Marrying My Billionaire Hookup - Nadia Lee Page 0,120

can play pretty word games, but I don’t want to in this case. Too much is at stake.”

“Just for us to attend a family dinner. To get to know you. And to extend a personal invitation for you to come to Tempérane. I can teach you everything about being a proper wife to someone like my son.”

Did she just imply that I wouldn’t make a proper wife to Edgar on my own?

Yes, she did, I decide, remembering what Lane said about the “family legacy” and my role. Did he send her to convince me I need to be properly schooled?

“Much as I’d love to, I can’t drop everything and go,” I say with fake sweetness. I can’t get sarcastic with Margot because…well, because my parents taught me better than to sink to her level. Besides, no matter what, she’s still Edgar’s mom. Some level of respect is required for his sake, even if she’s being insulting.

She seems genuinely confused. “But you’re going to be Edgar’s wife. There are certain expectations.”

“Such as?” I say, feigning rapt interest. This is going to be good.

“Oh, my dear, there’s so much. Running charities. Hosting social events. Attending galas. Being seen. Networking. To do all that—and do it well, of course—you need a certain polish and poise. And a certain incisiveness as well. It pays to understand everyone’s motives.”

“Are you telling me Edgar picked a woman who can’t be on his side as is?” I wonder for a moment if he feels the same way, then dismiss the thought. I’ve given him so many outs. He wouldn’t have insisted on marrying me if he thought I wasn’t suitable. But none of the things Margot brought up are anything I’ve ever pictured myself doing.

“Dear, he picked you because you aren’t like anybody he’s ever met. His life has been very regimented. Private schools. Harvard. Managing Blackwood Energy. It doesn’t leave him much time to meet people outside our social circle.”

Wow. I don’t know what kind of ballsy self-centeredness it takes for someone to heap insults, sympathy and pity at the same time. “What do you get out of ‘helping me’ and turning me into this polished and poised creature?” I ask innocently.

“I get to help my son. That’s all that a mother can ask for.”

She’s shooting me a smile sweet enough to go on a St. Mary statue, but I know better. She isn’t here for Edgar. She’s here for me, because she thinks I can give her what she wants.

But…what? No matter how much I rack my brain, I can’t think of anything.

And then she gives me the answer. “Edgar and I have had a…falling out. It’s partly my fault, partly his, but he won’t even talk to me these days. I think if I help you, he’ll take it as the olive branch that it is. I only want to mend things with my son, Jo.”

Oh. Well, that’s an understandable motive, although I don’t like the way she’s going about things. I don’t really want to get in the middle of a mother-son drama I know nothing about, but the distress Margot is showing seems to be genuine. And I can’t imagine how hard it must be for Edgar. I’d be devastated if Mama and I got into a fight and didn’t talk to each other anymore.

“Can you help me?” Margot asks.

“I…” I sigh. “I can’t promise anything. And I need to talk to Edgar about it first.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t expect you to do anything that might upset him,” she says quickly, the picture-perfect concerned mother. “Thank you, Jo.” She reaches out and places a frail hand over mine.

But instead of making me feel better, my unease only increases. I pray I’m doing the right thing.

Chapter Forty-Five

Jo

After my awkward visit with Margot, I end up going to the barre studio because my phone reminds me. I could use some exercise to work off the nervous tension.

Hilary, Kim and Yuna all show up for the session. I take it much easier than I normally would. Then we all go to the bar for our post-workout drink. Hilary and I get virgin margaritas. Kim and Yuna, on the other hand, order very real martinis.

We chat. Kim talks about her house-hunting expedition with Wyatt. Yuna shares that her mom’s in town to help plan Ivy’s baby shower this coming Saturday. Apparently, she and her mother have declared some kind of truce about discussing marriageable men.

Hilary shows us her sonogram picture. It’s very much like mine. As