against my skin. “We agreed on a deal, Nora. Until tonight, I’m your boyfriend. And I don’t quit negotiations halfway through.”
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Nora looked up, caught in the intensity of my gaze. The playful banter evaporated, replaced by a sudden, heavy stillness in the room.
Eleanor cleared her throat loudly, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “Well! It’s good to know someone in this room has a spine. Now, go downstairs, mingle with the vultures, and remember to look deeply enamored, children. Diane is watching from the balcony.”
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