Boone continued, ignoring the varied responses circling the table, “When we reconnected, I thought I’d give us another go and, if nothing else, see if I could repay her the heartbreaking favor.”
“What exactly do you call what you did to her back then?” Ford said, aiming a look at Boone like he was contemplating the quickest route to get to him so he could wring his neck.
Boone ignored Ford, holding his smile and staring at me like I was his whole world. My knee kept ramming his, but it was getting me nowhere besides a sore leg.
“But boy, did my plans for revenge backfire,” he said, almost cooing.
I felt sick. What had I done? What was I doing? Why didn’t I just stand up and admit to everyone what had transpired to bring Boone to my side this morning. The truth would have been ten times better than this story he was weaving.
Dad shoved his plate away and leaned in, his gaze leveled on me. “Just how serious is this?”
He was waiting for me to answer him, but it was Boone who gave it to him. “I don’t know your definition of the word, but I gotta tell ya, Mr. Abbott, there have been plenty of times I’ve looked into those blue eyes of hers and seen my forever in them.” Flashing me another wink, he patted my cheek.
I resisted the urge to swipe his hand away. No need to further confuse everyone—they looked so confused already, eyes were close to going crossed.
“Clara Cavanaugh . . .” Boone said, nodding in approval. “It sounds pretty, doesn’t it? Like some fairy-tale made-up name or something.”
My dad’s face was red. My mom looked closer to hyperventilating. I was both.
“No need to rush things.” My father’s voice made each word sound like he was cursing instead of speaking.
Boone shrugged, stuffing a piece of toast into his mouth. “No need to slow things down either.”
I grabbed my fork and lowered it into my lap. If he kept going, I was going to stab him in the thigh with it.
“You don’t have a job.” Dad lifted one finger in the air, then another one. “You have no way to support my daughter.”
“Clara’s got a job,” Boone replied. “She could support me.”
Ford threw down his napkin and shoved away from the table. Dad looked another word from Boone away from doing the same thing.
“Isn’t that the way an equal marriage should work?” Boone asked.
At the word marriage, Mom looked closer to fainting than hyperventilating.
“I’m not planning on staying unemployed forever, or even for long, but in the meantime, good thing for us both she makes some serious bank.” Boone nudged me with his elbow, his face glowing from the thrill of pissing off my family and throwing me for one hell of a loop at the same time.
“Which I’m sure is why she’ll have you sign a prenup before that ‘forever in her eyes’ turns into a reality.” When Frieda appeared with the coffee carafe to refill my dad’s cup, he waved her away. “Isn’t that right, Clara Belle?”
My dad was waiting for me to reply. To back him up. My voice, or more likely my will to project it, was gone.
“Whatever Clara wants. She’s a smart girl. I trust her.” Boone popped the last bite of his half piece of toast into his mouth before sliding the other half onto my plate. He must have remembered how much I loved all things bread.
My mom didn’t miss it, and would no doubt ensure whatever was on my lunch plate was adjusted to include no carbs.
I wasn’t sure what to think of the shared toast. Was it just another way of him messing with me? Messing with my mom because he remembered how she’d monitored every morsel that went into my mouth back then? Or was this the Boone I remembered? The generous, kind one who would have given a friend his life or limb if they asked for it.
I didn’t have time to process it though, because that was when Dad fired off more questions, hardly pausing to take a breath between each one. “Do you have an attorney back in California, Clara Belle? Do they even have any that take clients outside of celebrities? You’ll need one separate from your business attorney, one well-versed in prenuptial arrangements of the kind you and Boone potentially might be drawing up.”
“More like improbably,” Ford muttered, his breakfast untouched from the looks of it, mirroring his wife-to-be’s.
“Let me give Bill a call later this morning and see if he can recommend someone out in your neck of the woods. He’s got plenty of connections,” Dad continued relentlessly. “And remember, you want someone who represents you, not both of you.” My dad pulled his phone from his pocket, breaking a cardinal rule of no phones at the table, either making a reminder or about to dial up Bill right this minute. “I’ll ask him too if he knows of anyone who can help you with your business. While I’ve got him on the line.”