Golden Lies - Barbara Freethy [39]
"Does he have that much power?"
"He thinks he does, but my dad tuned out my grandfather years ago. The two of them have never gotten along. I think that's why Dad started traveling so much. It was his escape."
"Do you need an escape, too?" he asked curiously.
"I already made my escape. I moved out of the family house a few years ago. I couldn't breathe there. My grandfather has portraits of all the Hathaway ancestors lining the hallway. Every time I'd walk down that hall, I'd feel like they were looking at me, wondering why I should be the only Hathaway left to carry on the family bloodline. I can't even carry on the name officially, since I'm a girl, which has caused endless turmoil. I think my mother would consider adopting my husband just to give him the Hathaway name."
Riley smiled. "That would be extreme. And I can't see many men willing to give up their name."
"The woman gives up hers. Why shouldn't the man do the same?"
"Because it's very ..."
"Very what?"
"Wrong. Trust me, Paige, if the man you marry is willing to give up his name to take yours, you should run away as fast as possible." He sat down on the sofa across from her, resting his arms on his legs. "Speaking of which, you're engaged, aren't you?"
"Who told you that?"
"My assistant, Carey."
"Then you should fire her."
He grinned. "Are you saying it's not true?"
"You don't see a ring, do you?"
"No, but I thought I saw a jealous boyfriend last night at the hospital."
She shrugged, avoiding his direct gaze. "Martin was just being protective. He wasn't jealous of you. Why would he be? It's not like you and I are together. You don't even like me."
"Did I say that?"
"Didn't you?" she countered, her gaze seeking his.
"I don't think so."
"You said you didn't trust me."
"That's not the same thing."
She tilted her head, giving him a considering look. "It's not just me you don't trust, though, is it? What made you so cynical -- or should I say who?"
"I was just born this way."
"No one is born distrusting. That's not how it happens."
"Why don't you tell me about it over pizza?" He got to his feet and moved toward the phone. "What kind do you like?"
She looked at him in surprise. "I'm not staying for pizza."
"Why not? Aren't you hungry?"
"Well, yes, but—"
"You can help me with some research while we're waiting for the food," he added, tipping his head toward the laptop computer on the table. "I've found some interesting dragon tales, but nothing that looks like my grandmother's dragon. Maybe you know of some better sites."
"I suppose I could try," she said slowly.
"What do you want on your pizza?"
"Surprise me."
He raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? I don't want to hear any complaints later on."
She gave him a serene smile. "Hathaways never complain."
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, Riley knew that Paige liked black olives, mushrooms, pepperoni, and onions but picked off the bell peppers when no one was looking. Only, he was always looking; she just hadn't caught him at it yet. She'd been too busy surfing through various art sites on the computer.
He liked the way she worked, the way her eyes focused on the screen, sometimes squinting over tiny print. He liked the way she frowned with impatience when the computer worked too slowly or a lead turned into a dead end. But it didn't make her quit. She just worked harder. And she was right; she didn't complain, not about the fact that the only drink he had to offer was beer, or that he had run out of napkins and paper towels and had only toilet paper to offer for dripping cheese and tomato sauce.
She'd probably also noticed the fact that his apartment was decorated in leftovers, as he liked to call the furniture he'd collected from his bachelor friends every time they moved in with a woman or got married. It seemed that along with commitment came interior design. Sooner or later, his friends' furniture showed up at his place while the women filled their joint living space with new stuff.
Well, not for him. He was happy with his big-screen TV, his oversized reclining armchair,